The Highwayman Came Riding Page 7

  “Didn’t we do enough of that yesterday? I can’t bear it when you’re chatty like that. You give me headaches.”

  “I don’t mean like that, idiot. I think we’re set for another year or two before we have one of our ‘chats’.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I know. Now get your ass out of bed so I can dress you and we can talk.”

  Elias sat up and Bess deposited a pile of folded clothes in his lap. She always stacked them in the same order: shirt, waistcoat, jacket, trousers, stockings, cravat. He dressed and then stood still as she fussed with his shirt cuffs and tweaked his cravat. Bess ran a hand over Elias’s jaw.

  “Guess you can go another day,” she murmured. Then, louder, “Mr. Scorsby came by this morning. You’ll have a job until he hires a replacement. Apparently it isn’t as easy as he’d hoped to find someone daft enough to want to spend more than half his day walking that treacherous road between here and Mitton.”

  “Oh joy.”

  “And the other bit of news I have for you is that Lizzy Bird caught Mr. Sweeton with Kenneth Davies last night. They were being improper again.”

  Elias said nothing.

  “Did you hear—” Bess began.

  “I heard you.”

  “Well? I told you I thought he was no good.”

  “We never had any understanding of exclusivity.”

  “If he’s asking you to kiss him, I think there’s fidelity implied!”

  “Fuck off, Bess. I don’t work the same way you do.”

  Bess let him go and sighed. “You’re such a dumb twat. Don’t let him play you for a fool.”

  “Play me for a fool? How’s he playing me? I’ve no expectations of him.”

  “You’re not insignificant, so don’t let him treat you like you are. Any many should be honored you’d give him so much as the time of day.”

  “Unless the clock tower’s sounding, I have no idea what time it is. And if it’s sounding, any man with functioning ears would know the time of day. Are you saying I can only go with a deaf man? How would we communicate?”

  “You know what I mean, you ass.”

  “Do I?”

  “He’s using you. He’s using your innocence and your vulnerability.”

  Elias hated what she said because he knew she had a point. He argued anyway. “I’m not vulnerable.” He tucked Mr. Sweeton’s rumpled coat under his arm and walked across the room.

  “Where are you going?” Bess demanded.

  “To talk with Mr. Sweeton,” Elias said on his way out.

  The walk to Mrs. John Rowan’s was not long enough for Elias. He was still mulling over the idea of what he ought to feel when he tripped through the garden gate. Mrs. John Rowan answered the door.

  “Good morning, dear. What can I do for you? Charles was telling me you’d had more clothes stolen. Shall I make you a new outfit?”

  “No. I just need to talk to Mr. Sweeton once more before he leaves.”

  “Of course, dear. I’ll show you to the stairs, shall I? His door is the second on the left.”

  When she left Elias at the top of the stairs, he took a moment to collect himself before he felt his way to the second door and knocked.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Elias Burgess.”

  The door swung open.

  “Mr. Burgess. I hope you don’t think me ungrateful, but what are you doing here? I thought we said our good-byes yesterday.”

  Elias thrust Mr. Sweeton’s coat in front of him and, by the feel of it, slammed it into Mr. Sweeton’s chest. “Bess told me Lizzy Bird saw you being improper with Kenneth Davies.” Elias did not know why this smarted so. It had not when Bess first told him, but now he felt annoyed. What did Kenneth Davies have that he did not?

  “Perhaps you’d better come in.”

  Elias let Mr. Sweeton lead him into the room and shut the door behind them.

  “Here,” Mr. Sweeton said, dragging something heavy across the floor. “You can sit.”

  Elias remained standing. “Are you going to explain yourself?” he demanded.

  “Who’s Lizzy Bird?” Mr. Sweeton asked. Deflecting. He was making Elias provide answers instead of providing them himself. “What’s she doing following me into stables in the dead of night?”

  “Good God, is that where you go to meet Kenneth Davies? Have you no shame?”

  “Have you?”

  “Stop it! I’m asking you questions! And Lizzy Bird isn’t the only girl about Kitwick who’s seen you two together, besides!”

  “What a town of busybodies!”

  “Don’t you talk about us that way!” Elias snarled. He did not care for Kitwick or most of its residents, but he could not abide by an outsider criticizing them.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Sweeton said. He clutched Elias’s hand. Surprised, it was Elias’s instinct to pull away, but Mr. Sweeton held fast. “I’m so sorry. I did not realize you would be hurt. But of course you would, you’re so pure, of course this would hurt you.”

  “I’m not pure,” Elias growled. “And I’m not hurt.”

  “You’re teary-eyed just thinking of my dastardly infidelity!”

  “I’m teary-eyed because it’s sunny out and I walked here and I forgot my hat and my eyes are fucked, you idiot!” Was this true? Elias did not know. He wrenched his hand from Mr. Sweeton’s grasp, but Mr. Sweeton seized him by the shoulders.

  “I’ve done a terrible wrong.”

  “No, you really haven’t.” He should never have come. Bess had planted stupid ideas in his head of how things ought to be. But just because she felt one way did not mean he must feel that way too.

  “And you came here alone to let me know. Bless your sweet heart, Mr. Burgess. What can I do to make it up to you?”

  “Nothing, you don’t need—”

  “Tell me!”

  “You can let me go, for starters,” Elias said. Mr. Sweeton let him go.

  “And?”

  “Let me leave unmolested. I think I’ve heard all I need.”

  “Mr. Burgess, please don’t leave without us having resolved this.”

  “Resolved what? You’re a free man. You can do as you like. I don’t care if you make love to Kenneth Davies or Lizzy Bird or both at the same time! We go for walks and have tea, sometimes. You owe me nothing. Just as I owe you nothing.”

  “But you have not been unfaithful to me!”

  “That’s because I don’t care for Kenneth Davies, Barnaby Smith is twice my age, and Mr. Scorsby is a swine!”

  “So your distaste for the local selection is the only thing keeping you by my side?”

  “That’s not what I said,” Elias snapped, wondering why he was supposed to defend himself. He had done nothing wrong or unanticipated. He turned away, but Mr. Sweeton laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Burgess,” he said in a tone so serious Elias froze. “I like you more than you could possibly understand.”

  It took a second for Elias to recover his voice. “Yes, I’m a total fatwit who knows nothing of human emotions.”

  “Some, I think, you have yet to—”

  “Unhand me at once, Mr. Sweeton, or I shall scream.”

  Mr. Sweeton’s hand fell away, and he let Elias take a few steps toward the door.

  “I could not let you stumble home alone.”

  “Dear God, stow the chivalry for once, would you? How do you think I got here?”

  “I will walk several paces behind you, in case you fall and require assistance.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sweeton. I don’t know how I used to get to Mitton and back every second day without you.”

  “I would follow you there every step of the way if you would let me.”

  “Fucking hell, you’re suffocating! I’m not an infant!”

  “Mr. Burgess, please. Please listen to me. You say it doesn’t matter, but I know it does. It matters to one as virtuous as yourself, of course it does. You probably thought I’d stopped seeing Mr. Davies when I started
seeing you, as I should have. That would’ve been the honorable thing to do. But I’m a stupid, selfish man, with base needs, and Mr. Davies helped me with those. I would never ask you to help me with them because I know you’re not like that.” He paused, as though waiting for a response. Elias said nothing, so Mr. Sweeton resumed. “Please say you forgive me. Please don’t let this ruin what we have. Upon my honor, I’ll never see Mr. Davies again.”

  “I don’t care what you and Kenneth Davies do together.”

  “Yes you do! Oh, I’m a beast!” There was a shuffling sound, a thud, and then Mr. Sweeton had wrapped his arms around Elias’s thighs. Elias was flooded with horror as he recoiled.

  “Good God, are you kneeling?”

  “Mr. Burgess, I beg of you your forgiveness. Please give me another chance. I can prove to you I am honorable, faithful, and caring.”

  “Get up, you brainless git.”

  “I swear, I swear if you don’t forgive me I shall do something stupid.”

  “Christ.”

  “Please, Mr. Burgess.”

  “Get up.”

  “Not until you pass your judgment.”

  “Ugh, I don’t give a fuck. Get up. I forgive you, all right? I forgive you.”

  Mr. Sweeton pressed his forehead into Elias’s hip. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Get up!” Elias yelled. His cheeks were on fire.

  Mr. Sweeton stood. He touched Elias’s cheek. It had gotten to the point Elias now expected such random advances, so he did not shy away.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Sweeton murmured again.

  “I should go,” Elias said.

  “You should visit me in Mitton,” Mr. Sweeton said. He did not know Elias had been temporarily rehired. “I’ll be staying at the barrack mostly. My door will always be open to you.”

  “Delightful.”

  “Say you’ll visit me.”

  “I’ll visit you.” Elias fought a yawn.

  “God, you’re an angel.”

  “I should go,” he repeated. “I need to stop by Mrs. Brown’s.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My pianoforte tutor.”

  “You play pianoforte?”

  “I try.”

  “You have just the hands for it.”

  Elias snorted and made for the door.

  “Farewell, Mr. Burgess. I await your next visit with impatience.”

  “Bye,” Elias said, walking out the door and then stumbling down the stairs.

  Chapter Ten

  Elias made his way to Mrs. Brown’s, who lived a few houses down from Mrs. John Rowan. Lord Nelson joined him halfway there. He knocked at her door. The maid answered.

  “Good day, Mr. Burgess,” the girl said. Her skirts rustled. Why anyone bothered curtsying for him, he had no idea.

  “Miss Emma,” he greeted her, inclining his head. She was one of the few people who had never done anything to irritate him, so he treated her better than most. “I need to see Mrs. Brown if she’s available.”

  “She’s just finishing up a lesson with the Jones boy, but it won’t be a long wait. Do come in.”

  Elias stepped inside.

  “Er, you’ll have to leave the cat, Mr. Burgess, sir.”

  Elias tossed his head. “Out, Lord Nelson,” he said, and heard Lord Nelson scarper. Maybe he did not tolerate Miss Emma so much.

  “Please allow me to show you to the parlor.” She took his elbow, led him into the house, and eventually seated him on a squishy chair and shut him in the parlor. He waited as he listened to the young Bram Jones plunk out a few compositions.

  Although he displayed the same sort of nonchalant attitude about his pianoforte lessons as he did everything else in life, Elias secretly adored learning music. His mother had started him and Bess in lessons with Mrs. Brown when they were five, but only Elias displayed aptitude or interest. When Mrs. Brown said he deserved an instrument of his own at the age of eight, Elias’s father had, in an uncharacteristic display of paternal doting, purchased a thirdhand, perpetually off-tune pianoforte for him. He played it daily between the ages of eight and nineteen. When Elias turned eighteen, his father had, in a drunken rage, decided he would no longer pay for his lessons. So Elias got his job as a post boy, and most of his earnings went to learning music. He played his pianoforte less often now that he worked as a post boy and part-time barkeep, but he still loved it. He waited for Mrs. Brown, feeling tense, at once reliving the incident with Mr. Sweeton and wondering how he would make up for missing his lesson yesterday. He respected Mrs. Brown and did not like to disappoint her.

  “Elias,” Mrs. Brown said, gliding into the room in a rustle of skirts more graceful than was normal for a woman her age. She always called him by his Christian name. “Where were you yesterday?”

  “Naked.”

  “Not how were you, where were you?” She could be bolder than him sometimes.

  “A highwayman held me up, we got into a fight, and I had to report him to a visiting militiaman. I was unable to make the lesson as a consequence.”

  “Ah. I had heard Miss Burgess dragged you through town without clothes and nearly started a riot.”

  “Pah,” Elias protested. “Exaggeration. Kitwick doesn’t have enough people for a riot.”

  “Did you really fight a highwayman?”

  “I throttled him.”

  “Did he let you do that?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mrs. Brown sighed. “You shouldn’t fight with your fists, child. Your tongue is a thousand times stronger.”

  “I’ll tell the highwayman that next time he holds me up, shall I?”

  “Best not.”

  “Anyway, would you like me to pay you for the missed lesson?” Elias heard voices in the corridor outside.

  “When you couldn’t help it? Don’t be a fool. Now, I must be going. It sounds like the Godwin girl has arrived. I’ll see you for your next lesson, as scheduled.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brown.”

  “Don’t mention it. Actually. Can’t let it be known I’ve a charitable bone in my decrepit body.”

  “Tell others you’re not some miserly old crone? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “There’s a good lad. Off with you.”

  Lord Nelson joined him on the way out, and Elias returned to the Peach and Pear feeling as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. He was in such a good mood he whistled as he felt his way up the back staircase.

  “Salutations, Elias,” a voice said when he was halfway down the hall. It was Emily, and she must be standing in the doorway of his father’s bedroom.

  “Good day.”

  “If you need anything, now’s the time to ask your father. He’s in a very good mood.”

  “Ugh,” Elias said, finding his door and unlocking it. “I think I’m fine.”

  “As you like it. Did you hear the news coming out of Town?”

  Elias, who for obvious reasons had never read a newspaper, thought they were something bordering on magical. He often hounded Bess to read him every article when the latest edition of The Times arrived from London. Depending on her availability, Elias could go many days in a row without any news save what the patrons and prostitutes told him.

  “No. Spill.”

  “Rumor has it Napoleon is amassing troops along the Channel. He may or may not be planning an English invasion.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “It’s just what they’re saying.”

  “He wants to cross one hundred fifty miles minimum with enough men to take all of England? And he just thinks the Scottish and Welsh will what, join him? The Scottish might be dimmer than most, but they’re not fucking amoral. On top of that, we own them. Besides, there’s a reason we’ve remained virtually untouched for seven hundred years. It’s because invading an island nation of our size and fortitude is impractical. And we’re not just England,” he continued. “We’ve got the whole bloody Commonwealth. We run the world.”

  “Wel
l, that’s me calmed down now. I was terrified I’d have to learn French before you reminded me of our infallibility.”

  All at once, Elias thought of the highwayman. He spoke French. Where had he learned to do that? Could he really be gentry? It did not make sense.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day, Elias walked to Mitton and did not visit Mr. Sweeton. He still needed to think about matters and could not do so with Mr. Sweeton breathing in his ear. He was twenty minutes out of Mitton on his return to Kitwick when he heard a horse cantering behind him.

  “Elias.” It was the highwayman, and he was still congested. He had never attacked twice in a row.

  “Cynthia.”

  “For the last time, my name’s Augustus. And I see you left the hell-cat at home today.”

  “He’s hunting. Why should I believe your name is Augustus?”

  “Why should I lie to you?”

  “You’re an outlaw who’s stolen my clothes three times now.”

  “And the post. But I see you’ve yet to lose your job. You really are the little darling of Kitwick.”

  Elias stopped walking. “I did lose it, you sodding popinjay! You’ve made a right mingle-mangle of my life! I’m only working so long as they can’t find a replacement for me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that all you have to say? ‘Oh’?”

  “What else is there to say? Only at least you won’t be fagged to death every second day now.”

  “And you think I want that?” Elias demanded. Even when he was furious with the highwayman, he could not help being sassy. Despite the seriousness of his crimes, there was something about the highwayman that made Elias feel at ease enough to be rude and sarcastic. “Would be nice if you’d promise to return everything you stole, you thieving fucker.”

  “Can’t.”

  Elias scoffed. “Good news for you is that you can steal as much as you want now and I don’t care anymore. Here, take the post.”

  “I don’t want the post.”

  Elias began unbuttoning his coat.

  “No, stop. I don’t want your clothes either,” the highwayman protested.

  “Augustus!” Elias yelled suddenly, staying his hands.

  “What?”

  “Just checking. You responded fast enough. I guess it is your name.”