No Other Love

The other woman shook her head. “The Gentleman shouldn’t be taking such risks. I knew he’d go too far one day and his lordship would go after him. The Earl’s not a man to be crossin’, is what I say.”

“No doubt you are right about that,” Nicola agreed. “You sound as if—do you know this man? Have you met him?”

Lydia shifted in her chair, looking uneasy. “I don’t know him, exactly. I’ve, uh, well, he’s known around here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Lydia sighed, then straightened, looking Nicola in the eye. “He is liked, miss, that’s what I’m sayin’. He’s done things for people. He helps them out.”

“You mean gives them money?”

Lydia nodded. “Aye, he does. You know Ernest Macken, miss. He’s got a wife and five little ones, and he’s worked in the tin mines all his life. Well, he come up sick and couldn’t go to work for weeks. His lordship let him go, and he owns the house they live in, too, miss, and he was ready to turn them out ‘cause they couldn’t keep up the rent with Ernest not workin’. But one night they hear a thump at the door, and Jenny, she gets up and goes to the door, and there’s a sack lyin’ there, and when she looks inside, it’s got coins in it. Enough to pay their rent for six months and buy food and clothes, too.”

“And it was the highwayman who gave it to them? How do they know?”

“Who else? There’s none around here that has that much money to hand, except for the Earl or the Squire or Lord Buckminster, and none of them were riding about at night droppin’ off sacks of coin.”

“No, I am sure you are right.”

“It has happened to others, too. Some more, some less. Faith Burkitt, when her man died? His lordship would have turned her out, too. She got money at her door, too, but she got a look at the man when he left it, and she said he was dressed all in black, with a mask on his face.”

“He is a sort of Robin Hood?”

Lydia nodded vigorously. “That’s how people round here feel, miss. He helps them out, which is more than you can say for anyone else, and he hurts the Earl only, and there’s none as would cry over that.”

“No, I am sure not. I would not imagine that Exmoor is a good landlord or employer.” As the Earl of Exmoor, Richard had inherited not only tin mines but a good deal of the land in the area, both farms and much of the village, as well.

Lydia made a face. “The old Earl wasn’t a bad sort, and they say his father before him was the same. But when the new Earl came in…” She shook her head gloomily. “The wages at the mines are a sin, and that’s God’s own truth, miss. Not long after he got hold of them, he cut the wages. Says they weren’t makin’ enough profit. It was enough profit for the old Earl, now, wasn’t it? Then he raises the rent that the mine workers who live in his houses have to pay. It’s hard enough on the farmers, especially when they have a bad year, but what about the miners? He’s payin’ them less, and they’re havin’ to pay him more. It’s a sin, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, it is,” Nicola agreed. It was this sort of inequity that filled her with righteous indignation and had fueled her venture into charitable projects in the East End. It had also gotten her into enough arguments with others at parties that she was generally termed a radical and a bluestocking by her peers. “It is not surprising that the people have no qualms about his being robbed. Lady Exmoor told me it was mostly his wagons that were preyed upon by the brigands.”

Lydia nodded. “Aye. Oh, a carriage now and then that’s traveling through. But not local people much. Once he stopped the doctor when he was driving in his new gig to see a patient, and when he saw who it was, he just waved him on, didn’t take a cent from him.”

“He sounds like a saint.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not that, miss. He’s a man, after all, and I’ve never met many of them that were saints. But he’s after the Earl only—there’s no mistakin’ that.”

“I wonder why.”

“Why? After what the Earl’s done? Who better?”

“I’m sure that is true, but thieves are not usually so selective. It sounds as if he has something against the Earl personally. Is he from around here?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. He moved in a few months ago. At first there was just him and the men that came with him, but after a while, some others joined him.”

“You mean local men?”

Lydia nodded, her gaze measuring.

“Oh, dear.” Nicola frowned. “I am afraid of what might happen to them. The Earl is dead set on catching him. Now with the Runner trying to find him…”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, miss. ‘The Gentleman’ is a slick one. There’s none that know where he lives. The local men meet him at a certain place, but that ain’t where he and the outsiders stay. There’s four of them, and they live someplace hidden. He’s never told a soul.”

“What—what is he like?” Nicola looked down at her cup as she spoke, turning it idly.

“Like? I’m not sure, miss. I’ve never seen him but the once.” She edged closer and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “One night Ste—that is to say, a man comes to the inn, and he won’t speak to anybody but me Jasper, so Jasper goes down there, and I gets up to see what’s what. So I creeps down to the landing, and I’m sittin’ there in the dark on the stairs, where no one can see me. Well, Ste—this man—says to Jasper that he needs a tot of whiskey for someone outside. It was rainin’ and blowin’ something fierce, not a fit night out for man nor beast. So me Jasper says why can’t the man come inside, it’s a sight dryer, and he says he just can’t, and finally Jasper goes and pours a glass of whiskey. Then I hears the sound of boots and spurs on the stones outside, and the next thing you know, this man steps into the doorway. I next to keeled over with terror, I’ll tell you!”

Mrs. Hinton pantomimed her shock, one hand going to her chest, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. “He was a big man, like to fill the doorway, towering over me Jasper and this other man. And he’s dressed all in black, he is, from his head to his toes, and he’s even wearing a black mask over the top half of his face. Well, I knew who he was, of course, as soon as I saw him, and I was that scared for Jasper, because, well, no matter what everybody said about him, you just never know, do you? Then in this elegant voice, he says, ‘Thank you, sir, I won’t trouble you to bring this outside on such a stormy night as this.’ And he took the glass from him and knocked it back—and paid him with a gold coin! I nearly fell off the stairs when I saw that. Then he bids a very polite farewell to Jasper and turns to go, but as he turns, he says, not even looking over at me, ‘And good night to you, too, Mrs. Hinton.’ I couldn’t believe it! He’d spotted me in that little bit of time, but neither of the other two had caught sight of me the whole time they were standing there.”

“So you’ve never seen his face? Has anyone?”

“Not me, miss. Some of the girls in the village say that he’s handsome, but they’re just silly romantic chits. I dare swear they’ve never seen him even in a mask, let alone without it. He stays to himself, he does. I don’t know anyone who knows anything about him—not even where he comes from.”

Nicola was sure that if Mrs. Hinton didn’t know anything, then no one did. “I wonder if he is really a gentleman,” she mused. “He certainly sounded it.”

“His hands aren’t those of a gentleman,” Lydia said decisively, shaking her head. “I saw ’em when he pulled off his gloves to take his drink. They’re big and callused and scarred—the hands of a man who’s worked all his life. Not even a gentleman who rides without his gloves has hands like that.”

“Then how did he learn to speak like that?”

The other woman shrugged. “He’s a mystery, Miss Falcourt, and that’s a fact. Personally, I think he likes it that way. He don’t want people to know about him.”

“Mmm. I suppose that the less anyone knows about him, the less likely anyone would be able to turn him in.”

“Oh, won’t no one turn him in, miss, I’ll tell you that. He’s a hero here.”

“Even if Exmoor offers a reward?” Nicola asked. “There is always someone in a town willing to talk then. I’ll venture that it won’t be long before Richard turns to that. He is determined to capture him. He takes the man’s acts as a personal affront.”

“Well, be that as it may, he’ll have a hard time catchin’ that one. And anyone who does turn him in better watch his backside around here.”

“I hope you’re right. I should hate for any of the locals who ride with him to be caught. It would mean hanging for them, you know.”

“Aye, I know.” Mrs. Hinton looked somber for a moment, but then her ready smile was back. “But they won’t get caught. I’m tellin’ you, he’s canny.”

Having exhausted Mrs. Hinton’s store of knowledge on the subject of the mysterious highwayman, Nicola turned their conversation to other matters. Finally, Mrs. Hinton rose, saying that she’d taken up enough of Nicola’s time.

“But, if you don’t mind, miss,” she asked, knowing the answer as well as Nicola did, “some of the girls complain about their ‘time of the month,’ and Granny Rose used to give them something that fixed them right up. Would you be knowing the recipe?”

“I do indeed. I brought some with me, if you’ll have someone fetch my bag from my horse.”

“Of course, miss. You’re a good woman, if you don’t mind my bein’ so bold as to say that. Granny Rose would be proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hinton. That makes me very pleased.”

So for the rest of the afternoon Nicola stayed in the private parlor of the inn, listening to the ills of first the servants, then various other townspeople who had heard that she was there and dropped in to seek her help. She dispensed advice and remedies, and when she did not have the decoction that she thought would best cure an ill, she made a note of it and promised to send something to them the next day. Several people came for loved ones who were ill at home, and these Nicola accompanied back to their houses to see the patients and take note of their symptoms herself.

The afternoon lengthened, then died away, and it was growing dark when she turned away from Tom Jeffers’s house, where she had gone to see his mother, who lay frail and shriveled in her bed, slowly drifting away from life. Nicola had known at once that there was nothing she could do for the woman except give her a tonic to ease the pain the old woman was suffering.

She walked back down the street toward the inn to retrieve her horse, but before she reached it, she saw a man’s figure hurrying down a side street toward her, and instinctively she knew that he came for her.

“Miss! Miss!” he gasped, short of breath. “Wait! Don’t go.”

She stopped, letting him catch up to her. “Why, Frank.” She smiled at the man, whom she recognized now as the husband of one of the former housemaids at Buckminster. The couple had been married five years now and had four children. “How are you?”

“Not good, Miss Falcourt, not good.” He stopped, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, miss. We just heard you was here. It’s the baby—he’s sick. He don’t sound good, like he can hardly breathe. Lucy was up all night with him, but he just keeps getting worse. Can you come? Lucy fair brightened up when she heard you was here. ‘The young lady can fix him,’ she says. Can you, miss?”

“I’ll come, of course.” She smiled, hiding the sinking sensation in her stomach. She didn’t have Lucy’s touching faith in her skills. She knew that illness in children was worse; they were so small, so fragile. A fever that an adult might endure could carry a child off.

She followed the man to his cottage, where he ushered her into the low-ceilinged room. It was dim inside, lit only by a guttering tallow candle and the fire, which provided heat for the house, as well. A woman sat on a stool before the fire, a small child about two years old wrapped in a blanket in her arms. She rocked back and forth, crooning tunelessly. When she saw Nicola enter the door, she jumped to her feet, a smile spreading tremulously across her face. “Miss Nicola! Oh, thank you!”

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and she hurried forward, holding the child up for Nicola to see. “You’ll help him, won’t you, miss? You won’t let him die!”

“I will do my best. Now, what’s the matter with him?” Her question was almost unnecessary, for it was easy to see the flush of fever on his cheeks, and as Lucy handed him over to Nicola, he coughed, a harsh, deep, barking sound.

“It sounds like the croup, Lucy. I think he will be all right. We just need to keep that little throat from closing up on him. Put some water on to boil, will you?”

Lucy nodded wordlessly and went right to work. Nicola sent the father for a small blanket, while she paced up and down, holding the child and murmuring soothing noises as he continued to cough. When the water was steaming, she had Lucy pour it into a bowl and put it on the table. Then, forming a small tent with the blanket, she sat down and held the child so that his head was under the tent. As the child breathed in the steamy air, his cough began to quiet, then subsided.

Lucy began to cry again, mopping away her tears with the corner of her apron. “Oh, miss, I knew you could help him.”

Nicola smiled. “Just do this when he gets an attack. The steam opens up his throat so he can breathe better. Put warm poultices on his feet tonight. I’ll give you a bag of wild plum bark for you to make him tea. Give it to him several times a day.”

Lucy nodded fervently, repeating “yes, miss, oh, yes, miss” like a magic incantation. When the baby’s cough had died away, she took the child and put him tenderly to bed, then returned to Nicola so she could demonstrate how to make the hot poultices for his feet. Lastly, Nicola dipped out a small amount of dried bark into a sack and handed it to her.

“I shall send you more if you need it. I have given out all the rest of it this afternoon, but I can get more when I get back to Tidings. So let me know. Any time he has another coughing fit, you be sure to put him under the tent with steam.”

“Oh, I will, miss, I will. Lord love you, miss.” She grabbed Nicola’s hand and would have kissed it had Nicola not pulled her hand away and given Lucy a hug instead.

“Send for me if something happens,” Nicola told her. “Promise me.”

“I will. I promise.”

After several more protracted thank-yous from Lucy and her husband, Nicola managed to leave. Frank insisted on walking her back to the inn’s stable, just to make sure she was safe, for it was late in the evening by the time Nicola finished.

The ostler at the inn seemed equally troubled at the idea of a lady riding back to Tidings in the dark evening, but Nicola brushed aside his offer of an escort. She knew that no one who lived around here would do her harm, nor was she afraid of the legends of fire-breathing hounds and ghostly carriages that kept most local people firmly inside their houses after dark. There was the highwayman, of course. The thought of him sent a strange chill down her spine. But, she reasoned, he would not bother with such paltry game as a lone female rider. It was a trifle chilly, but her cloak would keep her warm.

She left the village, letting her mare pick her way, for the sliver of new moon provided little light. It was a cloudless evening, and the stars were already shining brightly in the sky. Nicola rode along, letting her thoughts drift as she contemplated the dark velvet sky. She felt tired, but satisfied. It was always rewarding to be able to help someone, especially when it was a child’s life at stake. Lucy’s baby, she thought, would recover, though it might take a while for the illness to run its course.

Ahead of her a copse of trees lay beside the road, and as she neared it, a man on horseback rode out from the shadows beneath the trees. Nicola sucked in her breath, her heart beginning to pound, and pulled back automatically on her reins, stopping her horse.

The man rode toward her without haste, and Nicola watched him, her mouth dry. He was dressed all in black, and under his hat his face was unnaturally dark. She knew without a doubt that it was the highwayman. So she had been wrong. He would stoop to accost a lone woman. Her hands tightened on the reins as she debated whether to turn and flee toward the village, but she could not bear to play the coward in front of this man. Besides, she reminded herself practically, his horse looked powerful, and she suspected that he would catch up with her if she did run. Better to stand and face the danger. That had always been her way.

She waited, chin lifting unconsciously. The man stopped a few feet from her and swept off his hat, bowing to her. A smile played on his lips. “Well, my lady. A bit dangerous for you to be out this late, isn’t it? Alone? In the dark?”

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