For a week, nothing happened. They patrolled the countryside every night, taking good care to keep their course of action secret, but the only result that came of it was that they were all growing more and more tired. John especially felt the effect that staying up all night had on him he had not yet fully recovered his strength, and what would not have had bothered him at all some six months earlier now became a task almost beyond his power. However, since it was he who'd suggested the plan, he had no choice but to take part in it. He snatched a wink or two of sleep whenever he could becoming quite good at dressing for dinner in record time in order to be able to take a nap beforehand but he should have known that Miss Baines would notice that something was going on. A woman of her intelligence and, what was more, with her propensity for taking an interest in anything that was none of her business could not fail to become aware of their actions, or at least suspect them.
"Are you feeling quite well this morning, Captain?" she asked him one morning when he joined his family for breakfast after having slept no more than three hours that night and even less the three previous ones.
Unlike most women he knew, she sounded as if she was really concerned about him. Most women would have kept their mouths shut, or simply have used this as a means to draw his attention to them. It was probably that look of genuine concern about his well-being that made him swallow the set-down that had been on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he assured her that he was feeling very well, and thanked her for her concern.
She smiled. "I suppose that should put me in my place," she remarked. "Very well, I will not inquire into why you are looking so haggard all of a sudden; I daresay you do not want me to know."
Miss Baines was quite correct in her assumption, but John feared that she would not rest until he gave her an acceptable explanation of some sort. He decided to give her a half-truth to keep her from enquiring further and told her that he had trouble sleeping of late.
"I thought it must have been something of that kind," Miss Baines said. "Maybe you should try valerian; Mrs Blackwell has found it most beneficial on many occasions."
"Thank you, Miss Baines. If the spell continues I may well give it a try."
Luckily, she left it at that. After breakfast, John left the house, ostensibly to visit his brother at the Vicarage but in reality to catch up on some much-needed repose in the gamekeeper's cottage.
Clara had guessed that Captain Gilbert was keeping something from her, but she knew him well enough by now to refrain from asking too many questions. He was a stubborn man; one who was not in the habit of confiding in others, and content to bear the load on his shoulders alone. Such a man must be admired for his strength of character, Clara thought, yet she felt it was not doing him any good. He needed to unbend occasionally, and to accept help. No one could behave in such a way and not collapse under the strain sooner or later. To say the truth, she was getting exceedingly worried about Captain Gilbert, for she feared that such a collapse was imminent.
From what Lady Gilbert had let fall Clara knew that Captain Gilbert had been very ill upon his return from Spain; that he had spent several weeks in a hospital before he was considered well enough to await his full recovery among his nearest and dearest. He should not be wearing himself out in such a way. He should be enjoying his leave, gathering strength for the upcoming campaign. Clara knew that he was going to need it. Instead he was wasting what strength he had on trying to apprehend that highwayman, and Sir Cecil was perfectly content to let him do so even though he knew that it was actually his job. Accepting help was one thing, but burdening one's son with what should have been one's own concern was something else entirely. If there had been any chance of them making an arrest soon, Clara would not have minded it so much perhaps, but they were getting nowhere with their inquiries, and Clara wondered whether it would not be wiser to call in the Bow Street Runners after all. Captain Gilbert must not be allowed to ruin his health in such a reckless manner!
Clara did not know when those feelings had started, but she had to admit that she liked Captain Gilbert much better than she'd ever have thought she would. She enjoyed those occasions when he softened towards her, and wished it would happen more often. She did not think she was in love with him, although to be honest her heart did miss the occasional beat when he smiled at her. Luckily he did not smile at her too often, or she might indeed be fool enough to fall in love with him. But Captain Gilbert was not the kind of man who encouraged girls to develop a tendre for him. At any rate he did not encourage girls of her kind. If she were a beauty like Mrs Morgan, why, he'd be interested in her then. As it was, she was just his sister's annoying friend, and rather plain into the bargain. Not the kind of girl one flirted with, no matter how bored one was.
She was helping Amanda cut out a pattern for a new reticule when Lady Waldegrave and her son and nephew were ushered into the drawing room. Clara had not seen the gentlemen since the ball, for they had been out when Lady Gilbert had taken them to Colby Hall to pay Lady Waldegrave the obligatory thank-you visit. As always when she encountered Mr Colby and Mr Summers she noticed that they looked slightly out of place in their rural surroundings. While their attire might not have drawn anyone's attention in, say, Bond Street or even in Bath for that matter it was rather too fine for country wear in Clara's opinion. There was no denying that they both looked very elegant especially Mr Summers, who, as far as Clara could tell, was wearing everything of the finest from his elegant beaver hat to his shiny Hessians, drab driving coat and pearl-grey kid gloves but Clara much preferred a more sensible approach to clothing in a gentleman, as displayed by Captain Gilbert. Compared to him, both Mr Summers and Mr Colby had a slightly effeminate appearance, although there was nothing effeminate in their manner.
Mr Summers immediately engaged Clara and Amanda in conversation, patiently listened to Amanda's description of the reticule she was planning to make and giving his opinion of the fabric and pattern she had chosen for it. Mr Colby appeared rather subdued in his demeanour, as if something was troubling him. It was too bad, Clara thought, that she was not well enough acquainted with him to remark on it; she wondered what could have made him so quiet. Although Mr Colby had never given Clara the impression of being a lively conversationalist, he had not been as taciturn as he was this morning. There was hardly a word to be got out of him, but fortunately his cousin was of a different kind.
"Miss Gilbert is lucky to have such an obliging friend staying with her," Mr Summers remarked when Amanda had explained to him, at length, how Clara had assisted her in her various needlework projects.
"I am," Amanda told him with conviction. "We are all very happy to have Clara with us, and not just because she is helping us with many things."
Clara pricked up her ears, hoping she would be able to stop Amanda before she told Mr Summers things that were meant to be kept secret, such as her participation in their search for the highwayman.
"I hope you are still enjoying your stay in Shropshire in spite of recent events, Miss Baines," Mr Summers said to Clara.
"Since nothing of an alarming nature has happened to me so far I am enjoying myself very much," Clara replied. "I would not care to go outdoors after dark at the moment, but since I am not supposed to do so anyway I do not think I am missing much."
She added, "I am certain Sir Cecil's efforts will soon meet with success," keeping in mind that Mr Summers was one of their suspects.
"He is certainly trying hard," Mr Summers replied. "One does hope that such an enormous amount of devotion to a cause as Sir Cecil is displaying will be rewarded at one point. It would be most unfair if he failed in his purpose."
"Papa has plenty of assistance," Amanda pointed out. Clara tried to silence her with a warning look, but failed. "If my father does not find the Highwayman, my brother will."
"Captain Gilbert is an excellent man in many respects, and his helpfulness does him credit," Mr Summers said. "But forgive my saying so, Miss Gilbert how often has he been obliged to deal in crime and the detection thereof before?"
"Not often, I am glad to say," Amanda said indignantly. "This is a respectable neighbourhood."
"It is just as I had feared then. He is lacking experience in such matters."
Only then Clara succeeded in getting her silent message across to Amanda, and Amanda let the topic fall. Not Mr Summers, however.
"Perhaps it is time for Sir Cecil to put the case into more capable hands," he said.
"Call in the Runners, you mean?" Clara asked. "I am not in Sir Cecil's confidence, naturally, so I do not know whether this is what he is planning to do. However, if matters continue as they are now I do believe involving them in the investigations would be the next logical step."
"You appear to take a great deal of interest in the affair, Miss Baines," he said smilingly.
"Don't we all?" Clara countered. After all it had been Mr Summers who had started the topic, probably in order to find out what Sir Cecil meant to do. Was it idle curiosity or was there a more sinister reason for this? If there was, she had better not give him the impression that she knew something there was no knowing what he would do if he found out that while she was not in Sir Cecil's confidence she knew fairly well what Sir Cecil's son was doing.
"We are all fond of this place, I believe, and should not be indifferent to what happens to the people living here," she remarked.
"It is very proper of you to say so, Miss Baines. May I ask how long you are planning to stay in the area?"
"You may. I am planning to stay for as long as Mrs Blackwell can spare me," Clara replied. "Once she decides that it is time for me to return to Bath I will leave Colby Green, though I already know that I will be sorry to do so."
Clara was surprised to find that this was really true. She had grown fond of the place; the beautiful scenery as well as the people, and she was not going to leave them behind easily.
"Then for your sake as well as ours we shall hope that Mrs Blackwell will not demand your presence in Bath too soon," Mr Summers said.
Another suspect paid a visit to the Gilberts that morning. It was not long after Lady Waldegrave and her family had left that the butler ushered Mrs Norman and her stepson into the drawing room. By that time, Captain Gilbert had returned from his visit to his brother and both he and Captain Morrison had joined the ladies in the parlour.
As usual, Mrs Norman cast her lures at both young men, and as usual they both more or less ignored her efforts. They were both polite, but none of them took any notice of Mrs Norman's blatant attempts at engaging their interest.
The mere fact that she was trying to do so made Clara's blood boil, although she could not think of a single reason why it should. It should have been a matter of extreme indifference to her whether or not Mrs Norman was after Captain Gilbert, but it was not. Maybe it was just Mrs Norman's predatory manner that annoyed her, and her feelings on the occasion had nothing to do with Captain Gilbert.
"We are getting nowhere with this," John complained to his friend as they returned to Antigua House after another uneventful night. "Do you think the Highwayman has found out what we are up to?"
"I don't think he is a fool, so he may well have noticed a thing or two," Morrison replied.
"Damn."
"On the other hand, if we persist in patrolling the country around Colby Green he may give up on the area altogether," Morrison observed.
"And start seeking his victims elsewhere," John said bitterly.
"Probably."
"Besides he only needs to wait until we have to return to our regiment. My father cannot handle this all by himself. We haven't heard the last of the Highwayman, you mark my words."
Morrison merely nodded. He was not very talkative of late; something seemed to be weighing on his mind. John suspected it had something to do with his cousin Eleanor. He was afraid that his friend had allowed himself to grow fonder of Eleanor than was good for him. It was a good thing that they'd be separated soon it would be easier for Morrison to forget Eleanor once he was back in Spain.
As for himself, he was not looking forward to the prospect of returning to the Peninsula, and it had nothing to do with what he'd encountered there the previous year. It was what he was going to leave behind or whom he was going to leave behind, to be precise. John knew that this was nonsense. Whether he stayed in England or not was not going to make a difference to Miss Baines; she would return to Bath and marry that fellow Amanda had told him about.
But the mere thought of Miss Baines marrying another man made John feel almost physically sick, and John no longer deluded himself that Miss Baines meant nothing to him. She meant the world to him, and the idea of leaving England, and leaving her to whomever it was that was waiting for her in Bath, was a thought he could not endure. Maybe he should tell her what was in his heart. It would be the easiest way to find out what she thought of him, but John, by no means a coward under normal circumstances, was mortally afraid of doing so. He remembered the pain he'd felt on a similar occasion when Sally Yates had rejected him, and he knew that being rejected by Clara Baines would be much worse. So, since he was uncertain whether he could handle the rebuff he was not unlikely to receive, he decided to remain silent. He'd been able to hide his feelings so far, and if he was lucky she would not find out.
Miss Baines looked beautiful in green. That evening she was wearing a green dress again a different one than she had worn at Lady Waldegrave's ball - and cast even Eleanor into the shade.
"I love this dress," Amanda whispered to him. "Mr Harding does, too. He says it makes Clara look like a water nymph."
"Who's Mr Harding?" John asked, taking care to sound unconcerned. He did not fool his friend Morrison, however.
"What is more important, what does he know about water nymphs?" he said, countering John's glare with an impudent grin.
"I told you about him the other day, John," Amanda said indignantly. "Do you ever listen to anything people tell you? He is going to marry Clara!"
"Is he now?" John asked, considerably shaken by that announcement. "I had no idea Miss Baines was engaged to be married." And she certainly should not marry a man who compared her to water nymphs, John felt. It was a foolish thing to do, and the last thing Miss Baines needed was a fool for a husband.
"Not yet, but I'm sure he is going to ask her soon," Amanda told him and then went to sit with her friend.
"Unwelcome news, is it?" Morrison murmured.
"I do know how to pick them it seems," John replied, realising that it would be useless to try and hide the truth from his friend.
"I had no idea you were getting that involved," Morrison said. "Maybe you should just stay away from her?"
John gave his friend a withering look, but when he saw Morrison's earnest expression he remembered that he'd given him the same piece of advice regarding Eleanor not long ago, and that Morrison had found it equally impossible to follow it as he did.
"I guess I deserved that," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"No need to apologise. I guess I'd have said the same thing in your place." Morrison laughed. "And now, since we cannot drown our sorrows at the local alehouse, we'd better join the party before anyone guesses what state we are in."
It was odd, but Clara had the impression that Captain Gilbert was beginning to seek her company whenever he could. Clara believed that she knew what he thought about her, and therefore was not a little surprised when he volunteered to escort her and Amanda on a riding expedition to Wolverton. Miss Swinford preferred to stay at home, which was probably why Captain Morrison decided to stay behind and keep her company, along with her brother. Clara wondered how long it would be until they'd announce their engagement. That they had reached an understanding was evident.
It was only the three of them Clara, Amanda and Captain Gilbert - who made their way through the village of Colby Green and past the gates of Colby Hall to the Wolverton road.
"We'll have to follow the road for maybe half a mile, but we can cut off a good part of the way by using a path across the meadows," Captain Gilbert said.
"Will we pass the spot where Mr and Mrs Morgan were robbed?" Clara asked.
"We will, but there is nothing to be seen there," Captain Gilbert told her. "Unfortunately we did not find any clues regarding the Highwayman's identity there, although we did search the area."
"He is too clever to leave any clues behind, I believe" Clara remarked. "I have come to the conclusion that whoever is doing this is not doing it for gain. He wants to play games; maybe he wants to demonstrate his superiority to the people here, intellectual and otherwise."
"Boredom as a motive?"
"Boredom and contempt," Clara said. "He wants to find out how much he can get away with."
"I believe I know whom you mean," Captain Gilbert said after a few moments. "But there is no proof."
"Not yet. Sooner or later he'll make a mistake out of sheer arrogance."
"Let us hope he makes it sooner rather than later then," Captain Gilbert said grimly. "I want this matter settled before I have to leave."
"Who are you talking about?" Amanda wanted to know. "It is most unkind of you to discuss such matters within my hearing and not telling me more!"
"It may be unkind, but I'd rather not name any names lest I am wrong in my assumptions," Clara said to her friend. "Should I be correct, you will be one of the first people to know."
"John?" Amanda said, giving her brother a pleading look, but without success.
"I believe Miss Baines is right," he merely said. "You will find out soon enough."
Indignantly, Amanda spurred her horse and rode ahead of them, thereby demonstrating that she did not feel like talking to either of them anyway.
"Oh dear." Clara sighed. "It was my fault I should not have started on the topic. Should we follow her?"
"And give her the audience she craves? I don't think so," Captain Gilbert said. "She is more likely to come back to us if we ignore her. Nothing can happen to her that we cannot see not in broad daylight certainly. Leave her to pout for a while; she'll come back when she is bored."
"Spoken like the brother that you are," Clara laughed.
"Is that a good thing?" Captain Gilbert asked. "Sounding like a brother?"
"I suppose it is. Since you are Amanda's brother. It would sound rather odd if you spoke in the same way to me. Although coming to think of it this is what you have done occasionally."
"I am very sorry if this is the impression I gave you. I do not regard you in the light of a sister, Miss Baines."
"No; I am your sister's annoying friend."
"Not half as annoying as I thought at first," Captain Gilbert said. "Instead you are helpful and kind; a loyal friend to my sister, and a highly intelligent young lady. Your insight into things that must be quite opposite your nature sometimes surprises me. You never cease to amaze me, in fact."
"Was this a compliment?" Clara asked, smilingly.
"I should hope so," Captain Gilbert said, and laughed. "Don't say you do not recognise a compliment when you hear one. You must be used to them."
"Why?"
"My sister told me you had many admirers in Bath."
"Either your sister is wrong, or the gentlemen in Bath have a very peculiar way of demonstrating their esteem," Clara laughed. "I suspect the former; I do not think I left any broken hearts behind when I came here."
"Breaking hearts is not a good thing, Miss Baines."
"I know. I'd be loath to do so. But then I am not the kind of girl who makes men fall head over ears in love with her so maybe I need not worry."
"Who says so?"
"The one admirer I do have in Bath," Clara said.
"He is a fool," Captain Gilbert stated. "It is none of my business, of course, but any man who is capable of saying such a thing of a woman cannot be as much in love with her as he thinks."
Although Clara secretly agreed with Captain Gilbert's opinion, she caught herself defending Mr Harding.
"What he meant, I believe, was that no one was likely to fall in love with me at first sight but rather upon closer acquaintance."
"It's still an abominable thing to say," Captain Gilbert insisted. "If this is the kind of compliment you used to get in Bath it's no wonder you are not accustomed to hearing any. We should be going this way."
Clara followed him away from the road and onto a path that led across some meadows. It was too narrow for them to ride alongside of each other, and so their conversation had to end for a while. They re-entered the road some quarter of an hour later, and found Amanda waiting for them. She was still in a temper, but willing to endure their company again. Captain Gilbert wisely forbore to tease her, and Clara did her best to draw her friend out of her sulks. She succeeded in the end, and so their outing to Wolverton turned out to be a pleasant one after all. They left their horses at the local inn, strolled along the main street and had a look at the wares on offer in the shops and finally, before venturing on their way home, they had tea and cake at the inn where they had left their horses.
All the while Captain Gilbert was at his most charming; he treated Clara with an amount of deference she had not believed him to be capable of, and once or twice she almost thought he was trying to flirt with her. She could not help but notice the way her heart missed a beat when he smiled at her in a certain way and he smiled at her quite often too. He was kind and attentive, and witty on occasion, and Clara wondered how Mrs Morgan could have allowed such a man to slip through her fingers.
When they had finished their tea, he helped her and Amanda mount their horses, and Clara quite enjoyed the sensation his touch stirred in her. She was being silly, she told herself. Captain Gilbert gave no sign of being drawn to her; he was merely taking pains to be kind to his sister's friend. She should not construe any other meaning to it just because this was what she wished to happen.
As they left the courtyard of the inn, dark clouds were gathering in the sky and Amanda was afraid it might start to rain soon. She therefore set a quick pace in the hope of getting home before it started to rain, but still it began to pour down just before they reached the gates of Antigua Lodge, and by the time they reached the stables they were wet through. Amanda was indignant; for she was afraid the damp had ruined her riding dress, and she let her brother know in no uncertain terms that she blamed him for it.
"But Amanda," Clara cried, "it was not your brother's fault that it started to rain, and he could not have foreseen it!"
"He should have," Amanda said heatedly, and marched off towards the house.
Captain Gilbert laughed. "It is good to see that some things never change," he remarked. "I was tempted to think of Mrs Blackwell as a sorceress who managed to control my sister's temper within such a short period of time, but it seems she is human after all, and my sister's temperament has not been subdued entirely."
"She has become better at keeping her temper in check," Clara told him. "I do not know what has caused this outburst."
"Don't you? I do it was our refusal to tell her whom we suspect of being the Highwayman." He offered Clara his arm, and led her towards the house. "You had better take appropriate measures to warm yourself," he suggested. "I'd hate you to catch cold."
"I never catch cold," Clara said and walked upstairs to order a hot bath for herself.
John had no way of knowing whether Miss Baines' judgement of her state of health was accurate or not. Whatever was the norm for her, however, she was wrong in this one instance, for she did catch a cold and spent two days in her room nursing it. The first morning, he caught himself inquiring after her health four times; the last time his anxious inquiry was no longer rewarded with a reply but merely drew an indignant glare from Amanda, who wanted to know whether he wished to give her hysterics. She was quite vocal in blaming John for Miss Baines' cold; after all he had insisted on taking them to Wolverton, Amanda said, conveniently forgetting that it had been she who had suggested the outing. At first John did feel slightly guilty, but his mother, who was always a good judge of these things, assured him that Miss Baines' cold had probably nothing to do with their outing, and besides it was nothing to be worried about. She did not consider it necessary to call in the doctor either, and so John assumed that Miss Baines would soon be well again. This turned out to be the case; Miss Baines emerged from her room on the third day, and the only thing that appeared to be left of her cold was a tendency to sit by the fireside wrapped up warm. John volunteered to keep her company, catching himself taking part in entertainments that would have bored him to tears in other circumstances, just to keep her amused. With Miss Baines he never felt bored.
"Have you made any progress in your enquiries while I was ill?" she asked him, carefully selecting a thread for the slippers she was embroidering.
"None. I fear the Highwayman is somewhere near, waiting for us to give up on him."
"Then you must not give up," she said, smiling. "He will betray himself sooner or later."
"You forget that I will not remain here for much longer. Duty calls."
"There is that," she agreed and added, "I am afraid the Highwayman is aware of this circumstance."
"I'd lay you any odds that he is," John said.
"How about setting up a trap?" she suggested. "Let it be known that you are expecting a visit from a wealthy aunt."
"And let Morrison dressed in women's clothes play the part? There are two problems with that, Miss Baines. First of all, everyone around here knows that I do not have a wealthy aunt, and secondly, if I had one I doubt she'd come here to bait the Highwayman."
"True. Some females are sadly lacking in courage," Miss Baines remarked.
John laughed. "This almost sounds as if you'd volunteer for the part if I was mad enough to attempt the scheme," he said.
"Why not? It would depend on the plan, naturally, and on who is in charge of putting it in action. I believe I can trust you to make sure I do not have to face any real danger."
"I would not let you do it," John said. Anyone but Clara Baines, in fact, he thought. "We have not yet reached the stage when I would willingly allow you to take the slightest risk."
"Will we ever reach that stage?"
"No." Not certain whether Miss Baines had understood just how serious he was about this, he added, "I'd be a villain to permit it."
"Correct me if I am wrong," Miss Baines said. "The Highwayman can only be convicted if he is either caught red-handed or some of the items that were stolen are found in his possession, though I am not certain about the latter contingency."
"I am afraid that this is so," John said gloomily.
"So what are you doing to catch him red-handed? I take it you will not get permission to search Mr Norman's belongings or Mr Summers', for that matter. In fact it is far more likely for you to search Mr Norman's house with his permission than Mr Summers' room in Colby Hall, and I am no longer sure Mr Norman is one of the suspects."
"Nor am I. Yet I am reluctant to exonerate him. We may not have any evidence that he did it, but we do not have any clues pointing the other way."
"Except the fact that it would have been almost impossible for him to rob the Morgans," Miss Baines pointed out.
"The same thing applies to Summers, however. He might have got there in time, but it would have been difficult for him to get away from Colby Hall his aunt was hosting that ball. Somebody would have taken note of his absence."
"Not while everyone was going home," Miss Baines pointed out. "In that bustle he could have left easily."
"And ridden a farm-horse in evening dress? Surely someone would have taken notice of that."
"You have a point," Miss Baines said. "We must have missed something. Do you think it was one of the Overton brothers after all?"
"No. I have no reason to believe it, apart from the fact that one of Overton's horses may have been used for the robberies, and we know anyone could have got hold of that animal without the least difficulty. We'll just have to keep patrolling the country hoping that we will catch the fellow red-handed, as you said."
Her eyes widened, and only then John became aware that he had told Miss Baines something he'd taken pains to conceal from her. Although she was making an effort to hide it, John could see that she was furious.
"So this is why you looked so tired all these days," she said. "And I was feeling sorry for you, I was worried you might fall ill again, fool that I was! You do not trust me!"
"I do trust you, Miss Baines; I merely felt that you had better take no part in this."
"You forget that I promised you I would not take part in such activities as that. Yet I would have liked to know what you were planning to do."
"Why?"
"Because I could have helped you sort out your clues? Who knows? Sometimes even a silly girl like me can make herself useful!"
"You may be many things, Miss Baines, but you are not silly," John protested. "Nor did I ever think you were."
"Maybe not silly, but untrustworthy nevertheless." Miss Baines sighed. "I have the headache, so I will retire. Good night, Captain Gilbert, and good luck with your vigil. I wish you success; I am no longer going to take any part in your investigations since you do not seem to trust me enough to take me into your confidence."
The headache had merely been an excuse for Clara to leave the drawing room. She wanted to be alone; her argument with Captain Gilbert, though not the first one, had upset her more than she dared to admit even to herself. She allowed the maid to assist her in undressing, and then lay down on her bed crying herself to sleep. She had known Captain Gilbert did not view her with anything more than tolerance; there was nothing new about that. But it had been Clara who had come up with the most useful clues so far, and she took it very much to heart that he still took pains to exclude her from his investigations.
Clara awoke from a troubled sleep some time past midnight. She rose from her bed and lit the candle on her bedside table to see just how late it was. Her cold was still making itself felt, and so she went to her dressing table to get a fresh handkerchief. As she pulled the drawer open, she heard the sounds of a fight from outside. She went to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked out. At first she could not see much her eyes were not used to the dark. But as she closed the curtain behind her and stood watching for a few moments, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. It was a clear, moonlit night, and Clara could see as far as the road leading out of Hermitage Wood. The noise was coming from there she could see the indistinct shapes of two men on horseback; it was not unlikely that they were having some argument or other. Then the meaning of what she was observing struck her could it be that one of the men was the Highwayman? If she could somehow reach them before the Highwayman got away, maybe she could see something by which they could later identify the man.
Hurriedly, she slipped into a dark pelisse and her shoes; yet while she was doing so she heard another noise that made her blood run cold. A shot; and then, after a few seconds, another. Clara did not hesitate; she ran down the stairs, unbolted the door and ran over to the stables where she knew she would find a lantern. She had to try and find the Highwayman's victim, and hoped there was still something she could do for whoever it was. As she lit the candle in the lantern, it occurred to her that it could have been one of the men who were patrolling the countryside was it Captain Gilbert? The thought of him lying there helpless made her run across the courtyard and towards the gate in a most unladylike fashion not to speak of her attire, which would certainly cause comment in anyone likely to see her. As she reached the road she tried to determine which way she ought to go. Where exactly had she seen the two horsemen?
She turned right towards Hermitage Wood first, and slowly walked along the road, holding up the lantern so she could see where she was going. Still she almost fell over the victim, whom she found lying under a bush by the roadside just at the entrance of Hermitage Wood. It was Mr Gilbert, and for a moment Clara feared that he was dead.
Only when she set the lantern down next to him and felt his pulse she realised that he was still living and breathing though how long this would be the case if she did not get him back to the house soon she did not know. Without help, however, Clara knew that her attempts would be fruitless. There was no way she could drag or carry Mr Gilbert to his parents' home. Besides, she noticed, he appeared to have lost a great deal of blood, and she was not certain if she could move him without his losing more.
She tried to revive him first, and after shaking him and slapping his cheeks a couple of times she had the satisfaction of him returning to consciousness and recognising her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked feebly.
"I am here to make sure you do not achieve your ambition too soon," she told him.
He frowned. "My ambition?"
"Your ambition of becoming an angel, sir."
"Oh. That one." He smiled, and tried to rise to his feet.
"Stay seated for a moment, Mr Gilbert," Clara told him. "Can you tell me where you were hit?"
"My right shoulder," he said. "He was aiming for my head, but he missed it, thank God."
If that had been so, Clara wondered why the Highwayman had not stayed to finish what he had begun. She did not say so, however, but instead took a couple of handkerchiefs out of her pocket she had had the foresight to take them along with her and began to rip them up to use them as temporary bandages. The most important thing now was to make sure that Mr Gilbert did not lose any more blood and that they were found soon.
He remained still while she bound his wound. "Is your brother anywhere near here?" Clara asked him when she had finished her task. "You were not on your own, were you?"
"They must be somewhere near Overton's farm," Mr Gilbert said, lying back. It was obvious that he needed help soon, but Clara did not dare leave him, afraid that the Highwayman might come back to kill Mr Gilbert after all. She decided that there was nothing for it but to cry for help yet she knew that they were unlikely to be found in time. In the dark, it was difficult to discern where a cry for help had come from, Clara knew. Then her eyes fell on a pile of twigs someone had collected in the forest and placed next to the road ready for picking them up later. Silently begging their forgiveness, Clara took the lamp and walked across the road to that pile. She opened the lantern, took out the candle and held it against the twigs, praying that the wood would not give her any difficulty. It did not it went up into flames immediately.
"What are you doing?" Mr Gilbert wanted to know as she sat down next to him.
"If we want to be found we must make people come here," she replied. "A fire where no fire should be will draw their attention."
"I see," Mr Gilbert said, and fainted.
John had given strict orders that no member of his patrol should ever be on his own. He rode with Morrison, while Simon and Atkins made a team. So far, this had always worked. There was safety in numbers; the Highwayman was unlikely to attack two armed men. But the moment he found Atkins riding up to Morrison and him, with no Simon in sight, John feared that something had gone wrong.
"I'm sorry, sir; I've lost Mr Simon," Atkins told John.
"Where?"
"In Hermitage Wood we heard a sound in the thicket as if someone was hiding there and went after it. I thought Mr Simon was right next to me while we searched the forest, but suddenly he was gone."
It was at that moment that they heard the shots. John's heart almost stopped. "Let's go to Hermitage Wood," he snapped, and spurred his horse. Morrison followed closely at his heels, with Atkins bringing up the rear.
All the while John wondered how to proceed once they got to the forest. How were they to find Simon, in the forest, in the dark? What were they going to find there? John remembered how he'd persuaded his brother to assist them in their search, and how reluctant Simon had been. If it had not been for him, Simon would be sleeping peacefully in his bed at the Vicarage, with no danger to life and limb. If Simon had come to serious harm, John would never be able to forgive himself.
"There's a fire over there," Morrison cried, and John looked in the direction indicated by his friend. Morrison was right; there was a fire where none should be.
"Maybe it's a trap," Atkins faltered, but John did not care. The Highwayman would hardly draw their attention to his person, he felt. They would go and see where the fire was, and what it was all about, although John did pull his pistol out of his pocket to be on the safe side.
"There's someone lying on the ground," Morrison, who was by this time ahead of John, said. "And someone is sitting with him. Looks like a woman."
In the light of the fire, John recognised the woman as they came closer. It was Miss Baines.
"Hell and the Devil confound it," he swore. "Why am I not surprised?"
He was taken aback at the rush of anger that ran through him, however anger and ice-cold fear. Miss Baines had been out of doors in the middle of the night, not far from where the Highwayman had been. Did she actually know what risk she had taken?
As he dismounted, this was the first thing he asked her. "Are you quite out of your senses, Miss Baines? Do you realise what danger you have put yourself in?"
Miss Baines calmly looked up at him. "Get your brother back to the house, Captain Gilbert. He will need a doctor to attend to him," she said. "Once you have done that, you can still rebuke me as much as you like."
John went over to Simon, who was lying on the ground, looking so pale that John was not certain whether he was still alive.
"He is still breathing," Miss Baines told him, guessing correctly what he had been thinking. "The wound is in his shoulder; I bandaged it but I am not sure how long the bandage will stop the bleeding. He has lost a great deal of blood, I am afraid."
John snapped into action. "Atkins, you ride to the village and get the doctor to Antigua Lodge," he commanded. "Morrison, you help me carry my brother to the house. Miss Baines, can you lead the horses back to the house? Where is my brother's horse, by the way?"
"I have no idea," Miss Baines said, rising. "I did not see a horse it must have run away."
"Never mind about the horse it'll find its way back to its stables," Morrison said. "Come now; there's no time to be lost."
John went to Simon's head, and tried to lift him in such a way as would cause him the least discomfort. All the while as they were carrying Simon across the lawn towards the house, John prayed that his brother would live. He had not deserved to die not for obliging his family, and trying to bring a dangerous criminal to justice.
They came to the house, and Morrison rang the doorbell. It seemed like hours until Walter appeared at the door.
"What has happened?" he wanted to know. Then his eyes fell on Simon and he opened the door wide. "I'll ring for the servants," he said and hurried back to the study, where he'd sat up during his vigil.
Miss Baines helped John and Morrison carry Simon into the library. She left the work to Morrison and Collins now; they knew what they were doing. Then her gaze fell on the mirror above the mantelpiece, and she grew pale with horror. The entire front of her dress John took considerable pains not to identify it as a nightdress was covered in blood.
"I am feeling rather faint," she murmured, and John quickly hurried to her side to support her. She was leaning against him and closed her eyes. "I had no idea there was so much blood," she whispered. "Do you think he'll live, Captain Gilbert?"
"It won't be your fault if he does not, Miss Baines," John said. "You have done your best to keep him alive. Was the fire your idea?"
"Yes; I felt you needed some help in locating us. Oh I picked up Mr Gilbert's pistol, he must have dropped it. I have it in my pocket." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a vicious-looking weapon.
John stared at it. "This does not belong to Simon," he said slowly. "Which can only mean one thing."
Miss Baines sat up straight, suddenly alert, her faintness quite forgotten. "It must belong to the Highwayman then," she said. "A valuable clue at last! The owner of the pistol must be the Highwayman!"
It was an eventful night. The doctor arrived with Atkins not long after they had got back to Antigua Lodge, and took one heavy weight from their shoulders. Mr Gilbert's injury was serious; and if he had not been found in time he might well have bled to death. But since he had been found so quickly, and Miss Baines had acted with such presence of mind, the doctor said, he was very likely to recover. No important blood-vessel had been injured, nor was there any damage to Mr Gilbert's lungs. Provided there was no infection of the wound, Mr Gilbert would be fine, although there was no saying how long it would take him to recover fully.
It was at this point that Clara went to bed, but try as she might she could not sleep. After several futile attempts, she got up again, got dressed and went downstairs to the library, where she hoped to find something to read to pass the time until the rest of the household got out of their beds. Arriving there, she found that she was not the only person in the house who had had this idea. Captain Gilbert was sitting there, and rose from his chair as she entered the room.
"Miss Baines! You should be sleeping!" he exclaimed. "You must be quite exhausted."
"As you must be," Clara replied. "Yet you are awake."
"I could not sleep," he admitted. "Last night's events I am used to this kind of thing; I've seen plenty of blood and similar injuries to my brother's back in Spain, but somehow it was different; it did not affect me as much as it does now, when Simon is the victim. - I wanted to sit with him to see how he was doing, but Nurse has sent me off to bed. Just like the old days, really."
Clara smiled. "Old family retainers are good at reducing one to the state one was in years ago," she remarked. "I know my old nurse usually does."
"Is she still in your family's employ then?"
"Oh yes, she is taking care of my house in Surrey. My father's house, I ought to say, but it belongs to me now. How is your brother?"
"As well as can be expected," Captain Gilbert said. "Miss Baines, I I am sorry for having spoken sharply to you when I found you with my brother. If it had not been for you, he might be dead by now. How can we ever repay you for what you have done for us?"
Clara felt the blood rise to her cheeks; she was blushing. "I do not need any repayment for the things I do for my friends," she said quietly. "I am not keeping accounts there should not be anything of that kind between friends. Mr Gilbert needed assistance, and luckily I was on the spot and happened to do the right thing. I am glad he will recover."
She sat down on the sofa where Mr Gilbert had been not long before. There were still bloodstains on the cushions; the servants had probably not seen the stains in the chaos that had followed their arrival in the house.
"I wonder why the Highwayman shot Mr Gilbert," she said.
"My brother was armed," Captain Gilbert told her. "He may have felt the need to shoot before being shot."
"Probably. He also shot Captain Morrison because he was trying to get his pistol from his pocket, didn't he?"
"Quite right. This is getting personal now, you know. First he shot my friend, then my brother. I am beginning to wonder who will be next."
"He might shoot you," Clara said. "Do promise me to be careful what you are about, Captain Gilbert!"
He laughed, and took her hand. "I am always careful, Miss Baines," he told her, gave her hand a slight squeeze, and got up from his chair. "Thank you for your concern nevertheless. - I think I am going to give it another try there is a great deal of sleep I must catch up on. You should try to go back to sleep too, Miss Baines. You've been through an ordeal, and need some rest."
Clara followed his advice, returned to her room and undressed. For a while, sleep evaded her, but in the end her fatigue got the better of her and she fell asleep. She awoke to the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut Amanda was paying her a visit, and by the look on her face Clara could tell that she was not in the mood to be amiable. Clara suspected that Amanda had found out what had happened during the night, and resented not having been woken to take part in the drama.
"I hope you slept well," Amanda cried indignantly.
"I did," Clara told her. "Though to be frank I could have done with some more repose."
"You should have thought of that before."
"Before what, Amanda?" Clara inquired.
"Before going to bed leaving me in ignorance of my brother's impending death," Amanda cried.
"Is Mr Gilbert dying?" Clara asked, taken aback. "I thought the doctor said there was no immediate danger to his life!"
"He could have been! And I have a right to know when one of my brothers is in mortal danger! I might have made myself useful!"
"Mr Gilbert was in good hands; there was no need to wake you or your mother. If he had indeed been in any danger I am sure Captain Gilbert would have let you know, but as it was he decided to tell you in the morning."
"You could have told me even if John did not!"
"By the time we got back to the house I was not fit to be seen," Clara said. "You would not have relished having me come to you in the middle of the night, in a nightdress all covered in blood."
Amanda shuddered, but told Clara that she would not have minded in the least. "It it was my duty to look after my brother!" she cried.
"You may still look after him," Clara soothed her. "He is not in danger of dying but he will need someone to take care of him for some time to come. You will have plenty of opportunity to make yourself useful."
This announcement did nothing to pacify Amanda, however. She flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her, and Clara realised that her friend was truly angry with her. She feared that Lady Gilbert, too, might resent Captain Gilbert's decision not to wake his mother or sister. This fear was unfounded, however, as Clara discovered at the breakfast table. At any rate Lady Gilbert did not feel any resentment towards her; on the contrary, she showered Clara with declarations of gratitude, which Clara found almost embarrassing. She did not feel she had done anything out of the ordinary, and disliked being treated as if she had.
Later, when she met Captain Gilbert outside his brother's room, she told him as much.
"But you have done something out of the ordinary, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert told her. "You kept your head in a situation where most people I know men and women alike would have lost theirs, and did what was necessary to save my brother's life. My mother's gratitude is by no means excessive."
"Oh, I do realise that Lady Gilbert's feelings are only natural, but I do not feel that my merit truly deserves her praise. In fact I had rather you told me off for being out of doors at that time."
"You will not hear me do that," Captain Gilbert said. "Ever."
"Too bad," Clara said with a laugh. "I was getting used to it. Did you find out who the pistol belongs to?"
"I had a look at it," Captain Gilbert said. "It's a duelling pistol, so there must be another of the same kind somewhere. Made by Manton, rather expensive. A showy piece of work, really, and not the kind either Norman or any of the Overtons could afford. Even without the evidence of Timothy Colby's initials on the weapon."
"Mr Colby!" Clara exclaimed. "I cannot believe it!"
"Nor can I," Captain Gilbert admitted. "But I suppose Summers would not find it difficult to get his hands on his cousin's duelling pistols if he wanted to."
"How to prove it?" Clara asked.
"I'll have to find a way," Captain Gilbert simply said.
News of the attack on the young vicar travelled fast, and the first visitors arrived before noon to inquire after his well-being. Clara took it upon herself to deal with those, as Lady Gilbert felt unequal to the task and had taken to her bed, and Amanda was keeping her mother company. Sir Cecil and Captain Gilbert had made their way to Colby Hall soon after breakfast and Clara did not expect them back until the afternoon. Unfortunate though the incident had been, Clara thought, at least it had given them the decisive clue, the evidence needed to bring the dangerous criminal who had terrorised Colby Green for weeks to justice.
Mr and Miss Swinford were sitting with Clara, and she left it to Mr Swinford to speak for the family. It was quite clear that he had received instructions from his cousin or his uncle, for he gave nothing away, and not the most skilful of village gossips were able to extract any information from him that he did not wish to share. He confirmed that his cousin had been attacked by the Highwayman, and that he had been injured; he reassured the anxious parishioners that while the Reverend Mr Gilbert's injury was serious he was in no immediate danger, and that Sir Cecil was naturally doing his best to discover who had committed the assault.
"What a dreadful thing it is," Mrs Norman lamented, "that not even a man of the cloth remains unmolested! I certainly hope Sir Cecil will succeed in finding the villain, for I am afraid I will not be able to get a wink of sleep until he does!"
"That would indeed be a pity," Captain Morrison, who had in the meantime joined them and was sitting with Miss Swinford as usual, said. "We all know what harm lack of sleep can do to one's complexion."
Mrs Norman obviously did not see through Captain Morrison's attempt at satire, and earnestly considered that question, telling him that this was one of her major concerns.
"But where is Captain Gilbert? The poor man; how shocked he must have been when he found his brother!"
"We were all shocked, ma'am," Captain Morrison said calmly. "Captain Gilbert is not at home, I am afraid. He went out with his father to make inquiries."
"Of course!" Mrs Norman cried. "Do they know who did it, then?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell," Captain Morrison said, quite truthfully, Clara thought.
John was not looking forward to the encounter that he knew lay before him. Not only would he have to convince Summers' relatives that they were housing a dangerous criminal amongst them; they'd also have to face the man himself, and that meeting could be nothing but unpleasant. John did not expect Summers to admit to his crimes; there was too much at stake for him. Highway robbery was a hanging offence; John knew that as well as anyone else. Summers must have been aware of that. Maybe this was why he'd shot Simon had Simon recognised the man? Yet John hoped that there was some remnant of decency in George Summers' character. He had not shot Miss Baines; though he must have been somewhere near her when she had found Simon. He had lost his pistol of course, but even without that he would have found it easy to overpower her; if Summers had decided to attack Miss Baines would have been unable to fight him.
John had told his father about the pistol, and had informed him of his suspicions regarding George Summers. The final clue had been a letter from a friend in London, who had told John that Summers was an inveterate gambler, and had recently lost an enormous sum at cards. There was a motive then, John thought, although he suspected that that was not the only reason why Summers had taken to highway robbery.
As John and his father arrived at Colby Hall it became evident that their visit had been expected. The butler immediately led them into the library, where they found Timothy Colby seated at Lord Waldegrave's desk.
"I am afraid my father is not here," he said when Sir Cecil asked him whether Lord Waldegrave was at home. "Nor is my cousin, whom you have come to see, I suppose."
"Mr Colby, your cousin is under suspicion," Sir Cecil told him. "We have every reason to suppose that he must have been on the road last night, and that he shot and almost killed my son."
"I know," Colby merely said. "My cousin told me. This is why he is not here. Pray take a seat, gentlemen, and I will explain."
John and his father exchanged glances, but decided to do as Mr Colby had asked them.
"First of all," John told Colby, "I believe you will be able to identify this weapon." He pulled the pistol from his pocket. "It was discovered next to my brother yesterday night, and it has been fired. We have reason to believe that it was this weapon that caused my brother's injury."
"I am afraid it is," Mr Colby agreed. "And it is mine. It is one of a pair I bought only two months ago, in London. You are also right in your assumption that it was my cousin who shot Mr Gilbert. How is he?"
"He has seen better days," John said matter-of-factly. "But if all goes well he'll live."
"I am glad to hear it," Colby said. "Believe me when I tell you that had I known sooner what my cousin was up to, I'd have done my utmost to put a stop to it."
John nodded. Colby sounded sincere, and his pale demeanour and the occasional tremor in his voice betrayed his distress. John pitied him it was not often that a man discovered that his cousin was a common felon.
"But until I caught him as he returned to Colby Hall last night I had no idea no idea that he was the Highwayman everyone was looking for. George has always been the secretive sort, and he has got into some mad scrapes in his day. However, this is the first time he has broken the law, and it is going to be the last. Let me start by telling you that he will no longer bother anyone in Colby Green or England, for that matter."
"Are you meaning to tell us that he has left the country?"
"Quite so. We could not allow him to stay and stand his trial; we all know what the outcome would have been. The scandal would have ruined both my family and my cousin's all of whom are respectable people, in spite of what you may think of them. Even now my cousin is on his way to the West Indies, and it is unlikely that he should ever return. That, I believe, will be punishment enough."
"Will it?" John asked. "Not in my book."
"Captain Gilbert, I understand what you must be feeling on the occasion. I do not have a brother but I do not doubt that I would feel very much the same, in reversed circumstances. Please consider one thing, sir how would the ruin of my family help yours? Would it make any difference to what happened? Would it undo the events of last night?"
"It would not," John admitted. "On the other hand, sir, you must admit that I do not like the thought of my brother's assailant getting away with what he has done."
"He is not getting away with it. He had to leave in the certain knowledge that he can never set foot on English soil again," Colby pointed out. "To a man who has enjoyed everything London has to offer the prospect of ending his life on some remote island in the Caribbean can hardly be appealing. He will not be hanged, but knowing my cousin as I do I believe there will be times when he will think of being hanged as the preferable fate."
"I do not blame you for trying to keep your family out of this scandal," Sir Cecil remarked. "It is a dreadful affair, and if I were in your place I believe I would act in a similar way. But what are we to tell the people of Colby Green? After having been terrified of the Highwayman for weeks, they must know the truth or they will never feel safe again."
"Must they?" Mr Colby retorted. "Most of them will suspect it; my cousin's sudden departure will not pass unnoticed. All I ask of you is not to confirm their suspicions. I give you my word of honour that the highwayman of Colby Green is gone; what more do you need?"
"I don't know about anyone else," John said dryly, "but for my part I'd like to know how he managed to fool us all for so long. How did he do it, and why did he take to the High Toby in the first place?"
"It was sheer boredom," Colby told him. "That and some financial embarrassment or other. That problem could have been solved easily if he had applied to my father for assistance; it would not have been the first time for him to do so. You may know that my father abhors scandal of any kind; it is hardly surprising that my cousin, aware of this characteristic, made good use of it. To my knowledge, my father always came to my cousin's rescue, long after his own family had given up on him. This time, however, my cousin decided to raise the money in a more unconventional and more entertaining manner. He was bored, and so he decided to try if he could commit a robbery without being found out."
"It was a severe risk to take," John remarked.
"My cousin has always sought risk rather than avoided it," Colby said. "But even I was surprised at the length he would go to."
"Do you happen to know whether the two attacks in Hermitage Wood were his first? Or were there others before those?" John asked.
"No; the attack on Captain Morrison was his first attempt," Colby replied. "It went wrong, as you know. The Captain was not frightened but put up a fight. I do not suppose George would have made the attempt, had he known who Captain Morrison was. He is no fool; he was going for easy victims most of the time."
"A man travelling on his own on horseback," John said. "I can see how your cousin made his mistake. Was this why he attempted to kill him?"
"No, that was an accident, or so George tells me," Colby replied. "He had not meant to hurt anyone, but the pistol went off. Luckily Captain Morrison was not seriously hurt."
"Seriously enough for my taste," John said grimly. "Though I agree; it could have been worse. In spite of that unfortunate incident, Summers made another attempt that night."
"He had heard about Mr Norman dining with a friend, and knew for a fact that Norman, on his way home from a convivial evening, would be unable to offer him any resistance. His success in this second attempt made him wish for more, apparently. He liked the excitement, the power he held over his victims, and so he planned his next robbery."
"The Morgans," John said. "To be honest it puzzles me how he managed to commit that hold-up without anyone noticing he was gone. There was a ball at his home going on at the time how could he absent himself for at least an hour without anyone taking notice?"
"Oh, I did notice his absence," Colby said. "In fact he told me about it beforehand. He told me someone had bumped into him and made him spill his wine all over his front, which made it necessary for him to change his clothes. That was true enough; his waistcoat was a mess. I told him not to bother but to go to bed instead; I'd tell my mother what had happened and since most guests were leaving anyway he would not be missed. So he wished me a good night and went."
"You did not suspect anything when you found out about the robbery the next morning?" Sir Cecil asked.
"No; I am not in the habit of suspecting my relatives of heinous crimes," Colby retorted. "I looked in on my cousin when I went to bed about an hour and a half later because there was something I wished to tell him, and found him fast asleep, or so I thought. Why should I think that he'd had anything to do with the robbery? He had given me no reason to suspect him."
Sir Cecil nodded.
"After that, my cousin found it more and more difficult to continue his criminal career. He knew that you were patrolling the country, Captain Gilbert, and once or twice you almost crossed paths with him. Last night he wanted to make another attempt to get at his loot which was hidden in Hermitage Wood so no one in this house would find it and get away. This attempt was foiled by your brother and your gamekeeper, I believe. He managed to separate them, and hoped to escape without being followed. Without success. Your brother caught him just outside Hermitage Wood, and appears to have been determined to stop him. He fired the first shot, no doubt to give the alarm. My cousin decided not to take any chances, and shot him. Your brother owes his life mainly to the fact that these pistols are fairly new, and that my cousin is not familiar with them; nor is he an expert shot. Mr Gilbert fell off his horse, the horse bolted, and my cousin did not stay to see whether Mr Gilbert was dead or merely injured. It was not until later that he realised that the pistol must have dropped out of his pocket when he made his escape. Upon his return to the spot he was unable to find it, and drew the only natural conclusion that you must have found it. Realising the mess he was in, he came home and, when I asked him where he'd been confessed what he had done. Needless to say I was shocked."
"And so you decided to get him out of the country," John said.
"It was the only thing I could do," Colby replied. "I realise that you do not agree with this course of action, but try to see my point of view for a moment. What would you have done, in a similar situation? I had to avoid a scandal, and to make sure my cousin had no chance of continuing in his ruinous career. I did not want him hanged for his crimes, though of course punishment of some kind was necessary."
"I am glad to see that you agree with me on that point at least," John said acidly. "Very well. What has been done cannot be undone, so we must make the best of it. Where is the loot? Is it still in Hermitage Wood?"
"Yes, I decided to leave it there for you to find," Colby replied. "To prove I have told you the truth. According to my cousin, it is hidden in the Hermitage ruin."
"All of it?"
"All of it, except some money from Mr Norman's purse. But I am going to replace the sum. My cousin could not get rid of the other valuables while he was staying here; he was planning to sell them when he got back to Town."
"We will return them to their owners," Sir Cecil said, "and tell them that the booty has been found. They will be glad to get their possessions back, and maybe refrain from asking too many questions."
"Let us hope so," Mr Colby said. "Be assured, sir, that I will do everything in my power to assist you in keeping this matter quiet."
Sir Cecil nodded. "So will I, but I fear it will become known nevertheless," he said. "Give my regards to your mother, sir. The poor lady must be devastated."
Colby said what was proper, apologised for not being able to offer them any more assistance, and then they took their leave.
There was nothing more to be said; the crime was solved but the culprit had made his escape. All that was left for them to do was to find the booty and return it to their rightful owners. That, and keeping the truth from the people of Colby Green. It was not going to be an easy thing to do, and, in John's opinion, it was wrong. But his father had given Colby his word, and this meant that he, too, was in honour bound to keep quiet. It was an unsatisfactory conclusion to say the least, but at least now there was an end to the Highwayman affair, and John could turn his attention to other, more pleasant things.
John was glad not to be obliged to face any of his neighbours upon his return home. He went upstairs to his brother's room to see how he was doing, but found his condition unchanged. Simon was still unconscious, which was hardly surprising since the doctor had given him a paregoric medicine, saying that the best thing the Reverend could do was to sleep, since it reduced the danger of fever. His mother was sitting with Simon, and asked him, anxiously, if they had been successful in finding the villain who had done this to his brother.
Evasively, John replied that the matter had been taken care of and that she need not feel any apprehension on that score. The Highwayman would not bother Colby Green any more. Luckily, Lady Gilbert did not ask any further questions, but the encounter had made John aware of another problem Miss Baines. While he had promised not to confirm the suspicions anyone might have, he knew Miss Baines would not take kindly to being left out, and to say the truth he did not wish to keep her ignorant. She knew enough to draw her own conclusions; she had been involved with their investigations, and not letting her know the outcome would be highly unjust. Yet John had given his word, which made it rather difficult for him. He had to find a way to let her know that he had not chosen to be reticent; that it had been forced on him. She was an intelligent woman; she would understand.
He found her sitting in the window seat in the drawing room, working on some embroidery as was her custom at this time of day. Before John could say anything, she looked up and smiled at him, and he suddenly found that he could not bring himself to say anything that would take that smile off her face. Yet, even without him saying anything her smile faded and she gave him a searching look.
"You do not look very happy, Captain," she stated. "Certainly not like a man who has settled a difficult problem to his satisfaction."
"Well, I haven't," John admitted.
"Mr Summers got away?"
"He has suddenly decided to leave England, and his family prefer to keep his reasons for doing so a secret."
"In other words, you have given them your word that you will not tell."
"I had to," John said apologetically. "But to be honest I never considered including you in that promise you know enough to draw your own conclusions, and to form a correct opinion. You knew who the Highwayman was even before we went to see Mr Colby."
"I am glad you trust me enough to tell me the truth," she said. "For, after all, who knows? I might run off to the village and tell every woman in the shop what we have come up with!"
John laughed. "I do not think there is any danger!"
"How little you know me, sir," Miss Baines said. "How am I supposed to pass an entire day without a good gossip?"
"I have always marvelled at that; however you seem to manage very well. I always find you busy with one thing or another."
At that moment, Amanda entered the room, heaving a sigh of relief. "I had no idea keeping house was so difficult," she cried. "I wonder that Mama has not been sick of it for decades! It is the most tedious task one can think of I can understand why you left it to me, Clara!"
"It is not my place to interfere with your mother's housekeeping, Amanda," Miss Baines said calmly. "While I am always glad to help, as you know, it would be a piece of grave impertinence of me if I gave orders in your mother's house when she has a daughter to take care of such matters. Besides you were so angry this morning because we had not informed you when your brother was taken home, I did not dare leave you out again." She turned to John. "Your sister has volunteered to take her mother's place for a while; so Lady Gilbert is at leisure to sit with your brother," she told him.
"She has? That's very good of you, Amanda," John said.
The compliment pleased his sister; he could tell. "I knew I could do it," she boasted. "There was no need for Mrs Lane to ask Clara what to do; I managed very well."
"Like everyone else in the house, Mrs Lane must have been greatly shocked when she heard what had happened to Mr Gilbert," Clara said. "It must have been the shock, and to her credit I must say she did realise her error at once."
There was that, Amanda admitted, and then she left them again, fully conscious of her importance.
"You had to endure a domestic scene while we were gone, I presume," John said dryly.
"Nothing I could not deal with, I assure you," Miss Baines replied. "I told Mrs Lane that Miss Gilbert or Miss Swinford were the proper persons to appeal to, which mollified Amanda in an instant. I cannot understand why Mrs Lane thought of me in the first place."
"Can't you? Mrs Lane must have realised, as we all have, that you are a very capable young lady. So naturally she turned to you for instructions." There was probably another reason as well, John thought. Mrs Lane was a shrewd woman; one who had probably noticed that John was taking considerable interest in Miss Baines and who was not likely to miss an opportunity to establish friendly terms with the future mistress of Antigua Lodge.
The thought made John aware that he had every intention of marrying Miss Baines. It was too soon to tell her so, naturally while they were on amicable terms with each other this did not mean that she would seriously consider him a suitable husband. There were many reasons even he could think of why she had better not marry him; the most important one being his profession. Why should a woman marry a soldier; a man who was not likely to be at home when she needed him one who was not even likely to live to an old age? She would have to be really in love to consider doing so, and John did not believe Miss Baines had reached that stage yet. She liked him, as much was certain, and if he played his cards right and did his best to fix his interest with her they might, towards the end of her stay with his family, reach some kind of agreement. If John was lucky, they would be able to get married once he returned from Spain, but it would mean a long engagement for them both. That war, John thought gloomily, was likely to last a while.
"Did you happen to find Mr Su the Highwayman's loot?" Miss Baines asked him, effectively bringing this thoughts back to the here and now.
"Not yet; but he told Colby where he had hidden it," John replied. "It is in the Hermitage ruins, and I am planning to go there later to retrieve it."
"You will need help; unless Mr Colby has been able to tell you exactly where it has been hidden," she said.
"Are you offering to assist me? I was going to ask Morrison and Atkins to do so, but if your heart is set on a treasure hunt I do not have the heart to refuse you," John laughed.
"What a change of heart, sir," Miss Baines retorted. "Considering the pains you took to exclude me from your investigations at first."
"One lives and learns," John said. "And if there is one thing I have learned it is that trying to exclude you from anything you wish to take part in never works."
In the end it was not only Clara who joined the search party heading for Hermitage Wood. Amanda had protested hotly against staying at home; she needed some fresh air after having had so much work to do all morning. Besides, she added, it was highly improper that Clara should go for a long walk with only gentlemen for company; Mama would not like it, nor was Mrs Blackwell likely to approve of such forward behaviour. Clara, who knew that neither What Mama Thought nor Mrs Blackwell's opinion weighed much with her friend, invited her to come with them, realising that her protest was mainly founded in her fear of missing out on something interesting going on. No one had told her of Mr Summers' sudden departure, or why they had decided that the Highwayman's loot must be hidden in the hermitage ruins. They merely told Amanda that, since the Highwayman had been seen in Hermitage Wood the night before, they had some expectation of finding clues. Amanda entered wholeheartedly into the spirit of the scheme, demonstrating to her companions that there was still a great deal of childlike enthusiasm in her character in spite of her advanced age she was going to turn seventeen in a month and was quite grown up, she said.
Clara did not really share her friend's enthusiasm when they arrived at the site. The hermitage ruin had not looked particularly large to her when she had previously visited it, but now that they were to search it for Mrs Morgan's jewellery and Mr Norman's purse it seemed huge.
"Where do we start?" she asked Captain Gilbert. "Is there any hiding place more likely than others?"
"I cannot think of any at the moment," he replied.
"Do you mean to tell me that you never hid anything here when you were a boy? I can hardly believe it."
"We did there used to be a hollow tree not far from here. But it is no longer there. My father had it cut down a couple of years ago."
"Thereby depriving his grandchildren of a hiding place for their valuables," Clara laughed. "Poor things!"
"They'll find another place," Captain Gilbert said. "I am sure they will. Although I am not quite certain whether I'd allow them to come to this place, after what has happened here."
"From what I know of children, I would say forbidding it will be a sure way of getting them here," Clara said. "If you truly wish them to stay away you must order them to come and look at the ruins as often as they can." Captain Gilbert laughed and agreed with Clara.
As they were searching the ruin, no one spoke. Amanda, especially, was eager to be the one to find the treasure, as she termed it, and her dedication was rewarded. It was she who found Mrs Morgan's jewels, hidden behind a loose stone in one of the crumbling walls. With an unladylike yell she alerted everyone to her discovery, and pulled a diamond necklace out of a cavity in the wall.
"Look what I've found!" she cried. "This is Mrs Morgan's necklace! I saw her wear it at the ball!"
Closer inspection revealed the other pieces of Mrs Morgan's diamond set; a bracelet, ear-rings and a ring. There was no trace of Mr Norman's purse, however. After they had searched for almost an hour without success, Captain Gilbert decided to take the ladies home but asked Atkins and Captain Morrison to keep looking.
As they walked along the road towards the gate of Antigua Lodge, a carriage drew up behind them Lord Waldegrave's carriage. His lordship, looking pale and careworn, offered to take them up in his carriage and drive them home, since he had business with Sir Cecil, he told them. Amanda was quick to accept the offer; being driven home in Lord Waldegrave's smart travelling coach was just the thing she wanted.
Unfortunately, Clara could not take part in the discussion that took place in Sir Cecil's study. She would have dearly wanted to know whether Lord Waldegrave had anything to say to enlighten them further, and somehow she felt the matter of the Highwayman had not come to a proper conclusion yet. What if Mr Summers had somehow got away and would come back for his spoils?
Clara had to wait until after dinner to find out what Lord Waldegrave had meant to tell Sir Cecil. Mr Summers was dead. "An unfortunate accident" had befallen him; at least this was how Sir Cecil chose to express himself when he informed them of the fact. But one look at Captain Gilbert's face told Clara that this was not the entire truth, and she took the first chance that offered to talk to him when Lady Gilbert and Amanda were obliged to take Miss Swinford to her room this piece of news, on top of what had happened to her cousin, had become too much for Miss Swinford's sensitive disposition to bear.
"What really happened to Mr Summers?" she asked Captain Gilbert in a whisper. "I do not quite believe that his death was an accident; it would be too much of a coincidence for my taste. Did he commit suicide? Or are you not allowed to tell me?"
Captain Gilbert sighed. "I have given my word not to discuss the reason for Summers' death with anyone," he told her.
"In other words I am correct in my assumption. Did his accident involve a rope, or some kind of firearm?"
Captain Gilbert looked at her, shocked. "It is rather callous of you to be talking of this sordid affair the way you do," he said.
"Is it? Mr Summers was a callous man," Clara replied. "I am sure he would not mind. He would probably speak about the matter in the same way."
After a moment's hesitation, Captain Gilbert said, "I suppose so. Well, since you know so much and since you have proved to me that you are well able to keep silent about certain things we do not want generally known I will tell you that Mr Summers was found dead in his room at an inn on the road to Liverpool, with a bullet wound in his head. It appears that he had managed to smuggle a small pistol into his portmanteau; and for once he did not use it to harm others."
"He must have known that there was no way out for him," Clara said, thoughtfully. "His life in the West Indies would have been quite different to what he was accustomed to."
Captain Gilbert gave her a disgruntled look. "It was his own choice," he said harshly. "No one ordered him to take to the High Toby; it was his decision. He almost killed two people, again because he wanted to. He terrorised an entire village for sport. I have a great deal of sympathy for a man who falls on hard times out of no fault of his own and is driven to desperate measures, but in this case I feel none."
"You are misunderstanding me, Captain Gilbert," Clara told him. "I do not feel sorry for Mr Summers. Like you, I am persuaded that he brought it on himself; and I for one think that his death solves a great deal of problems for Colby Green, as well as his family. The compassion I do feel is for them poor Lady Waldegrave! She was so fond of him! It must be dreadful for her!"
His features relaxed. "You are perfectly right, of course," he said. "Our sympathy must be with his relatives, and we must do our best to spare them additional pain. I know I can depend on you to do that, Miss Baines. Your generous and warm-hearted nature "
Sir Cecil interrupted their tκte-ΰ-tκte conversation at that point, and Captain Gilbert was no longer at leisure to describe Clara's warm-hearted and generous nature to her. It was too bad, she thought, for she had rather enjoyed listening to her own praise, especially when it was coming from Captain Gilbert.
It was almost a week before the doctor pronounced Mr Gilbert well enough to receive visitors. One of the first people admitted to his room apart from family members, who had regularly looked in on him before was Clara. He had expressed a wish to see her and thank her personally for her courage and resourcefulness, without which, he insisted, he would now be resting in the village churchyard.
Captain Gilbert appeared to share this opinion. "Here comes your guardian angel," he said to his brother as Clara was ushered into the room.
Mr Gilbert was sitting on a sofa by the window, with his brother next to him. A small table with a chessboard had been set beside the sofa; obviously the Captain had been doing his best to entertain his brother. Whoever was in charge of the white chessmen was soon going to suffer defeat, Clara thought, looking at chessboard. She noticed Mr Gilbert was trying to get to his feet in order to greet her properly, and begged him not to trouble himself. Captain Gilbert pulled up a chair for her, and she sat down.
"How are you, Mr Gilbert?" she inquired.
"Well enough to beat my brother soundly," Mr Gilbert said laughingly.
"I am glad to hear it," Clara said heartily.
"I have you to thank for this," Mr Gilbert replied. "I will be in your debt for as long as I live."
"I did what was necessary, nothing more," Clara said modestly. "It quite embarrasses me to be treated like a heroine when all I did was come to the aid of one who had been injured. Surely everyone would have done the same in my place."
"The question is whether they would have dealt with the emergency as competently as you did, Miss Baines," Mr Gilbert said, smiling. "I am afraid you will have to submit to being praised."
"I have submitted to worse things," Clara said, answering his smile with one of her own. "So you are in the process of beating your brother at chess?"
"It is a game Simon excels in," Captain Gilbert replied in his brother's place. "I am afraid I am not a worthy opponent; I cannot offer him a real challenge, but I daresay he finds my blunders just as amusing. That is I hope he does."
"Admit that you hoped to get the better of me for once, considering my weakened state," Mr Gilbert said, grinning.
"If that was my intention, dear brother, do you really think I'd admit to such an un-gentlemanly thought?" Captain Gilbert countered.
"Not while there is a lady present," Mr Gilbert agreed. "Especially if the lady is one whom you admire."
Clara felt herself blush. Did Captain Gilbert admire her? The thought was attractive; one she would have been only too glad to adopt. But having seen the woman he had admired once she tried to forget that notion as soon as it had entered her head. A man who had been in love with Mrs Morgan could hardly think someone like Clara Baines worth his notice. If there was any admiration in the case it was probably the kind of respect one felt for one who had demonstrated their capability in a difficult situation. She saw Captain Gilbert glare at his brother, no doubt because he did not wish him to rouse any expectations in Clara.
Doing her best to hide her confusion, Clara said, "I hope it does not upset you to talk about this, Mr Gilbert, but do you have any idea why Mr Summers shot you?"
"It must have been because I recognised him," Mr Gilbert said. "I had my suspicions before; but there was nothing I could prove, so I never divulged them. But the moment I saw him I was certain it was Summers, and he must have realised that it was so. Something in my demeanour must have betrayed me. In fact I am surprised that he did not make sure I was dead either it was because he found you on the site of the assault when he tried to go back, and was reluctant to attack a defenceless woman; or maybe he was not as cold-blooded as we thought and could not bring himself to do it. Either way we will never know. I am grateful that my life was spared; it is my conviction that there is some business I have yet to finish before my time has come."
"And what business would that be?" Captain Gilbert inquired.
"I do not know, but I am certain the one who has sent my guardian angel to the rescue will reveal it to me at one point," Mr Gilbert replied. "Everything in life happens for a reason." He turned to his brother. "I know you will not agree with me," he said. "You told me what you have seen in Spain; after such experiences as yours it must be difficult to keep one's faith."
"You are quite wrong," Captain Gilbert said, smiling. "Like you I believe that there is a reason why I am still here."
"I am glad to hear it, John."
Mr Gilbert looked tired, Clara thought and decided to put an end to her visit. "I believe I will leave you to your game, gentlemen," she said, rising from her chair. "I am happy to see that you are recovering your health, Mr Gilbert, and trust you will be able to leave your room before long. Good afternoon!"
Captain Gilbert also rose, and accompanied her to the door. "It is a fine afternoon," he remarked, and added, bluntly, "Have you been out at all today?"
"Not yet," Clara replied. "I may go for a walk in the garden with Miss Swinford later. She told me she had discovered some particularly beautiful violets and means to show them to me."
In fact, she had said so in Captain Morrison's presence, which had immediately prompted him to offer them his escort. Clara had agreed to the scheme, not because she was eager to see the violets but because she felt these two could do with every bit of assistance she could give them. It was obvious that they were very much in love with each other at least it was obvious to her and she wondered why they had not reached an understanding yet.
There was not going to be one that afternoon either, Clara thought as they walked along the central path towards the shrubbery, where Miss Swinford had found the violets. Captain Morrison might be in love, but he was not rag-mannered, and did not even think of attempting to rid them of their chaperon. Nor did Miss Swinford, who treated Clara like a favourite friend. They walked arm in arm, and Clara duly admired the violets in the shrubbery, the first of the year, Miss Swinford told her, and then listened to Miss Swinford's description of the garden attached to her family home in Herefordshire. Clara, in turn, told her about her father's house in Surrey, and the gardens there, which had been her mother's pride and joy.
It was at that point that Captain Gilbert joined their group. He informed them that he intended to get a breath of fresh air before the sun was gone entirely, but Clara suspected that he, being a good friend, had come to separate her from Captain Morrison and Miss Swinford so the Captain had Miss Swinford to himself. Clara did not know how he had contrived it, but she found herself walking ahead of them on Captain Gilbert's arm, and discussing what had passed in Mr Gilbert's room earlier on.
"Your brother is a very pious man," Clara remarked.
"He is," Captain Gilbert agreed. "My father had wanted him to become a lawyer, but he preferred the church, feeling that there was more good he could do there. His piety is not of the complacent kind that makes him feel superior to others, however. I often have a feeling that he does not consider himself a good man by his own standards, which are pretty high, I suspect. Still, he has a sound understanding of human nature, and a true love of people, which makes him very popular with the people in his parish. He also enjoys great respect hereabouts."
"I can see why," Clara agreed. "I have not often met a clergyman who entered into his profession with such fervour as Mr Gilbert."
"Let us hope he will be able to keep it up," Captain Gilbert said. "I sometimes fear he will become disillusioned at some point. It is not something to wish for, but by no means impossible."
"You are talking about your own experiences now, I suppose. I am afraid war will bring out the worst in some men."
"Yet it will bring out the best in others," Captain Gilbert said after a short pause. "It evens out, I think. I do not think my brother should have brought up the matter while you were there, Miss Baines; it may give you a wrong idea of my character. I I am not a cynic."
"I know you are not," Clara said, looking up at him. "Though for a while you may have believed you were."
He laughed, took her hand and dropped a light kiss on it. "How well you know me, Miss Baines! I delighted in thinking so, too! And then I met you. You may not know it, but it is very difficult to remain a cynic after having made your acquaintance."
There was something in his expression as he looked at her that made Clara's heart beat faster. She would have liked to think it was admiration, or more fondness, even. But she banished the thought from her mind, because, she confessed to herself, the disappointment of finding out that she had mistaken his intentions regarding her would be too great. He was flirting with her now that the Highwayman was gone and he was no longer as busy as he had been he was probably bored, and was trying to pass his time in a pleasant manner. There was nothing more to it, and she should enjoy it while it lasted and not waste a thought on what would happen once he left. Which would be soon, she knew, and she did not want to have her heart broken because she had mistaken a light-hearted flirtation for something more serious.
She took her hand from his and said, lightly, "I am always glad to help, as you know. Captain Morrison will be obliged to you for removing me from his presence. He must have been wishing me at Jericho this past half hour and more!"
"Morrison must have changed a great deal if he gave you that impression," Captain Gilbert said.
"Oh, he did his best not to," Clara said. "But with him and Miss Swinford smelling of April and May it must have been a trial to their patience to have me with them."
"They'd have found it easy to absent themselves if they had had that intention," Captain Gilbert said. "Morrison is most anxious to stick to the proprieties where my cousin is concerned."
"I dare say he does not want a shadow attached to his future wife's reputation."
"Who does? A man who truly loves and respects a woman will do anything but harm her."
"Do you happen to know whether there will be an announcement soon? I realise that you will not betray any confidences your friend may have made to you, but "
"There will be no announcement of any kind, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert said.
"But why not? You must agree that they would make a most delightful couple, and they are truly attached to each other!"
"I agree with you, and if it were for me to decide I could not think of a better husband for my cousin than Morrison. Her father is not likely to countenance the match, however. Morrison has no fortune to recommend him, and that, I am afraid, weighs a great deal with my uncle. He wants to see his daughter comfortably established; an officer with no income but his army pay and a mother dependent on him for support is not his notion of an ideal husband for Eleanor, no matter how unexceptionable his character may be."
"Oh dear! Poor Miss Swinford! But does Captain Morrison know?"
"I did warn him once, but he finds himself unable to stay away from her, or so he says."
"In these circumstances I find it unwise of him to be staying here," Clara reflected. "I understand that he meant to make himself useful during your investigations, but surely he must realise the danger to Miss Swinford's peace of mind as well as his own if he remains. If what you said is true, and he knows that there is no future for them in marriage, he ought to make himself scarce before further damage is done. Surely he does not mean to break Miss Swinford's heart!"
"Nothing could be further from his mind. He is not that kind of man," Captain Gilbert told her. "Like you he feels that it would be imprudent to remain here any longer. He received a letter from his mother this morning, and he told me he was going to spend the remainder of his furlough with her in Kent. He is going to leave us on Monday, and while I am sorry to see him go I realise that it is for the best."
"Poor Miss Swinford," Clara sighed, once again. "She will take it hard, I am sure! We can only hope that she will recover from her disappointment soon!"
However, from what she knew of Miss Swinford she did not think it was very likely. Clara resolved to do her best to cheer Miss Swinford up, but feared that whatever efforts were made in that direction were destined to fail. There was a tiny hope that the elder Mr Swinford would, if applied to, relent and give his permission for his daughter to marry an impecunious soldier. It was unjust that a couple so obviously attached to each other should be separated for no other reason but a lack of fortune on one side. However, Clara realised that her hope was based on her own wishes for the young couple rather than fact. Love was a wonderful thing she was becoming better acquainted with it every day but it was not something a family could live on. Without money, Captain Morrison had little hope of gaining Mr Swinford's consent.
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