“We’re not too far from home, girl,” she said reassuringly. Her horse made a soft out-breath of agreement.
Something doesn’t feel right.
She shook herself, sure she was being fanciful. It was those sightings of that dark-clad rider that were bothering her! She hadn’t seen him for a few days, but the memory had not faded. She wished she had told somebody about him.
“I don’t want to make a fuss.”
She bit her lip, straightened her back and rode on down the path. If she found out there was some logical explanation for the sightings, she would feel a complete fool for having worried anyone – especially Mama.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
Hestony whipped around in the saddle. She stared. She had thought somebody was watching her! Here, just off the path, a dark-clad rider had stopped his horse. He was wearing a hat and had a cravat pulled up around his throat, obscuring his mouth and somewhat muffling his voice. He was dressed all in black, and he was holding, with practiced ease, a pistol.
A highwayman!
Hestony froze. Her hands had gripped onto the reins as if they were glued in place. She stared at the pistol, with its ugly dark snout pointed at her. She felt sick.
“What are you doing out alone?” the highwayman demanded.
“I’m riding home,” Hestony said, then stopped. She should have told him she was not alone! She wanted to scold herself for stupidity. Her thoughts were coming to her slowly, as if they marched through custard.
“Where is your home?” he demanded.
“Hartfield Hall, in London,” she murmured. Why was her mind working so slowly? He stared at her as if she was mad. “I mean…that’s my home, but we’re not staying at my home at the moment.”
“We?”
“My mother and I,” she said sadly. “I mean…Please! Just let me go!”
He frowned at her. “I will, but only if you tell me how long you plan to stay.”
“For the duration of the summer!” she said, voice cracking with the strain. “Now – just let me go! Please?”
The man twitched his horse back a little. The barrel of the pistol lifted, pointing up. “You are free to go,” the man said gallantly. His voice had a low, smooth tone, which was almost sardonic. She shivered.
“Th…thank you.”
“Farewell, Lady Hestony!” he called gallantly-enough after her.
“You fool!” Hestony chided herself as she rode away. “What did you think you were doing? Telling him all that information!”
She stopped talking as she reached the foot of the hill. There, as they rode on along a path through friendly fields, she started crying.
“He knows where I’m staying, now. And that I’m alone, with Mama.”
She couldn’t believe how readily he’d obtained enough information to threaten her whole family from her!
And yet, she thought sadly, how would it have been possible for me to do any different?
She had been unable to think, to move – to speak! She would have told him anything just to make him put the pistol away.
She made herself breathe deeply, but her heart was racing like she’d climbed a hill and her hands on the reins had started shaking unstoppably. The storm broke as she reached her home.
“Easy, My Lady!” the overseer said as she rode at speed up to the stables. “Don’t slip, there!”
“Please…just unsaddle her and dry her off?” Hestony murmured, dismounting and walking away. She was too tired to engage with anybody right then. Her head pounded, and she had not yet stopped shivering.
“Lady Hestony!” the housekeeper declared as she stood in a pool of rainwater in the entrance-way, her riding-boots and the hem of her gown soaking wet. “I declare! You need to get in here and get out of those wet things as soon as…”
“Please, Mrs. Brookes, leave me alone.”
Hestony walked briskly up the stairs and tried to sneak past the drawing-room, where her mother was sitting at the table, a teacup balanced in one hand, a pile of pastries on the table in front of her.
“Hestony! Where were you? I was just getting…”
Her mother’s voice trailed off into silence as the world went black around Hestony.
Hestony woke up with something soft under her head. She shifted on the pillow, half-sitting. Her eyes were shut, and she could smell something herbal, and hear the clink of somebody stoking a fire. She felt cold.
“Cold,” she murmured.
“Oh, My Lady!” the voice of Mrs. Brooks was gentle. “Poor mite! Sit up, do. There. Now, we’ll fluff out this pillow and I’m just making a warming-pan to slip into the bed. You’ll be right as rain soon, so you will.”
“Thank you,” Hestony murmured weakly. She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. What had happened to her? All she could recall was the highwayman, and the pistol, and that terrible fear.
“What happened to me?” she asked.
“The doctor says you have a fever. Probably on account of getting wet in that rain. What a downpour! It’s a wonder anybody was out in that.”
I wouldn’t have been, Hestony thought sadly. Not if somebody hadn’t waylaid me on the road!
She closed her eyes again while the housekeeper filled the warming-pan with hot coals and slid it into the bottom of the bed. She felt delicious warmth creep up from her toes and felt her headache lessen.
“Thank you,” she murmured again.
She heard the housekeeper’s gentle words, though she was lighting the lamps and too far away for her to hear her properly. When next she opened her eyes, it was to hear her mother’s words.
“Hestony— Do sit. The doctor said you had to drink this tea. And look! It’s cold. Mrs. Brookes?”
“Please, Mama,” Hestony whispered. “Let me sleep.”
“Nonsense!” Mama said briskly. “Doctor Steading said you needed this tea three times a day. I’m not about to let you die for wanting to rest!”
“Mama, please…” she protested weakly. “I’m not going to die. I just have a fever.”
“There’s no such thing as just a fever,” her mother said firmly. “Now, drink.”
Hestony stopped protesting and half-sat against the pillows. Her mother passed her a cup. The liquid inside was greenish and smelled herbal. She drank it and pulled a face. It was strong and hit the back of her throat with a vaguely acidic taste.