“On several occasions the West Country has been terrorised and tormented by that wretched soul and it’s time we put a stop to it…”
A whispered exchange took place behind Harriet, with one fellow commenting to his friend, “I quite like him. All of his targets have been extremely wealthy gamblers, crooks and arrogant fools who need a little terrorising.”
“He robbed your father,” the friend retorted.
“Exactly – we all know what an arse he is.”
Aunt Georgia shushed the talkative pair with a vicious glance and Harriet strained to listen to the magistrate, hoping that no one could hear how her pulse raced or see the guilt in her expression – or the shameful pride.
“We have drafted in the very best to capture the thief, to root him out and make him pay for his crimes. After serving in Spain, later capturing three known robbers on London’s outskirts, and with a personal commendation from the Duke of Wellington, there is no one more suited to the task of intercepting the villain…”
She gripped Aunt Georgia’s arm too tightly and her expression could not hold the calm she wished it would. Where was her mask now?
Gone, left behind, useless.
“And he will make short work of this scoundrel,” continued Fielding. “In fact, he already came face-to-face with the criminal only the other evening.”
What? Harriet reassured herself that all attention was fixed on the gentleman speaking, that no one would look towards her, or see her growing agitation and confusion. She was wrong. One man sought out her eyes and Harriet offered a fleeting smile towards her almost-dance partner, which took her unawares. Her anxiety fled momentarily, caught up in the warmth he exuded – a secret, soft look shared between them.
A balm before the stinging bite of the magistrate’s next words.
“We’ll have the Green Highwayman hanged at Newgate Prison by the season’s end,” announced Sir Fielding, to a short cheer. “And it will be Major Edward Roberts who will see it done.”
Applause broke out as the man himself, Edward, stepped forwards. Harriet’s smile was snatched from her face and her breath – turned to splinters – caught in her throat. The room turned dark at the edges and seemed to spin, a carousel of colours, merging into one dark, despairing mass.
Hanged at Newgate Prison.
“Are you quite all right, dear?” Aunt Georgia leant towards Harriet after she flagged slightly, pushing concerned words towards her as though they could be used to prop her up. The two talkative gentlemen were there again, to aid her lest she fall, each gripping one elbow. Not eager to draw any further attention, she quickly regained her footing, fanning herself with her hand.
“Yes, no, I – I need a little air, that’s all,” said Harriet quickly, the blood draining from her face. “I’ll be quite all right – no, you needn’t come.”
She pushed her way through the crowd, barely seeing any faces, tripping towards the main doors and into an empty foyer. The August evening air hit her in a wave, blissfully chilled against her cheeks, as her satin-clad feet found the street beyond. Light spilled out behind her, throwing her shape upon the cobblestones, and the music had started up again.
He has already come face-to-face with the criminal.
Then it was he, Edward, who had fired at her, who had almost killed her – who had asked her to dance – and who had been drafted in to find and capture the Green Highwayman.
To capture her.
“Damn it,” she breathed. “Fool.”
“Miss Groves?”
Harriet started, faced by the very man she knew would haunt both her every waking moment and her nightmares from that point on.
“Major Roberts,” she greeted him with a watery smile, stepping a pace or two away, small movements, a head-start.
“May I ask you for a dance – or would you prefer a duel?”
It took all her effort not to stumble backwards, to keep her expression neutral. “I – pardon?”
If she ran would he catch her? How could he already know who she was? When did he –
“A dance,” repeated Edward, slowly, an imposing silhouette in the doorway. “Miss Groves, would you dance with me?”
Every instinct Harriet held told her to refuse, to build a wall between them, to do all she could to never see him again. She had to protect herself, her family, her life – everything she had fought to keep safe all this time.
He was dangerous, he was her demise, he was her death – holding his hand out towards her.
And yet she reached for it.
“Yes, Major Roberts,” she said, drawn to him and the danger he posed, unable to stop herself. “I would like nothing more.”
The warmth within the dancing hall was an oppressive wave after the fresh night air, dizzying as it brushed against her bare arms and curled around her lithe form. Or was it the soldier’s doing, his presence, which brought the rising heat? She felt safer out there, under a pinprick of stars and the crescent moon; Harriet was herself when the night came, even if she was concealed behind a mask. The thrill, the chase, the risk – she belonged out there, as the Green Highwayman. Under the cover of darkness she was herself and she was free.
She wore a different disguise now – one of polite, contrived civility.
It was crumbling.
Her hand slipped into Edward’s as though it belonged there, fettered, bound, imprisoned. His immovable form beside her quickened her pulse as he assisted her up the few, small steps and back inside. She kept her chin up, smile false, fearing that he would be able to read the deception on her face, as though it had been inked onto her pale, clammy skin.
They had met before; she knew it for certain now. In the woods, a night ago, on the tracks between the two main southerly trading hubs. She had shot – fired into the air – purposely missing him and yet firing nonetheless. If she had wanted to meet her mark, she could have extinguished the threat he posed. But she had promised herself, long ago, that she would never resort to that. However desperate her situation became, she could live with being a thief, but not a killer.
She had not crossed that line yet.
“Are you ready?”
“I am,” she replied.
More than ready.
How many had he killed? How many other robbers had he dragged to the gallows – a noose for a necklace, the hangman’s knot around their throats? She caught Edward’s eye, though he was at ease, nodding her way. Her demon from the forest. Harriet felt captured now, snared by him, unable to pull herself away without questions asked.
“Are
