over a long narrow waistcoat and flat-crowned felt hat. He had never worn a wig and his own hair was tied back in a queue. The whole outfit horrified Hilson and though he had seen it before he bewailed that his young master should so far forget his rank and dignity as to dress like one of his father’s hired labourers. Jonathan simply laughed and pointed out he would not have the embarrassment of dressing him if he did not accompany him. Even so, he did allow the man to pack some decent clothes for him in case it became necessary to revert to being the Viscount. He heard the coach being brought to the front door and, picking up his bag, raced down and climbed in.
While daylight lasted, they made good time and had passed through Stevenage and were approaching Baldock, in the gathering twilight when Joe pulled the horses to a halt. Jonathan stuck his head out of the door. ‘What’s up?’
‘Something blocking the road ahead, my lord. A coach I think. Oh, lor’, it’s a hold-up!’
Jonathan left the carriage and climbed up beside Joe, the better to see. There was no doubt of it; the coach ahead of them was being searched by armed robbers. One had his head and half his torso in the coach searching it while its passengers stood on the verge being guarded by a second man with a pistol.
Jonathan, who always travelled with a pair of loaded pistols against such an eventuality, withdrew them from his pocket and urged Joe to spring the horses and make as much noise as he could.
Joe enjoyed doing that and between them they managed to make it sound like a cavalry charge. Joe brought the horses to a shuddering halt only inches from the back of the coach. Jonathan stood up on the box and fired his pistol at the gun hand of the man guarding the passengers. It flew from his hand. He swore and put his injured hand to his mouth. The man who had been searching the coach emerged and stood beside it empty-handed. ‘Stand still if you value your life!’ Jonathan commanded, aiming his second pistol at him, at the same time handing the first to Joe to be reloaded, which was done in record time. It was a routine they had practised many times and it meant he nearly always had a loaded weapon to hand. The robbers, seeing themselves outmanoeuvred, gave themselves up.
‘Thank you, sir,’ the coachman said, looking daggers at his guard, whose blunderbuss lay undischarged on the seat. ‘A most timely intervention. We are in your debt.’
Joe, the coachman and the guard tied the men securely with spare cord usually used to secure luggage on the roof, and bundled them into Jonathan’s carriage, while he turned to see if the passengers had been hurt.
‘You are to be congratulated, sir,’ a gentleman in the plain black suit of a cleric told him. ‘Such presence of mind I have rarely met. I am persuaded you are a military man?’
Jonathan bowed towards him, neither confirming nor denying it. ‘Is your good lady hurt?’ The lady in question was sagging against him, a handkerchief held to her face.
‘Very shocked, sir, but not hurt. She will be calmer by and by.’
Jonathan turned to the other couple, a slight young man and a girl, who was white as paper and shaking like an aspen. The man had his arm across her shoulders. ‘I must add my thanks to the others,’ he said, in the rather reedy voice of a youth. It puzzled Jonathan because it was so out of keeping with the look of him.
Dressed in a coat and breeches of blue woven silk, well made but not of the highest order, he stood erect, his head high, one hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist, the other round the young lady, protecting her. His face looked as though it had never needed a razor, and his eyes—oh, those eyes! They were wondrous eyes for a boy: the colour of a hazelnut, flecked with tiny spots of clear green. And his hair, for all it was tied back and crammed under a hat, was like dark, burnished copper; brown, yes, but it only just escaped being red. He assumed they were two not-quite-adult youngsters running away to Scotland to be married against the will of their parents. He smiled at them. It was none of his business.
‘I suggest you return to your coach and continue your journey,’ he said. ‘I will follow in my carriage and make sure you are not waylaid again.’
‘You would travel with those two?’ the young man asked in surprise, indicating the two prisoners.
‘No, I shall ride up beside my driver and take them to the magistrate in Baldock. Have no fear, they will not trouble you again.’ He watched as the four passengers climbed in. The coachman inspected the vehicle for damage; having satisfied himself there was none, he climbed up beside the guard and they set off.
Jonathan returned to his own carriage and followed, cursing his luck because he had to drive slowly behind the coach when he would rather be further on his way. He could only hope that Miss Vail did not deviate from the usual route to the north and throw him off the scent. It was unlikely; the Great North Road was the only viable road and even that had not been turnpiked its whole length.
‘He were impressive, don’t you think?’ Betty murmured to Louise, watching the cleric trying to comfort his sobbing wife.
‘Who?’
‘Why, our rescuer, o’ course. The way he made those two ruffians stand still and allow themselves to be trussed up was summat miraculous.’
‘He had a pair of pistols.’
‘So he did, and he knew how to use them.’
‘You think I should have pulled mine from my pocket and fired it?’
‘No, course not. You didn’ hev the time.’
‘It is not loaded either.’
Betty had a fit of the giggles, which Louise put down to nerves. ‘Do leave off, my dear,’ she said, managing a gruff voice for the benefit of the other passengers. ‘I am sure the Reverend and his wife do not find the situation amusing.’
Betty became serious for a moment, then smiled again. ‘Oh, but he was handsome, don’ you think?’
‘I did not notice,’ Louise lied. You would have to be made of stone not to notice a man like that. Their eyes had met and held for a long minute as if each were trying to memorise the features of the other. He had a clean open face and blue eyes, which reminded her a little of Luke, whom she had left behind. His hair, the colour of ripe corn, had been cut short and curled around his face, leaving the back long enough to be secured in a short plait and tied with a narrow ribbon. His clothes were nothing to speak of, but he wore them with distinction. The clerical gentleman was probably correct and he had been a soldier. But she agreed with Betty—he was extraordinarily handsome. She had to remind herself she was supposed to be a man and should not be thinking such thoughts.
She and Betty had rear-facing seats and if she leaned a little towards the door, she could see the other coach, still following them. It was a rather grand equipage and not at all in keeping with the man, which made her curious, curious enough to make her forget, or at least push from her mind, the reason for her journey. She began to wonder if he was all he seemed. Had he stolen the carriage? Had he had designs on their coach himself and been foiled by the highwaymen ahead of him? But if that were the case, he would hardly have arrested them and promised to take them to the magistrate. Of course he could let them go as soon as they were out of sight, but the coach stayed close behind, the young driver matching the pace of his horses to theirs. It did not stop; no one left it.
They were soon in Baldock and passing under the arch into the yard of the Bull. Louise felt some trepidation on entering such an establishment, but stiffened her spine and in her best masculine voice requested a room for himself and his wife, giving their names
