The Elusive Robber

By Jim Jackal

After twenty years of rule under Charles II, England had become a lawless land.  With no law enforcement, it was a time of plenty for highwaymen, footpads, cut-purses, murderers and burglers.

 

Tamar Ellerby, the 21year old daughter of a vicar, had always been rebellious - a tom-boy, preferring swords and pistols from an early age.  Tutored by a soldier from the Civil War, Tamar became the best 'swordsman' in Northamptonshire and when her father insisted on an arranged marriage, Tamar decided to leave home, heading for London.  She enjoyed the thrill of the unexpected, quickly supporting herself, using all her skills.

 

Gambling is proving to be ruinous for the younger son of a Yorkshire squire and Cornelius Clarkson (28 years old) is thankful when he gains the trust of the largest handler of stolen goods in the North of England, John Bannister (aged 35).  Unfortunately, Clarkson becomes ever greedier, keeping some of the stolen goods for himself with the result that Bannister arranges for his arrest and subsequent hanging.  Clarkson manages to escape and is intent on revenge.   Following a notorious highwayman, Clarkson 'saves' Tamar Ellerby and manages to enlist her help in bringing about the downfall of Bannister.

However, Tamar cannot trust Clarkson and decides to take the necessary actions to ensure she benefits from both him and Bannister.  Will she succeed….?

 

'The Elusive Robber' amply portrays the lives of people in 1680 England where life was cheap, poverty was widespread and a life of crime appealed to many.   'The Elusive Robber' introduces the reader to the real villainy, the real harshness, the real corruption of the times and is aimed at the adult fiction market, appealing to both men and women of all ages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Jackal
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393517504

Book preview

Chapter One

HOBBLING HIS HORSE, Will flicked a glance at the copse before looking across the meadow, sure that the men working there had not noticed him.  He walked slowly, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back, the prickle of sweat on his brow.  Passing the first trees, Will carefully stepped through the brambles and ferns, making little or no sound.  He soon reached the glade, seeing the carpet of bluebells and the trunks of the silver birch glistening in the sunlight.  Then he saw her, sitting on her cape, propped against one of the trees.  Will crouched down and watched, feeling his heart beat faster. 

He had known Sophia for the past nine years, played with her when they were children and now, he knew he was totally in love with her.  Even though she was only sixteen, her body had blossomed into womanhood and, in Will’s opinion, she was the most beautiful of Sir Thomas Osborne’s five daughters.  Will was transfixed, seeing Sophia’s eyes closed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, enjoying the warmth.  He saw her untie her kerchief and pull it from around her neck, exposing her cleavage, rolling it up and placing it behind her head.  She then hoisted her petticoats, exposing her legs.  Will unbuckled his sword belt and placed it on the ground and then he moved silently forward, stopping a few feet from Sophia, blocking out the sunlight.  Sophia opened her eyes.

‘Will!’  She looked up at him, a smile spreading across her face. ‘What are you doing here?’

Will smiled back.  ‘Spying on you.  Looking at your magnificent body.’

Sophia pushed her petticoats down.  ‘You are impertinent, Will Hugill, disturbing a lady taking an afternoon nap.  However, sit beside me.’  Sophia patted the ground next to her. 

Will needed no second invitation.  ‘What a lovely day and...and finding you here, well, it’s even better.’

‘As if you didn’t know where to find me,’ Sophia joked.  ‘This has been our spot for years.  Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be working?’

Will leant back against the tree, resting his head against the trunk.  ‘The estate manager has gone to the market and as I have finished all the tasks he set...well, I have time on my hands.’  He flinched slightly, feeling Sophia push herself against him, her arm moving across his chest.  She lay her head on his shoulder and Will could smell her perfume.  He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, the warmth of her body next to his.

‘You’re the most beautiful woman I know,’ Will mumbled, ‘and I know I am in love with you.’

Sophia giggled.  ‘I’m sure my sisters would disagree with you.’

‘Your sisters!  They’re arrogant and dismissive and none of them have your beauty.  Also, they aren’t as clever as you.’

Sophia giggled again.  ‘My, my...you certainly know how to charm a lady.’

‘I’m only telling the truth.’  Will smiled, pushing his arm behind Sophia’s back, feeling her move closer to him.

‘Tell me about your father.’

Will sighed.  ‘You know what happened.  He fought in Prince Rupert’s cavalry at Naseby when he was only sixteen and rode with the defeated King back to Hereford.  He then...’

‘Two years younger than you are now,’ interrupted Sophia.  ‘He must have been very brave.’

Will nodded.  ‘He certainly was.  Anyway, he realised that the King was defeated and made his way to France, eventually joining up with the King’s son, Charles, becoming one of his trusted bodyguards and going to the Channel Islands, Holland and eventually Scotland.  He rode with Prince Charles to Worcester where they met Cromwell and following a bloody battle, he helped Charles to escape.  In return, Charles knighted him but, when Cromwell found out, he sequestrated his estate.’

‘It must have been awful for him...and your mother,’ Sophia said, her hand untying his shirt and gently stroking the hairs on Will’s chest.

‘Well, he spent most of his time in France and met my mother two years before Charles became King Charles II.  He was due to get his estate back, thanks to your father’s support, when he was set upon late one night by a gang of Catholics and killed.  I was about eight at the time.’

‘And Papa appointed your mother as our governess.’  Sophia giggled, moving her hand down to stroke Will’s belly.  ‘I suppose he thought, as she was French, she would bring a different discipline with her.’

Will smiled, looking down at the top of Sophia’s head, seeing the thick, blonde hair, pulled severely back and tied with ribbon.  ‘Well...my Mother can’t have been too much of an ogre.  You all still speak to her.’

Sophia leaned across and kissed Will’s chest, her hand nudging at his waistband.  ‘Your Mother is a very nice lady.  If only Papa was at home, everything would be perfect.’

‘That is unfortunate to say the very least.’  Will sighed.  ‘I’ve been told that your father created far too many political enemies, envious of his elevation under King Charles II’s patronage.  They ignored how successful he was as Lord Treasurer.’

‘But he will be all right...won’t he?’ Sophia asked, her hand loosening Will’s waistband.

‘I’m sure he will be released from the Tower soon,’ Will replied reassuringly, ‘and those who accused him of being a papist sympathiser know full well he was only acting in accordance with the King’s instructions.’

‘What are you doing?’ Will asked, feeling Sophia’s hand inside his breeches.

Sophia did not respond, taking Will’s hand and placing it on her breast.

Will could feel himself becoming aroused, encouraged by Sophia.  He pulled her hand out of his breeches.  ‘You must stop Sophia.  We can’t do this.’

Sophia glanced up at him, her lips moist, her eyes wide.  ‘Why not?  It’s only natural.’

‘You know why not.  You are the daughter of an Earl.  I’m the son of a servant.’

Sophia laughed.  She moved and straddled Will’s body, her thighs clamping to his sides and then she started to move her pelvis against his.  ‘I know you are ready...that you want to enter me.  Take me Will...I am yours...I want you.’

Will bucked so hard, Sophia lost her balance and fell to the side.  He rolled on top of her, gripping her arms above her head and looked down at her, breathing heavily.  ‘Of course I want you but you’re not mine to have.  That would be madness!’

Puckering her lips, Sophia pushed up against him, Will moving forward, his lips meeting hers.  He could feel the warmth of her breath, sense her desire for him.

Suddenly, Sophia was screaming.  Will sat up, momentarily taken aback, his mind slowly registering the words – rape, rape.  Rough hands grabbed his arms, lifting him off Sophia and he was flung to the ground.  A boot kicked him hard in his stomach, forcing him to double up, trying to catch his breath.  A fist smashed into the side of his face, splitting his skin.

‘You don’t understand...stop!’ Will shouted out.  He could see Sophia being helped up, see her pulling her skirts down and tying the kerchief around her neck, covering herself.  She started to cry, pointing at him.

‘He...he...forced me.  He tried to...’  She sobbed, collapsing into the arms of the estate manager.

Someone kicked Will in the back, causing him to gasp.  ‘Please, you don’t understand.  You are...’

The crack of the cudgel against Will’s head silenced him.

SITTING IN THE DARKENED corner of the large, ornate room, Cornelius Clarkson could smell the fear of the man standing in front of John Bannister’s magnificent, mahogany desk.  The man wiped his sleeve across his brow, rocking back and forth, his hands gripping the edge of his hat.  The man never took his eyes of Bannister.  Clarkson grinned, enjoying the moment, appreciating the power Bannister had over others. 

He had met Bannister more than ten years ago when he was in his late teens, bored with his life on the estate and anxious to find adventure.  He had quickly realised that Bannister had the capability to provide him with the excitement he craved.  Bannister had been visiting his uncle, Sir Godfrey Copley, the High Sheriff of Yorkshire and Clarkson had listened to the conversation, amazed that his uncle had agreed to pay Bannister twenty pounds for every highwayman and horse thief Bannister named who was successfully prosecuted. 

Clarkson had determined he would find out as much as he could about this short, wiry man, with distinctively large ears, dressed in simple clothes.  He had established that Bannister was the son of a craftsman who used to work on Wentworth’s estate, that he had died in an accident and left Bannister’s mother to bring up a family of eight children in near poverty.  Bannister had left home at fifteen and gone to London where, rumour had it, he had joined a band of footpads, robbing wealthy merchants and making his fortune.  When he  returned to Yorkshire, he had quickly wooed and married a squire’s daughter and moved into this grand house at Conisbrough, his wife producing three healthy children.

With an income that was totally inadequate to fund Clarkson’s lifestyle of gambling and whoring, he had started working for Bannister, gaining his trust, introducing him and his family to local dignitaries, Bannister quickly developing a liking for his role as a country squire.  Clarkson made sure Bannister was always seen to be a stout upholder of the law, knowing full well that Bannister was now the largest handler of stolen property in the north of the country.  Between them they had developed a network of merchants and contacts whom they could approach to sell on any and all of the goods they received.

The man in front of the desk jumped as, disdainfully, Bannister threw the jewellery across the table, the man snatching at it and placing it back into the sack he was holding.  Clarkson could see Bannister staring at the man, seeing the fear in the man’s eyes, the sweat gathering on his brow.  He knew Bannister always enjoyed these moments when he had a man cowering in front of him, fearful of his reputation, knowing he could decide if they lived or died.

‘Worthless.  Why do you bring me such junk?’ Bannister said in his normal, quiet, measured voice, a voice that made even strong men tremble.

The man gulped.  ‘Please Sir.  This is all I’ve got...it must be worth something.’

Bannister stood up and walked to the window.  Clarkson admired his dress, the deep red colour of the top coat, the lace cravat and cuffs, the silk stockings and fashionably pointed, heeled shoes. He saw Bannister turn round, looking at the man.  ‘I’ll offer you a pound.’

‘But Sir, this stuff must be worth a lot more than that,’ the man whined.

‘Take my offer or leave,’ Bannister replied, waving his arm towards the door.

Clarkson saw Bannister’s two minders walk slowly towards the man. ‘I’ll take the pound.’

Bannister held out his hand, taking the sack from the man.  He dug into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a pound coin and passed it to the man.  He smiled.  ‘If you want to improve your lot, I hear the Bishop of Lincoln is travelling to Durham during the next few days.  Apparently, he only has a few men with him.  Travelling along the Great North Road.’

The man touched his forelock.  ‘Thank you Sir...thank you for the information.’  He turned and left the room, followed by the minders.

‘Do you think he’ll fall for it?’ Clarkson asked, getting up from the chair and walking towards Bannister.

Bannister sat down and poured two glasses of wine, passing one across the desk to Clarkson.  ‘I’m sure a rogue like that will not be able to resist, especially as we know he runs with that band of ruffians in the forest near Pontefract.’

‘It would be most enjoyable to see the pompous Bishop brought down a peg or two.’  Clarkson took a sip of wine, appreciating the quality.  ‘And if he does rob the Bishop, we know where to look.’

Bannister held up his glass.  ‘Act quickly Cornelius and we can...acquire the booty and ensure the Sheriff’s men capture the miscreants.’

‘And you can collect the twenty pounds a head when they are sentenced.’

Bannister chuckled.  ‘It also rids us of a troublemaker...I don’t trust the man.’

‘Shall we go to town?’  Clarkson knew Bannister liked visiting the hostelries and inns that were increasing in numbers as more and more travellers used Doncaster for overnight stops between Edinburgh and London.  He also knew Bannister was always willing to get away from his frigid wife and spend the night with an appreciative young woman. 

‘Why not!’  Bannister stood up, issuing instructions, demanding his carriage be brought to the front of the house, his overnight valise prepared.  ‘We should celebrate...this stuff can wait until our return.’  Bannister looked down at the stolen jewellery on the desk.

THE WHINNYING OF A horse permeated Will’s brain.  He opened his eyes, grimacing as pain shot through his head, Will reaching up, carefully touching the large lump at the back, feeling the matted hair.  He looked around, knowing he was in the stables with their distinctive smells and the noise of nearby horses.  He realised it was night time as he eased himself up, using the stable wall as support.  A wave of giddiness swept over him, forcing him to close his eyes and grip the wall.  He slipped down the wall into a crouching position, fighting the nausea welling up inside him.  As the feeling subsided, Will eased himself up, edging his way along the wall.  He kicked a pail, the water splashing his foot and Will crouched down, scooping up a handful and tasting it.  It was fresh water and Will started to drink, feeling it flow down his parched throat.  He started to feel better and stood up, groping his way towards the door.  Slipping his arm through the bars, Will reached for the latch, his fingers finding the shackle, preventing the latch from being lifted.  Will realised he was imprisoned in the stable, knowing the bars reached the ceiling.  He made his way back to the pail, fighting the despondency he felt and the rising fear in his stomach.  He started to remember what he had been doing but his thoughts were confused.  He thought Sophia had screamed but was not sure.  He relaxed, comfortable in the knowledge that Sophia would help him, knowing she would tell her mother what had happened.  He lay on the floor and drifted into a troubled sleep.

Voices and the rattle of the shackle being removed awoke him.  He started to open his eyes and felt the pain shoot through his head as the daylight blinded him. 

‘You’ve got a short while to sort ‘im out before ‘is nibs turns up,’ a man’s voice said.

‘Thank you.  I will be as quick as I can.’

Will recognised his mother’s voice and, squinting, he saw her walk towards him, kneeling by his side.

‘What’s happened to you?  What have you done?  You are filthy,’ his mother said as she dipped a cloth into the pail and started to wipe his face.

Will looked at his mother, blinking, trying to clear his blurred vision.  ‘I...I can’t think straight Mother.  I...I was with Sophia...in the copse I think...we were...’

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ his mother cut in.  ‘Everyone on the estate knows what you did.’  She dabbed at the back of his head, making Will flinch.

‘What are you talking about?’

His mother shook her head.  ‘You were taking advantage of...forcing your attentions on Sophia.  If the estate manager had not arrived on the scene when he did, you would have...’

Will looked at his mother, seeing the distress in her face.  ‘Mother, I still don’t know what you are talking about.  You know I would never harm Sophia...I love her.’

‘The estate manager maintains you were molesting her, that she was bravely fighting off your advances but that you were like a man possessed.  You are in serious trouble.’

Will frowned, struggling to unscramble his mixed thoughts and emotions, struggling to remember what had happened.  ‘It isn’t true Mother.  I wouldn’t ever harm or deliberately upset Sophia.  I think too much of her.’

His mother looked at him.  ‘I know you would not harm Sophia but sometimes...a man’s passions can overwhelm him.’

‘No Mother!  That is not what happened...I’m sure of it.  Sophia will tell them the truth.’

‘That’s as may be but you have to get cleaned up.  I have brought a change of clothing and your boots.  You can use the pail to wash yourself.  I have to go.’  His mother stood up and left the stable, the man at the door yelling at a stable lad to fetch a full pail of water.

Stripping off, Will washed himself and quickly dressed, appreciative of the fresh linen against his body.  His vision was still blurred but he was feeling better and steady on his feet.  Suddenly, the stable door slammed shut as footsteps could be heard approaching.

‘Where is the rogue?  You’d better have him in there.’ 

Will recognised the deep voice of the Estate Manager, Mr Dowson.  He knew Dowson disliked him, thought him privileged beyond his position.  Dowson had always given Will the worst jobs and taken every opportunity to belittle him.  The stable door opened and Will looked up at Dowson, seeing the man glaring at him.

‘Get up you wretched oaf and come with me.’  Dowson turned and walked out, Will scrambling to his feet, following him.  Two of Dowson’s men firmly grabbed Will’s arms and forced him along.  They entered the large house and walked across the hall into the sitting room.  Will saw Lady Bridget Osborne sitting at the table with Mr Petch, the local Justice of the Peace, next to her, making his heart skip a beat.  He saw Sophia sitting on the settee, her eldest sister beside her. 

Having glanced at Will, Lady Bridget looked at Dowson.  ‘For the benefit of Mr Petch, would you recount what you saw Mr Dowson.’

‘My Lady.  Two afternoons ago, I returned from my duties at the market and went to find this oaf...Will Hugill, knowing he was almost certainly skiving.  He never completes any job to my satisfaction and...’

‘Yes, yes, Mr Dowson,’ Lady Bridget cut in.  ‘Please...just the factual recount of events.’

Dowson’s cheeks coloured.  ‘Sorry, My Lady.  Anyway, I could not find him where he should have been so I decided to search for him.  I asked some of the other men and one of them thought he had seen Hugill heading for Dinsey Copse.  I rode out there and found Hugill’s horse and his sword belt on the grass.  I went into the copse and then saw Hugill sitting next to Lady Sophia.  He seemed to be questioning her and Lady Sophia looked nervous.  I decided to retreat and fetch my men.  As My Lady knows, Hugill can be violent...he has a wicked temper.’

Will noticed Lady Bridget nod her head, saw Mr Petch making notes.  He glanced across at Sophia but she had her head down, staring at the floor.  From what Dowson had said, Will realised that he had been unconscious for at least a day and a half.

‘I returned to the copse with six of the men and we quickly moved forward.  I was amazed at what I saw.’  Dowson paused.  ‘Without wishing to cause offence to delicate ladies ears, My Lady, I can only state that Hugill was lying on top of your daughter, his breeches undone, your daughter’s petticoats...’

‘Enough!  I think Mr Petch has sufficient information.’  Lady Bridget looked across at Petch, seeing him nod.  ‘Mr Petch?’

Petch looked across at Will, his small, piggy eyes scrutinising him.  ‘This is not a court of law so, Will Hugill, you are free to respond as you think fit.  What have you got to say for yourself?’

Will tried to step forward but the men on each side prevented him.  ‘My Lady...Mr Petch.  What Mr Dowson has just said could be taken as correct.  It is what may have appeared to be the case.  However, I can assure you My Lady, it is not as it seems.  I have known you and your family for many years.  I have grown up with Lady Sophia and would never see any harm come to her.  We have often met in Dinsey Copse.  In fact we joke about it as being our special meeting place.  When we met there earlier this week, we were talking about our respective fathers.  It was warm and pleasant and I did undo my shirt.  I’m not sure what happened next but, for the very first time, I found myself embracing Lady Sophia.  That is all we were doing.’

‘Rutting like a boar!’ Dowson boomed.  ‘We all saw him.’

‘Thank you Mr Dowson,’ Petch said, his arm raised.  ‘From what was witnessed Hugill, I find it difficult to believe your version of events.’

‘Then please ask Lady Sophia...she will confirm what I have said.’  Will looked across at Sophia, her head still inclined.

Petch looked momentarily unsure.  He looked at Lady Bridget.  After a long pause, Lady Bridget nodded once.

Turning towards Sophia, Petch lowered his voice.  ‘Lady Sophia.  Has Hugill told us the truth?’

Sophia started to cry, her sister placing her arms around her.

‘You don’t have to speak Lady Sophia, just nod your head.’

Everyone in the room looked at Sophia.  Will could not understand why she did not speak out, telling everyone that nothing untoward had taken place.  He trembled, pleading with his eyes for Sophia to look at him, to speak.

Sophia shook her head.

‘You mean he has not told the truth,’ Petch persisted.

Sophia nodded her head.

‘Sophia!  Sophia...please...tell the truth,’ Will shouted.  He felt the grip on his arms tighten.

Slowly, Sophia raised her head and looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.  ‘He...he tried to rape me.’

‘No!  That is not true!  Why?  Why Sophia?’

‘Silence!’ Lady Bridget shouted.  ‘You may leave the room Sophia.’

Will stared at Sophia as she and her sister went out.  He could feel the tightening of his stomach, the fear rising within him.

Lady Bridget and Mr Petch talked quietly to each other, Will unable to make out what they were saying.  Then Petch stood up.

‘With thanks to Lady Osborne’s benevolence, you will not be taken to prison or face a trial.  In return for this merciful gesture you will leave the estate immediately.  You will take nothing with you.  You will be escorted off the estate by Mr Dowson and, should you attempt to return, you will immediately be arrested and face trial.’  Petch paused.  ‘Do you understand what I have just said?’

Will’s mind was in turmoil.  He had heard Petch but he was still struggling to understand why Sophia had failed to support him, why she had claimed he had tried to rape her.

‘Did you hear me?’ Petch asked.

Will nodded his head.  ‘Yes.’

Chapter Two

LYING BACK ON THE BED, Beth watched the man washing himself, pouring the cold water over his head and lathering the soap between his hands.  She could see the clear muscle definition across his powerful shoulders, his biceps bulging and she loved his tight, small buttocks.  For a man who was almost forty years of age, he had the lean body of a twenty year old.  His skin was pale, only his forearms showed signs of tanning and she looked at the livid red scar running down from his armpit to his waist where a sword had almost ended his life.  The small, star shaped scar, on his arm, just below the shoulder was where he had been shot two years ago, when Beth had first met Bill Nevison. 

She had only been working at the Ticklers’ Stone Inn, formerly the Bede House in Pontefract, for a few weeks when he had staggered in, blood staining his coat and dripping from his hand.  She and her aunt, the inn keeper’s wife had quickly taken him into the kitchen and removed his coat and shirt, bathing the wound whilst someone had been sent to fetch the doctor.  Beth had almost fainted watching the doctor digging deep into the hole with a thin dagger, locating and removing the lead shot.  The thing that had always stayed in her mind was that Bill had never once made a sound, just sat still and gritted his teeth.  She had tended to him for the following two weeks, hidden upstairs in the loft and, when she had mentioned to him that it was her sixteenth birthday, he had tenderly made love to her, taking her virginity.  She knew he was a highwayman with a reputation, that he was fearless and a very good horseman.  She also knew he was generous to her and, whenever he was in the area, he would always try and spend the night with her.

Beth giggled, seeing Bill reaching around for the towel, the soap forcing him to keep his eyes firmly closed.

‘It’s alright for you to be laughing girl...get out of bed and pass me the towel.’ 

‘And what if I choose not to,’ Beth replied, giggling.

Bill stumbled towards the bed, snarling.  ‘You’ll get the biggest...ouch!’ 

‘Are you all right?’  Beth jumped out of the bed, seeing Bill on the floor, clutching his foot.  ‘You kicked the bed.’

‘I know what I did you stupid hape’orth.  If you’d passed me the damn towel when I asked, I wouldn’t have caught my foot.’

Beth burst out laughing.  She grabbed the towel and bent down beside Bill, wiping his eyes.

‘I’ll manage,’ he said, gruffly, snatching the towel from her.  ‘You’ve caused enough damage already.’  Bill wiped his face then, in the blink of an eye, caught Beth’s wrists and pushed her onto the floor.  He rolled on top of her, his knee pushing down hard between her thighs, forcing them apart.  He painfully squeezed her breast, her nipples hardening as he kissed her, his tongue flicking at the corners of her mouth.

Beth responded, arching her back, wanting him, feeling him becoming aroused.  She guided him into her, thrusting her hips against his, locking her legs behind his back, her breath coming faster.  She felt him resisting her urgency, slowing his thrusting down, prolonging the act, driving her mad with desire, desperate to reach that moment when her innards would convulse in ecstasy.  He nuzzled her earlobe, nipping it between his teeth, Beth yelling out as she climaxed, feeling Bill’s seed pumping into her moments later.

They lay still, clinging to each other, eventually Bill rolling off her, onto the floor.

‘You’ll be the death of me lass.  I’m getting too old to keep a youngster like you happy.’

Beth reached out, placing her hand on his stomach.  ‘More like the hangman.’

Bill stood up.  ‘Don’t ever...ever say that again!’

‘Sorry,’ Beth mumbled, bursting into tears, knowing she had upset him.  She felt Bill’s hand gently take hers and he pulled her to her feet, kissing her.  He led her to the bed and they lay down, side by side.

‘Don’t take on so.  I didn’t mean to shout at you.’

Beth snuggled beside him.  ‘Tell me the story of your ride to York and the Lord Mayor.’

‘You’ve heard it before,’ Bill chided.

‘Please...please, tell me again.’

‘Well, I’d robbed this man at Gad’s Hill in Kent...it was around sun-up but I was sure he’d recognised me.  Knew I needed a good alibi so the thought came to me.  I went straight to the ferry at Gravesend, then through Tilbury to Chelmsford, stopping to rest my horse.  From there I rode to Cambridge then on to Huntingdon where I stopped for an hour, so that both I and the horse could refresh ourselves.  Taking the North Road, I galloped most of the way to York, arriving in the late afternoon.  I quickly changed into my best clothes and then strolled along to the bowling green where, to my delight the Lord Mayor was playing.  I made a point of asking him for the time...around eight...and laying some odd bets on the bowling...so that he would remember me.  I carried on talking to him, making some idiotic, simple points.  Anyway, it worked.  When I was arrested a short while later, I called the Lord Mayor to testify on my behalf and...sure enough, the jury acquitted me.  How could I possibly have committed a robbery in Kent and, on the same day, been playing bowls in York?’

Beth kissed Bill’s chest.  ‘Then you were summoned by the King.’

‘Yes...Charles II promised me a full pardon if I told him, in private, how I had done it.  So, knowing I couldn’t be tried again for the same offence, I told him the truth.’

‘And he gave you the title ‘Swift Nicks’, didn’t he?’

Bill nodded, smiling.  ‘Time I was on my way...got work to do.’

Beth leaned across him, her eyes glinting.  ‘Are you sure you want to leave me?’ she teased, her hand sliding down Bill’s belly.

‘Stop that...I have to go, I’ve got to meet some people.’  Bill rolled off the bed and started to dress.

Beth watched him, seeing him pull his finely embroidered coat on, the dark blue of the cloth contrasting with the white lace cuffs and scarf.  ‘When will I see you again?’

‘Soon.  I intend to be back within the month.’

Frowning, Beth nodded.  She knew she could never count on Bill returning, knew he was a wanted man with a price on his head, knew, one day, he would never come back.

Bill walked across to the bed and kissed her.  ‘You are using those pistols...aren’t you?’

‘Of course.’ Beth nodded, smiling.  She had spent many hours practicing with the set of pistols Bill had given her a year ago, to the point where she could hit an apple at ten paces, nine times out of ten. ‘I’ll show you how good I am next time you visit.’

‘Right lass...we’ll have a small wager.  I’ll bet you five crowns I’ll hit the target more times than you.’  Bill kissed her again, walked across the room and picked up his pistols, tucking them into his belt.  He walked to the door, looked back at Beth then left the room.

CROUCHING BESIDE THE road, some two miles from the estate, Will was breathing heavily.  The rope around his wrists was so tightly bound he could not feel his hands.  He had stumbled and fallen a number of times, trying to keep up with the horse in front of him, Dowson enjoying himself, spurring the animal forward, forcing Will to run as fast as he could.  Even when Will had fallen, Dowson had not stopped, dragging Will along the road, the stones cutting into his elbows and knees as he tried to get back to his feet.  Having now stopped, Dowson dismounted, going across to the two men who had accompanied them, telling them what to do.  Will glanced up, seeing one of them throw a rope over the branch of an oak tree.  He saw Dowson and his two minders stride towards him, a look of menace and hatred in Dowson’s eyes.  Dowson stopped a few paces in front of Will and drew his pistol, cocking it.

‘Stand up Hugill.  Untie his hands,’ he ordered.  ‘Now you can run away Hugill...I don’t want to ever see you again.’

Will rubbed his hands together, trying to get the feeling back into his fingers.  He looked at the three men in front of him, their leering grins betraying their intentions.  Will shook his head.  ‘You’d like that wouldn’t you Dowson.  For me to run so that you could shoot me in the back.  No doubt you’d tell Lady Bridget that I had attacked you, that you had acted in self defence or some other trumped up story.  And these two thugs would...of course, back you up.