Highway Girl

  For Ed and Sue, for all the fun…

  Thank you, please!

  Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1. February 1670

  Chapter 2. March 1670

  Chapter 3. April 1670

  Chapter 4. May 1670

  Chapter 5. June 1670

  Chapter 6. July 1670

  Chapter 7. August 1670

  Historical note

  Timeline

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  February 6th, 1670

  I am excited; I am afraid. I am sad, yet I am glad. And how shocked Mama would be if she knew that I have just altered a pair of my brother’s breeches to fit me!

  For tonight, under cover of darkness, Dominic and I must leave our little home, forever. My only comfort is that I shall be taking Jack with me. He is the dearest little dog, and I could not bear to be parted from him. I have lost too much. First Father dying, after suffering so much from the wounds he received from the Roundheads in the ghastly war against our king’s Cavaliers. At least he lived to see Charles II restored to the throne. And now, ten years on, our poor dear mother has passed away, too.

  It was a sad little funeral, for there are so few people here in Lustleigh, on the edge of Dartmoor. It’s a pretty village, but tiny. Beside the open grave, Dominic took my chilled hand and spoke for us both.

  “Mama,” he said, “when Father died and left us in debt, you bravely took charge of our little family, selling our house and bringing us to the cottage – our little haven – which we’ve loved so much.”

  At this point, I noticed our landlord cast a glance at Dominic. It was not kindly meant, that was clear.

  “Mama,” Dominic continued, “you are now in heaven. Watch over Susannah and me. We will always cherish your memory, and we will make you proud of us.”

  Dominic must know that she was already proud of him, for we could not have afforded the rent without his help. As soon as he was old enough, he had travelled to London, to work for a merchant acquaintance of Father’s, and sent us whatever money he could spare. It was never enough – we were constantly selling bits and pieces of our possessions in order to eat.

  But how brave, to go alone to a big city! London is a hundred times the size of Exeter, he told us, though that cannot be. Exeter, which I have twice visited, makes me dizzy!

  But Dominic was always ready for adventure. And that’s why I feel such fear and sadness today. For he is not to return to London to work. He has a plan, and it does not include me.

  I hear his horse. Dominic has been on a difficult errand.

  Later

  Dominic collapsed on to the settle, looking cold and exhausted.

  “That’s it, Susannah,” he said. “I’ve sold everything. I have paid every bill I can, but we still have some creditors who remain unpaid.”

  “Including our landlord.”

  Dominic nodded. “Him, of course. So!” He shrugged. “The Makepeace family – what’s left of us – must shift the best they can.”

  “We go tonight?”

  “Tonight.” He picked up the only book we possess, the Makepeace family Bible, and clutched it to his chest. “Though it hurts so much to run, Su.”

  “Dearest Dominic, you will make it all right, one day. You will, I know it.”

  He squeezed my arm. “I’m glad you have faith in me. I wish our landlord had. Twenty days to pay everything we owe him.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “And that’s why we must disappear tonight.” Dominic slumped, his head in his hands. “Oh, Su, the shame of it! Doing this goes against all our upbringing, against all the values we Makepeaces hold dear.”

  I knelt and looked up into his eyes. “But it’s right, isn’t it? What we’re doing is right?” I needed reassurance. I wish, how I wish I could be strong, but I’m not.

  He nodded slowly. “It’s the only way.”

  We’re going a week before the twenty days are up; that makes it less likely that our flight will be suspected. Only one person has our confidence, and that is Ned Allin, who has been with us for years, and has stuck with us through good times and bad. Mama took pity on him when his father died, because he has one leg much shorter and thinner than the other, and is much laughed at by the village boys. He cannot fight them because his arm, on the same side as the bad leg, is weak. People would not hire him, but he is a good worker, and used to look after our horses and stables. Since Father died, and we fell on hard times, Ned has cared for Dominic’s horse, Moonbeam, as well as our cow and the pig we’d been fattening. He is to help us tonight.

  In a moment Dominic and I will take a last posy of flowers to Mama’s grave. And then we’ll eat some of our bread and cheese, and wrap the rest together with a few slightly wrinkled apples for our journey. This will probably be our last meal together. My next proper meal will be with Sir Roger de Gracy and his family. At the moment, they are nothing to me, being but distant cousins, but soon I expect to know them almost as well as I knew my own mother. For they have kindly extended an invitation to us, to share their home, Gracy Park, in Somerset.

  I have accepted, but Dominic would not. He says he’d rather die than accept charity. He is to accompany me as far as Exeter and then we will begin our new lives. Our – oh, I can scarcely bear to write this – our new, separate lives.

  My beloved brother cannot bear the thought that we are skulking off in secret. It is dishonourable. He vows that he will go away and make his fortune, and one day he will return to clear our debts and make everything all right again. I must support him in this adventure, but it breaks my heart that he will be so far from me.

  For Dominic is going to America.

  February 7th (early hours)

  What a night this has been! During the afternoon, Ned arrived on his ancient bay mare, which I was to ride to the coaching inn at the crossroads, five miles away. He looked so surprised – and shocked – when he saw me, for I’d already changed into Dominic’s breeches and his old doublet and coat, ready for our night ride. I wore riding boots, too, and a high felt hat.

  Ned loaded my two boxes and my woollen bag on to our old handcart. He was to push that to a small copse beside the coaching inn, where we’d meet. He doesn’t make fast progress, and preferred to start out early so that he might travel in daylight. He fears the darkness.

  “Ned,” said Dominic, “you will keep our animals—”

  “Oh, not Jack!” I cried.

  Dominic smiled. “Of course not Jack,” he said. “Ned will take Jack to meet us at the coaching inn, won’t you, Ned?”

  “I will, Mistress Susannah, never fear,” said Ned. “I know how you loves that little dog.”

  “But our cow and the pig,” said Dominic, “they are to be yours, Ned, for you have been our one true friend through all our hardship.”

  Ned couldn’t speak. He reached up and rubbed his old horse’s face so fast that she started back in surprise.

  I kissed my dear Jack and promised to be with him shortly, and off Ned went, trundling along the lane on the start of his long walk to the inn. I watched him go, his right shoulder dipping with every step. He took with him everything I own and hold dear, apart from my brother.

  There was little to do but wait. When darkness fell, I sat on the window seat and gazed at the stars. Dominic dozed, and I must have done, too, because I jumped, startled, when he said, “Time to get ready, Su.”

  Dressed in Mama’s dark cloak, my hair pinned up, and with Dominic’s hat pulled low, I stood before him. He smiled.

  “You will pass for a lad,” he said. “A little lad, ’tis true, but a lad all the same.”

  We went outside and closed the door for the last time. I noticed that Dominic l
imped a little, but he hushed me when I asked.

  Once mounted, there was nothing to do but say a whispered farewell to our home and to leave Lustleigh. At first it felt strange to ride astride, as I used to do as a small child. Eventually Mama taught me to ride side-saddle. She said a lady should always be a lady, whether alone or in company, and I followed her example. But I was a good rider from the beginning, so I soon felt at home riding astride again.

  Though cold, the night was still and damp. I sniffed the soft Devon air and a sudden feeling of being free and alive almost overwhelmed me. I urged the old mare to a trot, which she reluctantly managed, but Dominic moved forward and grasped my rein.

  “Susannah, stay by my side,” he warned. “We probably wouldn’t be recognized, even if it’s known that we’ve fled, because people would expect a man and a girl, but we mustn’t take chances. If we meet anyone, I will speak. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, brother,” I said. I knew he was nervous, because he kept nibbling his lower lip – something he’s done all his life when agitated or afraid.

  “It can be dangerous to ride at night, anyway,” he said.

  As he spoke, the moon disappeared behind a cloud, and my horse stumbled. I whimpered in fear.

  “Don’t worry, Su,” he said. “We’ll be all right.”

  “What about highwaymen?”

  “This road is too little travelled,” he replied. “There are no rich pickings for highwaymen here, so why should we encounter one?”

  “But if we did, all our money would be stolen.”

  He chuckled. “I thought of that. I have a small pouch at my belt, see? It has a few coins inside. The rest of our money, such as it is, is safely tucked inside my boots.”

  So that was why he limped!

  The moon reappeared, and I saw that we were on an open, deeply rutted track, lined by woodland. And we were approaching a small hamlet – just a few cottages.

  Without warning, a horse and rider stepped out of the trees and turned to face us head on. A pistol pointed directly at us. It seemed as if it pointed at my heart.

  My stomach tumbled over.

  “Stand!” said the masked rider.

  We pulled up, and Dominic leaned over to take my rein. “Pull your hat lower,” he hissed.

  In terror, I obeyed.

  The highwayman – for that was what he was – held out a gloved hand. “Your money!” he barked.

  Dominic’s voice shook when he spoke. “We have little money. This is all my brother and I have between us.” He pulled the pouch from his belt and approached the robber, his head held high. At that moment, I was proud that he showed no fear, though I knew he was very afraid.

  The highwayman moved towards him. When their horses were alongside each other, he stopped. All the time he pointed the pistol at Dominic. Leaning forward, he reached for the pouch of coins.

  As my brave brother held it out, the highwayman gave a start. He stared directly at Dominic for a long moment, then said, “God go with you. I shall not rob you.” With that, he turned his horse’s head and rode back into the trees, as silently as he had come.

  He was gone. The danger was past. For at least a minute, we stared at the spot from where he’d vanished, then turned to look at each other. Was my face as pale as Dominic’s? His only colour was a smudge of blood where he’d bitten his lip. I was aware of my heart thudding.

  “Why did—” I began, but Dominic stopped me.

  “Hush, Su. Let’s be gone from here.” He glanced up at the sky. “The clouds will soon cover the moon again, and we have a way to go yet.”

  I felt confused. Why had the highwayman let us go without taking our money? The change in him came about when he was close to my brother. I suddenly realized why.

  “Dominic! He recognized you! Oh, mercy, the highwayman must have been someone we know!”

  “I think you’re right, Su. Come on. A little faster, if you can get that old nag to make an effort.”

  I managed to coax the mare into a lumbering canter, and we were soon through the woodland and its hidden dangers. Once we’d slowed, Dominic came alongside so we could whisper.

  “But if he knows you,” I said, “he must know our situation, and he must realize what we’re doing. He will realize we’re running away. If he tells—”

  “Hush, sister. He will not tell anyone. If he meant us harm, he would have robbed us. Remember his words? ‘God go with you.’ He means us no harm.”

  We rode along quietly. It wasn’t much further to the inn. I pondered on our frightening experience, and it dawned on me that if the highwayman had known us, then we must know him! But surely not! We don’t know any criminals.

  I thought of all the people we knew. Could one of them – a simple farmer, or a blacksmith perhaps – take to the highway by night and become a robber? Lord knows, most of them are poor enough. But are they poor enough to take the risk? Because one thing is certain, the penalty for highway robbery is death.

  At long last, the inn came in sight. The coach stood in the courtyard, the driver asleep on his seat. Just past the main buildings, set well back from the road, was a large dilapidated barn. Beyond that was a copse of stunted oak trees, and that’s where we headed. Once out of sight of the road, Dominic whistled, long and low. There was an answering whistle, then the sound of rapid movement through the undergrowth.

  “Dominic! What is it? It’s an animal!”

  Before he could reply, a bundle of white fur leapt at my knees.

  “Jack! My Jack!”

  Ned appeared next. “He’s right glad to see you, Mistress Susannah!” he said with a grin.

  “And I him! Thank you!”

  “You must be frozen, Ned,” said Dominic. “Did you reserve a room for us to wait in?”

  “That I did,” said Ned. “The boxes are already aboard.”

  “And my bag?” I asked. “Do you have my woollen bag?”

  “It’s on the cart still, just over yonder,” said Ned.

  He limped away to fetch it, and returned a moment later. His leg must have ached badly after his long walk.

  “I’ll go back and wait by the cart, Mistress Susannah,” he said, “while you, um, do what’s necessary.”

  “I daren’t leave you, Su,” said Dominic. “I will turn my back.”

  I’ll never forget the next few minutes, when I had to change my clothes behind a holly bush in the middle of a dark wood, at night, with my brother standing not ten feet away, and another young man just out of sight. I remember thinking, “Oh my, whatever have we come to, that I must do this?”

  But soon I was dressed and decent. Gone was the “little lad”, and here once more was Mistress Susannah Makepeace.

  I returned the mare to Ned, with my grateful thanks, and began to say farewell. But he shook his head.

  “I’ll say my goodbye in the morning, when you leave, Mistress.”

  “But where will you sleep in the meantime?”

  “Here,” he said. “Master Dominic said I can keep the cart. And I must see the horses stabled. That’ll warm me up! But first I’ll show you your room, to save disturbing the inn host. He’s a surly, grumpy fellow when awake. I’d hate to rouse him from his bed.”

  My brother took my arm. “Come, Su,” he said. “We must sleep a little.”

  “Wait.” I picked up Jack. He never barks when he’s in my arms.

  Ned led us to the inn, opened a little side door and showed us to our room. It was very poor, and very stuffy. I threw the window open before bidding Ned goodnight. I was embarrassed then to have to ask Dominic to leave the room for a few minutes. I desperately needed to use the chamber pot which I was glad to find beneath the bed.

  Now all is quiet, except for Dominic, who snores softly on the floor, wrapped in a moth-eaten wool rug, which I’m sure is probably flea-ridden, too.

  Dawn

  I have been unable to sleep, and not just because of being nibbled by fleas! Twice I have taken out the letter from Sir Roger de Gra
cy, in which he invites us to Gracy Park. I am to spend the night in another inn at Honiton, and the de Gracy carriage is being sent to meet me the next morning. I hope it will not be late. I fear having to wait alone in a strange place.

  Alone. What a frightening word that is. Today, when I have said farewell to Dominic, I will be alone.

  But I have my new family to go to. For though very distant, they are family. There’s a daughter who is, I believe, little more than a couple of years older than me. I am sure we will become great friends.

  I will be happy there. I will. I must, for it will be a long time, I know, before Dominic returns. And then – oh, then! He will be finely dressed and will have found a home for us and settled all our debts. And he’ll come to claim me, and we’ll live a sparkling life, and I will marry well and have a whole flock of children, who will love me and follow me round like so many lambs, and I’ll never be alone again.

  February 8th (morning)

  I am grateful that the landlord of the coaching inn, here in Honiton, has such a gentle wife. She has given me this corner, out of the way of prying eyes, to wait in until the carriage comes from Gracy Park. I have spent a sleepless night, alone and in such misery. Now, until I am collected, I have time to write about our separation, but I can barely see the letters I form, for my eyes constantly swim with tears.

  When Dominic put me in the coach yesterday morning, he told me he would ride alongside for a few miles until, past Exeter, he was to turn north to head for Taunton and Bristol, while I continued to Honiton. I was happy and I was upset, all at once. Glad that I would be with him a while longer, and upset because I had hardened myself to say farewell and would have to do it all over again.

  We had a surprise in store which took my mind off my sadness for a few minutes. In the yard Ned stood as straight as he could, with Dominic’s horse, Moonbeam, and his own mare ready, brushed and shining. He would not leave my brother’s side, and when Dominic asked why he did not start for home, Ned replied, “What home have I got? You and Mistress Susannah are my only friends – as I am yours. I’ll go with you, Master Dominic, to the new world – if you’ll have me, that is, begging your pardon.”