conviction her expectation that they meant to be good. “Gentlemen,” she said, “as you can see, our coach has been waylaid. We would be grateful for your assistance and would be happy to repay your kindness when we reach London.”
This speech was greeted by harsh laughter that sounded ugly on the empty heath. “That’s what we like. The work done for us.” The first man drew a pistol while the second slid from his horse and advanced on the two ladies.
Susannah took Juliet’s hand and pulled her back from the approaching ruffian.
“This one looks plump as a partridge, George,” said the man. The strong smell of sour ale washed over them as he spoke. “You fine ladies have any jewels about you?” he asked.
“No pearls to cast before swine, if that’s what you mean,” Susannah said.
“Hah, Dick, pearls afore swine, a wit that one,” said the man on horseback, and he went off into his peculiar harsh laugh.
“Crack your wit on me, will you,” said Dick. “I’ll crack you.” He raised his arm.
“I wouldna’ if I were you,” came the first highwayman’s voice from the shadows behind the two robbers. Dick’s hand froze in mid-air and the robber on horseback swung his gun toward the voice. A shot rang out, and the rider shrieked and dropped the pistol. “I’m hit, Dick, let’s give it up. It’s a bad lay.”
Dick stared at Susannah and Juliet, apparently undecided. Then a new sound caught their ears, a long, low groaning, like a lion in pain.
“Come on, Dick,” urged the injured robber.
Dick hesitated a moment longer, then spat as if to mark the scene with his contempt. He snatched up his partner’s fallen gun and scrambled toward his horse. The two would-be robbers rode off as fast as they had come.
The low groan came again, and Juliet and Susannah turned to the sound.
“Tim Dachet, is that you?” Susannah called.
“Ooooh, me head,” came the reply. There was a rustle in the bushes, and Mr. Dachet staggered toward them, holding his head.
For a few minutes Susannah and Juliet ministered to their injured protector, offering their handkerchiefs to wipe the cuts and scrapes on his face. Coachman grumbled at Tim’s lack of wit, but gave him a restoring sip from his flask.
Then the highwayman spoke again. He had emerged from the shadows as they tended Tim and now stood in the road, holding his horse’s reins. “Ladies, I’d like to see you on your way. Can your guard regain the box?”
“Sure I can, no thanks to you,” said Tim roughly.
Juliet whirled toward the stranger. “You did save us,” she whispered fervently.
Tim Dachet squared his shoulders, swayed slightly, and staggered toward the box.
The young highwayman stepped up to Juliet, though Susannah noticed that he avoided the pool of light cast by the carriage lamp. “I think your friend . . .”
“My cousin, Mrs. Bowen . . .”
“Your cousin would say that I brought you into danger in the first place. I beg your pardon. That was not my intent.”
“Of course not. You intended something high and romantic, a rescue from tedium,” Juliet assured him.
Susannah groaned, and the highwayman laughed. “I will claim that boon of you then, Miss . . .?”
“Lacy,” Juliet told him candidly. “I will gladly give you the boon for which you asked, sir.”
“No,” Susannah protested. She stepped between her cousin and the young highwayman. “Sir, think what you are about. You may harm Miss Lacy much more by stealing a kiss than by robbing her purse.”
“Susannah,” wailed Juliet. “You don’t understand.”
“Pardon me, Miss Lacy,” said the highwayman. “I mean neither harm nor disrespect.” He reached inside his cloak, and Susannah tensed, wondering if he meant to draw his pistol again. “If the proprieties won’t allow me a kiss, let me leave you my card.” He held out a small white card that showed faintly against the black of his clothes. Juliet stepped forward, but the highwayman held