Chapter Five

Harriet felt almost a little shy as she got down from her carriage outside the inn. "We have semi-permanent lodgings here. Discreet innkeeper," whispered William Hewat, who had rode in the carriage with her, giving her directions, as the other two took a short-cut through the forest.

His mask was now off. He was a man built for strength, with kindly eyes, and he was probably about forty years of age. Not at all dashing, as Harriet had supposed all highwaymen to be, but something better than that. He was steady. Obviously the sort of man one could depend on to do the right thing. Wait a moment, what was she thinking? He was a highwayman, for crying out loud! She wondered how he had gotten into it. He didn't seem the type of man, from first appearances, to take up such a career voluntarily.

As he held open the door for her, she found herself wondering what the second man looked like, but she banished that thought quickly, and followed Mr Hewat into the parlour he led her to, past the bewildered landlord – Hewat fobbed him off with a whispered, "My niece!"

"Oh, your niece," said the landlord smugly, and Harriet's cheeks brightened angrily as she realised what he was thinking.

But before the man could think much further, Mr Hewat had given him a thunderous glare, and said a little louder, "My niece and a lady."

"S-sorry," said Gorch, (as Harriet later found out was his name), bobbing slightly, rather like a nervous chambermaid. Harriet could tell immediately that Hewat was no object of disrespect around the place. Her curiosity heightened.

A pair of clear grey eyes greeted her with a smile and a shake of the hand as she entered the room. "Good evening, ma'am." She was surprised by his appearance; he was unmistakeably genteel looking, with impeccably chosen dress and an air of careless fashion.

"Good evening," she said disdainfully, belying her thoughts, and sitting down carefully on one of the settees. "I presume you are our other highwayman? The mad one? May I know your name?"

"Around here you will hear me called Hugh Massey," he replied, sitting down languidly, and watching Harriet with a smile in his eyes.

"Yes, but that is not your name, is it?"

"What is your name, ma'am?" he countered.

"I am Alexandra Wells, sir."

"Yes, but that is not your name, is it?"

She had to laugh. "All right, then, sir, if you will tell me your real name, I will tell you mine."

"I drive a harder bargain than that," he said, laughing.

"What more can you want?" she asked, raising her little black eyebrows.

"I want to know why you are running away."

"I told you."

"I want to know the whole story," he said persistently.

"Fine, I'll tell you, sir," she said. "I do not think you are very gentlemanlike! But I want to know why you are a highwayman. Now, what is your name?"

"His name is Lord Hugh Fitzroy, seventh Earl of Carnell," said Mr Hewat lazily, pouring himself a glass of wine as Carnell hesitated.

"Oh, so you're a peer, then," said Harriet calmly, her heart beating secretly as she realised the luck of her situation. "Thank you," she said as she took a glass handed her by Hewat. She turned her attention to Carnell again. "You must get very bored. What may I call you by?"

"Mr Massey," said Carnell, gritting his teeth at Mr Hewat.

"No, but what do I think of you as, then?"

"Lord Carnell, I suppose," he said sulkily. "Now tell me your name."

"Oh, I'm just plain Harriet Stevenson," she replied, yawning. "Obvious why I changed my name, is it not?"

"May I call you Harry?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"No, you may not," she said fiercely.

"Oh, but if you're to be my sister..."

"Then you may call me Alexandra to my face and you may think of me as Miss Stevenson. You do not know how much I abhor the name Harry. My brother Dick tried to call me by it. I hate him and I hate that name."

Carnell raised his eyebrows. "I take it you do not like your brother?"

She grinned mischievously for a moment. "No, I don't like any of them. It may seem very unwomanly and ungracious and all that tosh, but if you knew them, you would know why I don't care a jot for any of them. Nor for my parents. They tried to marry me to Rupert Porker."

Carnell's eyes widened. "All at once I am beginning to understand. Rupert Porker! I assume he is the reason for your flight?"

"Yes. My parents couldn't make me marry him. So they locked me in a room until I said I would. But I never meant to. I tricked them in the church and ran away. And here I am!" She smiled happily.

"Wait a moment," said Mr Hewat seriously. "You mean you just ran away from the church, and turned up here – with a curricle? You didn't steal it, did you?"

She laughed. "No!"

Carnell tried not to smile. "Well?"

"Well, I arranged for a friend to come running in proclaiming a just impediment, I went into hysterics, and ran into the back room with my best friend, who covered for me. Then I ran through the woods, where another friend was waiting with the curricle, and I went to his friend's home for a couple of weeks and today I was driving to London, when I met you!"

"Oh, I see, just driving to London," said Mr Hewat sarcastically.

"Yes," said Harriet, oblivious, "and I am beginning to think it was quite a stroke of luck that I met you!"

"Why is that?" said Carnell, amused.

"Well, it is quite a lot more pleasant to stay at an inn with people than without."

"I have no doubt you would have made friends quickly," said Mr Hewat.

"Thank you," said Harriet, looking at him suspiciously. "I am not sure whether that was a compliment or that it was not. Lord Carnell – Mr Massey, I should say – you still have to answer my question."

"Why it is that I am a highwayman," he said blandly. He shrugged. "Why is a nobleman ever a highwayman?"

"I don't know, why is he?" said Harriet with a grin.

Carnell had to smile. "I am down on my luck," he said gloomily. "Too much gambling, too much profligacy, too little decency, I am told. To tell the plain and awful truth, I ran out of money and have to make a little on the highway until I receive my next year's payment. Thought it would be amusing. Luckily it's only a few weeks until the payment."

"Don't you believe it, Miss Stevenson," said Hewat seriously. "He had to pay off all his younger brother's debts and scandals. That's why he is in this mess."

Carnell yawned. "I really wish you would not always defend my innocence, William; I am beginning to lose my reputation. Well, there you have it, Miss Stevenson. Alexandra." He looked around. "Where is Ned?"

"In the stables," said Hewat. "You just changed the subject."

"May I come robbing with you?" asked Harriet humbly.

Two faces stared up at her at once. "What are you talking about?" snapped Mr Hewat.

"May I come robbing with you?" said Harriet slowly, for their benefit.

"No," said Carnell, and turned back to Hewat.

"Please?" she begged. "I've always wanted to be a highwaywoman. It's so romantic."

"No, and it's our bedtimes," said Mr Hewat in his best now-that's-final voice. "Goodnight, Miss Stevenson. Goodnight, Hugh."

"Goodnight, William," said Carnell, getting wearily up from the sofa. "Sleep well, Miss Stevenson. I believe Mrs Gorch has a room ready for you beside our apartments."

Harriet considered pressing him again, but he didn't seem the sort of man to bend that easily, and she was tired. There would be plenty of time for persuasiveness in the morning.

Harriet considered her appearance in the mirror. It was a difficult question. Should she go for overly ravishing and make them gape and agree to anything she asked? Or would that simply make them more overly cautious and refuse to take her? Maybe she should look tough. She wasn't sure she knew how; looking innocent and fragile had always been the most useful means of making people do what she wanted.

She decided to go for ravishing. Not too much so, or she would look coquettish and sadly out of place in an obscure country inn. But if she looked just a little bit saucy, it may make her look stronger. Harriet grinned at herself in the mirror after she had put on her red velvet pelisse and matching ribbons, her hair arranged in a lopsided little knot on the top of her head. The dress she wore had not been as revealing as it was now; it had been made under the strict instructions of Mrs Stevenson. However, Harriet had altered it to emulate the current fashion. Not for nothing had she endured those afternoons of embroidery. And now she drew herself up tall, and marched down the stairs very strongly, all for the benefit of the charwoman standing awed below.

Lord Carnell blinked as she entered the room, but beyond that, took no apparent notice of the fact that she was ravishing. Hewat was simply engrossed in his porridge, absenting himself from it just long enough to say, "Morning," before diving back into it again, looking up sporadically at the week-old newspaper in front of him.

Harriet was disappointed that her entrance had not been as grand as she had hoped, but sat down undaunted, hoping to make up for it in time. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said calmly. "It is a lovely morning, is it not?"

Carnell looked out the window. "Is it?" Ominous black clouds were rolling across the sky and already a few speckles of rain were dotting the window. He looked back at her. "Have you looked outside, Miss Stevenson?"

Harriet ignored her faux pas. "I like rain," she said, smiling radiantly and helping herself to coffee.

Carnell raised his eyebrows. "To each his own. Oh, by the way, I have been thinking – we should probably call you Harriet while you are here, Harriet Massey, as you are to be my sister. I can't quite picture you Alexandra. And you must call me Hugh, and William Uncle."

"Oh yes, that sounds perfect, Hugh," said Harriet breezily, although she wanted to argue about not being Alexandra. "And I have been thinking; I really would like to come robbing with you. And it would be quite safe; I could be a decoy on the road. I honestly think-"

"Stop right now, Harriet," growled Hewat, not looking up from his porridge. "There is no way in heaven or below that I would ever allow you to come with us robbing. Anyway, it is only a few weeks before we can stop this foolish game and return to our ordinary lives."

Harriet looked crestfallen. "Please may I?" she whispered. "I would really be no trouble at all. You said I could assist you." She sighed her most fetching sigh and put a hand to her bosom. "You are breaking my heart."

"Female histrionics won't work with highwaymen, darling," said Hewat. "You tell her, Hugh."

"Yes, Harriet, I'm afraid I have to break your heart," said Carnell, not looking in the least sorry, his mouth half full of toast. "It would be entirely inappropriate. After all, decorum is everything in our line of work." And the two men both suddenly erupted into laughter like they had the previous night, utterly bemusing Harriet and putting her entirely off her ravishing approach.

She scowled. "It's not fair. Why do men get to do everything?"

"Sorry, my dear. That's how it is," smiled Hewat.

"I think I am a feminist," said Harriet, intent on shocking.

"Oh, are you?" said Carnell disinterestedly, cutting up his bacon.

Harriet was most annoyed. Her mother would have threatened a whipping and banished her to her room for the day if the slightest suspicion of what Harriet had just said to Carnell occurred to Mrs Stevenson. She gave a sniff of displeasure and turned her attention to her porridge.

After she had not said anything for a few minutes, Carnell looked over at her with that unreadable smile on his face. "I'm sorry, Harriet. It just wouldn't be right. Plunder on the highway is not always as danger-free as our experience with you was last night. When I said you could help us, I meant as a look-out at the inn, or things like that."

"Danger-free!" cried Harriet. "How can you say that? I threatened to shoot you!"

"You didn't have a gun," said Hewat dryly.

Harriet didn't speak to them for about fifteen more minutes.