Part Two
Five weeks later
Peter had been hunting Neal with zeal; often he had got close to the highwayman, but each time Neal had managed to escape him. One thing that soon because clear to him was that Neal for all the pistols he carried hadn't once used the weapons to hurt another person; in fact he went to extreme lengths to avoid it during his robberies. But Peter was a realist: one day someone wouldn't play the game that Neal played and he would end up either having to kill someone or would end up face down in the muddy road, dead.
Neal had been leaving small drawing of flowers as tokens near the scenes of his robberies. His men were sure that Caffrey was taunting him, but Peter thought differently; there was something more to it. Each time he found one of these tokens ,he brought it home to Elizabeth to see; their message was a riddle that he couldn't solve. Until one day, when the latest flower drawing was placed on her table, she looked up to him with a smile.
"You know what they mean."
"Diana helped me work out the meaning of these tokens; promise that you will not be angry, Peter."
She watched him nod, then ask a touch impatiently which only made her smile a little more widely "So what is the message? Is he taunting me?"
"Neal is flirting with you. These flowers are all symbols of a love that can't say its name in the cold harsh light of day." She paused. "While you did your business in London, Diana and I did some exploring. Diana purchased this book." Elizabeth placed a small black book onto the table; Harris's List of Covent Garden Ladies, the book was cheaply printed, but it was an almanac that Peter had seen more than one gentleman around town carrying. It contained lists of all the whores in London, their location, fee and specialities, it also listed the addresses of speciality houses. "See page 187, darling."
Peter paused and raised an eyebrow. "Diana purchased the book," and then understanding dawned on his face, Diana was a woman that he admired for her spirit, her intelligence and her love of life, but she had needs which some in society would not understand or tolerate. The addresses in the book allowed her to meet like-minded ladies safely.
Peter flipped through the pages, and began to read. The page listed the molly houses, and the symbolic tokens they placed in their windows. He sat down suddenly onto the chair, and reached for a glass of brandy that Elizabeth had poured for him.
"Who else would know?"
"These books would not be in the hands of the common man. It is very unlikely that any of the soldiers would understand the meaning of the tokens; after all, many of them haven't travelled more than ten miles from their place of birth and are unable to read and write." She paused and took the glass from his hand and took a sip of the drink, looking at him over the rim. "The question is, what are we going to do about it."
"We?" Peter said, but his lips curled into a smile.
"We," Elizabeth confirmed and leaned in and kissed him.
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Neal Caffrey rode into the inn yard of the Brown Bull. His horse was a fine 16-hands black stallion; it had stamina and speed, two things that could mean the difference between life and death to a highwayman riding the High Toby. He had acquired the horse in a card game from a fool with more wealth than brains. The stable boy was paid to hold his horse; only a fool would tie his horse up where you couldn't get to it fast.
As he dismounted, his eyes took in his surroundings; nothing seemed amiss. He had seen no signs of Dragoons, but he couldn't be too careful. Too many highwaymen had done the Tyburn Jig because they had been careless, and Caffrey wasn't going to join them; he moderated his drinking because lost in your cups you became an easy target for those people that would turn you in for your bounty, and there was no such place as a safe haven for a highwayman.
The Brown Bull was on the very edge of his territory, and he would be unlikely to meet anyone that knew his face. To the north of his territory, Du Val plied his trade; to the south, Naylor; and to the west, Fletcher. These men, like him, were big fish in the pond, but there were also the small fry who moved through their territories, causing all four of them to spit curses as plum coaches were picked off, stirring up the Dragoons. At the moment, this area was quiet and he could take a breather.
As Neal entered the inn, the owner caught the coin he threw him and drew a pint of ale from the barrel, pushing it into his hand then nodding towards the far wall where a man was seated.
Moz Havisham was a fence, one of the best in the three counties: a small bald-headed man who looked more like a schoolteacher than a criminal. He was also the only reason that Neal had ventured here; he was perhaps his only true friend.
Once Neal was seated, with his back to the wall facing the door, he shed his cape and tri-corner hat. One hand rested lightly on the butt of his pistol; with his other hand he dropped a small purse on the table and pushed it across to the older man.
Havisham pulled the purse to him and quickly untied its drawstring, his fingers moving through the jewels inside of it. Moz quickly calculated a price and Neal pocketed the gold coins, knowing that he had been given a fair price.
Suddenly, Neal's eyes widened and his hand tightened on his pistol as two men came into the tavern; his body tensed: militia.
Havisham caught Neal's wrist, hissing, "No one has betrayed you, Neal; easy, my friend." For a heartbeat Neal held the eyes of his only true friend, and took a mental deep breath, even as he recognised the man framed in the doorway.
It was then a third man entered the tavern. "Major Peter Burke." Neal said the name softly as he drank in the sight of him. Taking the opportunity to really study the Major, he liked what he saw; Burke was good looking in his own way, his brown hair pulled back; he favoured his own hair rather than the powdered wigs of the dandies. Since their deadly dance had started, Neal had taken the trouble to learn as much as he could about him, even following the man back to his home many a time, watching him and his wife together. Sadness had come over him as he watched them; it was something that he could never have, that happiness they shared so easily between them.
Neal Caffrey was no fool; he knew that his and Peter's dance could only end in one way. Peter Burke was good at what he did and already five highwaymen had done the jig at the end of a rope courtesy of the Major; one day that would be him. But still he was drawn to Peter Burke. Already the locals spoke of Major Burke in hushed tones; to the lawbreakers the man was a damned devil in human form. Burke's justice was swift and unrelenting once he was on your trail, it was said that you might as well order your coffin because you would die as sure as the sun set at the end of each day.
It was, Neal mused, a shame Peter had such an unreasonable attitude towards men that rode the High Toby; he considered it an unfortunate character flaw in the Major, but that could be worked on. If he could just get close enough to talk without the threat of Peter giving over to an impulse to arrest him, he was sure he could change the Major's mind about a few things. But now that harbinger of death was entering the tavern.
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Peter noticed the way the noise had fallen away as they entered the tavern; he ignored the looks that came his way he had a thick hide and was used to them.
Peter saw the two men seated in the far corner, a mismatched pair; his eyes slid over the older, smaller man, and then fixed on the younger man. For what could have been only seconds but seemed like minutes their eyes met across the sawdust-strewn floor. But before he could take a step closer, the door swung open and Dragoon Captain Richard Ruiz walked in.
Peter decided there and then there was no way that he was going to let the Dragoon Captain get his hands on Neal. Damn, when had he started to think of the highwayman as Neal rather than Caffrey? The very thought of Neal being in Ruiz's hands sent him cold, and a protective wave swept over him. Peter deliberately met Neal's eyes and nodded with his head to the back door of the tavern, as he turned on his heels and blocked Ruiz.
Neal didn't know what had just happened, but there were suddenly too many law keepers in the tavern for his liking; with a nod to Moz he disappeared through the back door, his features hidden by his battered hat, heading for the stables.
For some reason, Peter Burke had let him go, ignored the price on his head and saved him from the Dragoon Captain who had been hard on his trail, but why?
Over the days that followed Neal tried to find answers to his questions; as much as Burke hunted him, he hunted Peter, it was as if he was a moth and Peter was the flames that kept luring him close. He would try to leave the area only to find that everything he did drew him closer. It was early one morning that he was lying in the damp wild grass, his horse tethered behind some trees, training his telescope on the red Tudor brick house of Major Burke. He watched as the Major came out of his house, paused to press a kiss to his wife's mouth as she stood in the doorway to watch him leave. Mrs. Burke was an attractive lady, so Neal settled down to watch her; her smile he found warming she was the perfect half for Peter. Half an hour later he saw a small cart heading away from the Tudor house, taking the beaten track towards town, with the coloured woman at the reins and Mrs. Burke at her side. On impulse he decided to follow them at a distance; after all, he didn't want to scare them.
Neal was following them slowly, lost in his own thoughts, when a pistol shot brought him abruptly back to the present and made him turn his horse towards the Bishops Basin, a wooded area that dipped down towards an old river bed. As he came over the rise he saw the two women being held up by a highwayman. Neal swore under his breath, pulled one of his pistols from his belt, cocked it, and then dug his heels in. His horse lunged forward as he yelled his challenge, determined to get the other highwayman to focus on him, and not the ladies. "Stand, you son of a whore."
The highwayman turned the brace of pistols he had been holding on the women, and now trained them on Neal, even as he closed the distance between.
Glaring at him over the top of the black mask that covered the lower part of his face, he snarled, "Ride on; this has nothing to do with you."
But Neal ignored him. "My name's Caffrey, and, cully, I don't take kindly to anyone poaching on my territory. This cart is mine." He made a motion with the pistol. "So go on your way before I put a ball through your head."
"Back off, Caffrey." The man's mask twitched, showing he was smiling; they had a standoff.
The women on the cart had been forgotten, so the sharp clicks of flintlocks being cocked brought both the highwaymen's heads round. It was then that Neal finally really looked at them; he had been so intent on the other highwayman that he had paid them scant regard, and he cursed under his breath if they had been men he would never have ignored them. Mrs. Burke held a blunderbuss, while the other woman held a horse pistol rock steady in her hand.
It was then that Neal realised that the weapons weren't aimed at him, but at the other man. The highwayman slowly backed his horse away from the cart, all the time keeping one pistol trained on the women and the other on Neal. The man's horse was superbly trained and obeyed each command from no more than a touch of a heel; once he had moved far enough away he wheeled his horse round and took off.
Neal slowly lowered his pistol so that it rested against his saddle, ignoring the weapons that were now aimed at him. "I hope that you ladies are unhurt."
"We're uninjured, Mr. Caffrey; thank you for your timely intervention." Elizabeth said.
"I would get off home now, ladies, before the afternoon pulls in; I will ride with you a short way if you wish. I wouldn't like Major Burke to think that I left you unprotected," Neal tried a smile and was surprised when Elizabeth returned it and lowered the blunderbuss.
Diana laid her pistol in her lap and gave the reins a snap that started the cart horses forward, as Neal rode by the side of the cart.
"You are very quiet, Mr. Caffrey."
"Just wondering why Major Burke would allow you out on your own with only your servant for protection in these times of trouble."
Neal was surprised when Elizabeth laughed, "Diana is not my servant; she is my companion, and Mr. Caffrey, we are not some rare hothouse flowers that need the protection of a man; my husband knows that and respects my independence."
As she spoke, Neal had to shake his head at her words; this was the kind of woman that he could respect.
At the pounding of horse's hooves, Neal wheeled his horse round, but it was already too late. There was the crack of a pistol, and it was as if he had been hit by a blacksmith's hammer; he was thrown forward across his horse's neck. The world slowed down, there was the earth-shattering noise of the blunderbuss being fired, his horse pranced and jumped, and then someone was grabbing the reins. Neal tried to lift his head up from his horse's neck, and he saw Elizabeth by his side. She was reaching out for him; her mouth was opening and closing, but all he could hear was the beating of his own heart and the rush of blood in his ears, and then he was tumbling down off his horse and into a black void of nothing.