absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same again. Behind her back she slipped Mr Pickering’s betrothal ring from her finger and hid it within the pocket of the blue-silk dress.
* * *
It was close to lunchtime the next day when Marianne’s father came into the drawing room and sat down on the sofa opposite her and her mother. She could see her brother, Francis, waiting in the background and knew, before her mother spoke, that they had come to question her about the highwayman.
‘Your papa wishes to speak with you, Marianne. Be sure to do as he asks.’ Then with a nod of her head Lady Misbourne slipped from the room, leaving Marianne alone with her father and brother. Francis did not move from where he leaned against the wall.
‘You are well enough this morning to be out of bed, Marianne?’ her father asked.
‘I am very well, Papa, thank you.’
‘There are some questions that I must ask you about these last few days. Questions that, although I have no wish to distress you, must be asked.’
She felt a ripple of nervousness run through her.
Her father cleared his throat and looked awkward. ‘Your mama tells me that...that the villain did not...’ He cleared his throat again and did not meet her eye. Marianne glanced round at Francis, but her brother’s face was a mask that showed nothing. ‘Did not force himself upon you,’ finished her father.
‘He did not,’ said Marianne. ‘He did nothing like that. Indeed, he treated me with kindness.’
‘Kindness?’ Her father’s gaze riveted to hers and she saw the sudden shrewd sharpness within them and was afraid, not for herself but for the highwayman.
‘He did not hurt me,’ she said. ‘He brought me candles to light the darkness. And when I escaped and found myself lost in St Giles Rookery he saved me from a group of ruffians who would have...’ She looked away in embarrassment. ‘They meant to...’ And then her eyes met her father’s once more. ‘The highwayman saved me from them.’
She saw the look her father exchanged with her brother.
‘I want to know everything about him, Marianne, where he took you, what he did. Everything.’
She swallowed and then slowly sketched a very rough outline of the past few days.
At the end of her story she saw her father close his eyes as if garnering strength or control over some strong emotion. ‘At any point did you see his face, Marianne?’
A fleeting second to make a momentous decision. Her heart beat, and the seconds seemed to slow down. A pause that was so tiny, yet felt so vast. She should tell the truth, reveal a description of that so-handsome face. Especially given what he had done to her father.
‘Whatever that villain may have threatened, pay no heed, Marianne, for I swear on my life that I will see the scoundrel caught.’
She knew what they did to highwaymen that they caught. The magistrates would not be lenient. Her father would see to that.
‘He was masked. I saw nothing.’ Marianne could not meet her father’s eyes to tell the lie. Her heart tripped all the faster.
There was silence in the room and she expected them to say that they knew that she was lying. But they did not.
Her hands lay folded on her lap. She gripped them a little tighter together. ‘He said he had taken me to force you to yield a particular document.’ She hesitated. ‘Why did you not give it to him, Papa?’
‘Such a foolish question, Marianne!’ Her father’s face stained burgundy. ‘Do you honestly think I would not have given it to him, were it that easily done?’ he demanded.
‘You do not have the document he seeks.’ It was not a question, only an assertion of what she already knew.
‘I have not the slightest notion of what he speaks. The man belongs in Bedlam. Demanding old documents of which I have not the slightest knowledge. He is both dangerous and delusional.’
‘I told him you did not have it.’
Her father paled. His eyes opened wider and she saw in them a
* * *
It was close to lunchtime the next day when Marianne’s father came into the drawing room and sat down on the sofa opposite her and her mother. She could see her brother, Francis, waiting in the background and knew, before her mother spoke, that they had come to question her about the highwayman.
‘Your papa wishes to speak with you, Marianne. Be sure to do as he asks.’ Then with a nod of her head Lady Misbourne slipped from the room, leaving Marianne alone with her father and brother. Francis did not move from where he leaned against the wall.
‘You are well enough this morning to be out of bed, Marianne?’ her father asked.
‘I am very well, Papa, thank you.’
‘There are some questions that I must ask you about these last few days. Questions that, although I have no wish to distress you, must be asked.’
She felt a ripple of nervousness run through her.
Her father cleared his throat and looked awkward. ‘Your mama tells me that...that the villain did not...’ He cleared his throat again and did not meet her eye. Marianne glanced round at Francis, but her brother’s face was a mask that showed nothing. ‘Did not force himself upon you,’ finished her father.
‘He did not,’ said Marianne. ‘He did nothing like that. Indeed, he treated me with kindness.’
‘Kindness?’ Her father’s gaze riveted to hers and she saw the sudden shrewd sharpness within them and was afraid, not for herself but for the highwayman.
‘He did not hurt me,’ she said. ‘He brought me candles to light the darkness. And when I escaped and found myself lost in St Giles Rookery he saved me from a group of ruffians who would have...’ She looked away in embarrassment. ‘They meant to...’ And then her eyes met her father’s once more. ‘The highwayman saved me from them.’
She saw the look her father exchanged with her brother.
‘I want to know everything about him, Marianne, where he took you, what he did. Everything.’
She swallowed and then slowly sketched a very rough outline of the past few days.
At the end of her story she saw her father close his eyes as if garnering strength or control over some strong emotion. ‘At any point did you see his face, Marianne?’
A fleeting second to make a momentous decision. Her heart beat, and the seconds seemed to slow down. A pause that was so tiny, yet felt so vast. She should tell the truth, reveal a description of that so-handsome face. Especially given what he had done to her father.
‘Whatever that villain may have threatened, pay no heed, Marianne, for I swear on my life that I will see the scoundrel caught.’
She knew what they did to highwaymen that they caught. The magistrates would not be lenient. Her father would see to that.
‘He was masked. I saw nothing.’ Marianne could not meet her father’s eyes to tell the lie. Her heart tripped all the faster.
There was silence in the room and she expected them to say that they knew that she was lying. But they did not.
Her hands lay folded on her lap. She gripped them a little tighter together. ‘He said he had taken me to force you to yield a particular document.’ She hesitated. ‘Why did you not give it to him, Papa?’
‘Such a foolish question, Marianne!’ Her father’s face stained burgundy. ‘Do you honestly think I would not have given it to him, were it that easily done?’ he demanded.
‘You do not have the document he seeks.’ It was not a question, only an assertion of what she already knew.
‘I have not the slightest notion of what he speaks. The man belongs in Bedlam. Demanding old documents of which I have not the slightest knowledge. He is both dangerous and delusional.’
‘I told him you did not have it.’
Her father paled. His eyes opened wider and she saw in them a
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