Encounter with a highwayman

Encounter with a highwayman

1788
A country estate in Yorkshire

Mrs Jane Bonfils gracefully sat in her stage coach, the sun gleaming off of her porcelain like face, her long redwood coloured hair appearing almost a crimson in the light of the setting afternoon sun, her blue dress absorbing some of the sunlight as her family locket rested heavily on her neck. Her daughter Marise sat opposite to her, her hair being a darker tint, almost a chocolate brown contrasting her white cotton dress, remaining silent and staring out of the window, a small book version of the bible of which she had spent some of the morning in the good household of the Crawfords, a friend of the Bonfils from times past, Marise had been regaling herself in heavy study of these stories of faith and lessons on the times of Jesus and Moses.

Aside from memorizing passages of the god given good book, Marise had also spent time looking at arithmetic, through memorizing the times tables of which she had excelled at. At lunch they had dined in the main dining hall, the table lavishly decorated in fine cloths and the maids had spent much time preparing the fine crockery and made a small fuss over Marise, of which Mrs Crawford highly discouraged, but made that known lightly, for a child was present in the room after all, and Ladies of the house must retain their composure at all times anyway, even when not in the presence of a Gentleman.

The coach traversed a particularly rock filled road, passing endless trees and estates on their way back to the country house Jane’s Sister Alice McCorrins, who had married a Scottish gentleman by the name of Robert of whom was of some high standing. As the trees and the sun blended into the viewing of the small window, the interior of the wooden carriage shined, as its red paint caught some of the last of the sun in the west, and was slowly proceeding farther down the path of the sky.

The sun may have been disappearing, however the heat of the day was not and the summer air was moist and humid with the smell of fresh green plants and the sound of insects. Jane felt her waistline where the corset had been fastened extra tightly and had been causing some discomfort for most of the day, however she accepted it as the fashion and continued wearing it because it was acceptable, however she wished that she had found a way to loosen it without causing much of an alarm. With her slender, branch like fingers she reached out for her fan which rested next to herself on the wooden seat of the coach.

Grabbing hold of it, she expanded its paper tail so that it formed a sideways D like shape in her hand and began fluttering it with all of the grace of a spring butterfly looking for fresh nectar on a new flower. The silence in the cab was at once silenced by the sound of a horse approaching from behind, the rhythmic sounds of the hooves clacking and clopping on the earth, knocking all small rocks out of their unstoppable path. Jane, a little curious by the sudden and haste filled approach of the horse spoke first, adjusting her head to peer out of the small cab window to the left and the right, while the fan twisting in her arm “Oh, My dear.” She began, the fan wafting cooler breezes of air into her smooth and lean face as she continued “That fellow on the horse must be in a great haste, I fear his poor horse may suffer and faint under the heat of the day.”

Marise looked at her mother and after a moment of eyeing the road, her wide saucer like blue eyes scanning every inch of the road in front of them “Perhaps…” She began in a tone of childish delight, her accent containing a slight French influence making her over pronounce her O’s “Perhaps its a nobleman rushing to meet his fair lady, or it could be…” She started again, but a firm look from her mother silenced her childish fantasies “Now, now. I shall hear of no idle chatter from you my dear and none of those fantastic tales you think of.” Marise submitted with a meek ‘Yes Mama’ and continued on gawking out of the cabin window vacantly, in a sulk.

The horse sped past them, the ladies in the coach barely noticing the darkly clad figure occupying the rider’s position on the ever speeding horse. After a moment of being overtaken by the chestnut brown horse on the road, the coach suddenly screeched to a halt, at first Jane thought it was the driver not noticing a tree in the road, and she prepared to go out of the coach to suggest a better warning if the cabin was to stop so suddenly and have his master give him a severe reduction in his fee for his lack of care in handling such a vehicle. However a noise from the outside of the coach forced her back into her seat.

The sharp bellow in a common and yet refined and bright voice of “Stand and Deliver, Your money or your life!” The horses at the front of the carriage cried out in terror as the Highwayman outside approached the coach cabin with a large flintlock pistol, the handle made out of redwood, nicely polished and plain, and the barrel made out of iron with the little lead pellet securely inside it. The face of the man, what was visible of it and the pistol peered into the cabin, making Marise gasp in shock as she quickly shuffled herself onto the far edge of the carriage reacting to the danger of this man.

The barrel of the gun wavered around inside the interior of the cabin until focusing upon the lady inside and his pink thumb, with a hack job of a cut fingernail twisted the small lever at the back priming the gun for firing. The Highwayman’s face was covered up to his eyes in a black face mask bandanna, and a soldier’s generic tricorne hat, also wearing a black cloak discreetly covering the truth underneath of which was the tattered redcoat of an English soldier. His scarred eyebrows narrowed as he focused on the Joan’s neck, noticing a fine and elegant necklace that seemed to sparkle with the sun’s glint, it was almost captivating with several small jewels surrounding a golden oval connected to a gold chain.

The highwayman spoke again, his voice a soft low hum in the ears of both the ladies in the cabin “Well then fair lasses, what say I let both of you live and that lovely necklace leaves with me hmm?” For a moment both Mother and Daughter did nothing, as the fear of being shot or being left kin less filled both of them and they were rooted to the spot until the highwayman spoke once more his voice a little harsher “That wasn't a request, take it off or your daughter is an orphan.”

Jane realized the intended threat and quickly took off her necklace, unhooking it from the back, the pain in her eyes as several decades of family history would be going into the hands of a simple thief who had to pay for his way in life. Reluctantly she handed the precious piece of metal into the grubby and slender fingers of the highwayman, almost as if she was handing him her very soul. Her lengthy wig, of which was fashionable for ladies of high class and society to wear, shook at the imposing man, with his lethal weapon, if she wasn't wearing chalk dust to make her face extra pale (She refused lead paint as it made her feel ill) she would be white with fear.

The Highwayman’s dirty and empty palm was filled with a piece of beauty that priceless family heirloom, of which was handed down from her mother and her mother before that, all the way back into the Vikings who had taken over England centuries earlier, of which her family had originally hailed from, although the story changes and slides from generation to generation. At that, the highwayman with great satisfaction at a job well done, disappeared from the window rode off down the road to sell this very expensive piece of metal at the local dealers to earn his day’s bread.

The two ladies, shaken and in shock still from their close encounter with a highwayman had eventually decided to return home to their relatives house, in safety, security and comfort. Jane called to the cab driver “Continue, but please… be careful.” However no response came from the man, and all was quiet except for the horses who were still relatively panicked. Jane gave a large sigh under her breath and clicked open the carriage door, from there Jane carefully stepped down onto the dust strewn dry dirt path and walked around the carriage to the front, where the cab driver was no longer there. He had most likely ran away when the carriage came under attack, and now they were practically stranded, with the only thing left to do was either take the cab herself or for the two ladies to walk home.

Jane was so furious that she didn't notice Marise stepping out of the cabin and taking the side next to her mother until Marise started speaking “Mon Mere?” Joan nearly fainted as any little noise could make her jump and she made this known to her daughter with a sharp “Do be Quiet Girl! You startled me!” The young girl looked down and spoke in a lower quieter pitch “Je suis desole.” The Girl was about to continue in french, until she had remembered what her mother had taught her and carried on in English “Mere, what shall we do now?” Jane took Marise hand in hand and the two walked onward, now more cautious of what was out there