Helen Dickson - A Traitor's Touch

‘You make it sound like a matter of life or death.’

‘It is.’

She shivered and sent a furtive glance over her shoulder, as though expecting something terrible to materialise out of the darkness, her gaze scanning the impenetrable blackness among the trees, cocking her head, as if listening for something, some far-off noise.

Simon was sorely tempted to dismiss her remark as wild exaggeration, but by rights he could not do so unless he had a chance to delve into the matter. His gaze softened at the lad’s plight and he instantly suffered a pang of compassion. He couldn’t be any older than fifteen and he didn’t think he had known much kindness. He reminded him for all the world of some little prey animal, his preternatural senses alerted to the imperceptible sound of some fierce predator’s approach. His curiosity for this unfortunate youth was beginning to grow.

‘Do you have a name?’

Henrietta squirmed uneasily and glanced around her.

‘You do have a name, don’t you?’ Simon enquired with a hint of sarcasm.

A brief, reluctant nod gave him an affirmative answer. ‘Henry,’ she prevaricated evenly. ‘My name is Henry.’ There—her first lie. It wasn’t so bad.

Fixing her eyes on the man’s face, she studied him as much as she was able in the moonlight. She had heard him say he was to go to Scotland. Hope surged up in her. He was on a mission—a dangerous one, too, if what she had heard was to be believed—and could not be too particular in the matter of formalities. For her, this meant safety, luck beyond hope which she could not afford to lose. If he were willing to take her with him, she was prepared to offer any service she was capable of giving—within reason, that was—in exchange for a helping hand.

Henrietta became set on a course of action and, in spite of a very reasonable fear of rejection, she continued. She was on a tightrope with an obligation to move forward, not backwards. Having come this far, she had to speak the words she had rehearsed in her head.

‘Since you are to go to Scotland, will you take me with you?’ She had no qualms about making the request. She was desperate. Overwhelmed by a sense of her own audacity, she braced herself for rejection.

Simon stared into her hope-filled eyes, thought of his vital secret mission, and let out a sigh. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘But why?’

‘Because it’s a mad idea.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Yes, it is. I might be about to let you go, but I have no intention of playing nursemaid to a quick-tempered lad.’

Undeterred, Henrietta took a step towards him, her chin jutting belligerently. ‘I’m past the stage of being in need of a nursemaid. I can take care of myself. You’re going to Scotland anyway—I heard you say so. At least if you take me with you, you’ll know your secret is safe.’

His eyes narrowed on her expectant face. ‘That sounds like blackmail to me.’

Henrietta allowed herself a smile. ‘Not really, but I suppose it must look like that from your position.’ Her smile faded. ‘I do know that the content of your discussion can be classed as a treasonous act for which all of you could be hanged if caught. But I don’t care who you are and what you are about is your business. All I know is that I stand a better chance of reaching Scotland unmolested if I do not travel alone.’

Jack stepped forward, not at all happy about the lad’s suggestion. ‘Don’t be swayed, Simon. Think about it. Time is a luxury you can’t afford. The lad will hold you back.’

‘You’re right.’ He looked at the youth, his expression uncompromisingly hard. ‘As I said, it’s out of the question. I’ve important matters to take care of and I’ve no desire to saddle myself with a troublesome lad. Now away with you. Think yourself lucky we’re letting you go with your life.’

* * *

Henrietta went on her way across the heath, heading towards Highgate, feeling angry and mortified as well as bitterly disappointed. Everything that had happened to her seemed so improbable. She had, to be sure, a little money, but so very little it would not enable her to subsist for more than two weeks. She had her jewels, but they were not worth very much. Of sentimental value since the pearl necklace had been her mother’s and the rest given to her over time by Aunt Dorothy, she would be most reluctant to part with them.

* * *

It was way past dawn when she reached Hatfield, thankfully without mishap. Saddle-sore and starving hungry, there was a weariness in her eyes as she dismounted and pushed her woollen cloak back over one shoulder. Leading her horse, with her mind on finding something to eat, she walked along the street, glancing into alehouses as she went. Never having entered such establishments, she was reluctant to do so now.

Was it only yesterday that Jeremy had turned up at the house? It seemed an eternity since she had left. It had needed only a few hours to make her first an outraged young woman because of the injustice meted out to her by Jeremy and now a fugitive who would soon be hunted down by that same man when he discovered the truth about his uncle’s will. She prayed he wouldn’t think of looking for her north of the border. But when she thought of Jeremy, who had treated her so cruelly, no remorse troubled her mind.

With an effort of will, she drove out these gloomy thoughts. She was young and strong and determined with all the force that was within her to overcome the malign fate which dogged her and to do that, it was necessary to remain in possession of her wits for the long trek to Scotland. Tethering her horse to a post, she glanced about her warily, feeling terribly conspicuous in her masculine garb.

There was a bustle in the street as the town was coming to life. An assortment of rustic-looking folk went about their business. A loud curse made her jump swiftly aside and she waited as a couple of huge, plodding horses, their foam-flecked sides heaving, drew a large wagon piled high with casks. Intent on staying out of their path she heedlessly stepped backwards into a loitering group of youths. Their presence was first noted when a voice called loudly, ‘Young fool! Look where you’re going.’

Spinning round in alarm, she stared at the youths, the eldest of whom was about sixteen. He stepped in front of her, his feet spread, his thumbs hooked in his belt and a tattered hat askew on an untidy thatch of brown hair. He towered over her, looking her over suspiciously.

‘Can’t say I know you. What you doing here?’ he demanded boldly.

‘I—I’m just passing through,’ she nervously stammered, lowering her voice to fit in with her masculine attire. Uncertain and dismayed at this unexpected confrontation, she glanced uneasily towards the others who were circling around her. For the most part, they seemed only to be seeking some diversion from boredom. She could not be too careful and sought to make them more cautious.

‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone—my uncle,’ she lied in an attempt to make them back away. ‘He—he should be here...’ Her voice trailed off and she looked around expectantly.

One of the youths laughed loudly and gave Henrietta’s shoulder a shove. ‘Hope he’ll come to your rescue, do you?’

Hands seeming to come from every direction reached out to shove and push. The next instant her hat was snatched from her head, baring a mop of shaggily cropped hair. Henrietta threw her hands over her head, at the same time opening her mouth to vent her outrage. For some reason she thought better of it and clamped her jaw shut, angrily making a grab for her hat, only to see it passed from one to the other. Incensed, she stood there with her fists clenched, refusing to show her fear. ‘Give me back my hat and I’ll be on my way.’