"Do you think we've thrown a wheel?", Helen peers out the window at the blackness nervously, then looks back to her sisters. "What could be the matter?"
     "If we'd thrown a wheel, we'd have felt it," Cassie points out reasonably, twitching at the hem of her skirt straight. "More likely the driver needed to stop to ... well." She prims up her mouth, suddenly blushing, a bit prudish.
     "At least you're half talking sense, Cassie," Penelope mutters. She leans down, setting her book on the floor, frowning suspiciously. "Still, I think it strange that he stopped without saying anything or giving a signal. I'd go and look, but ..." Nonetheless, she lifts a hand to draw back the edge of the drapery, frown still firmly intact.

     It's evening and ever darkening. The surrounding trees provide a buffer to the last of sunset. Rivulets of pink and orange like the trails of a lady's wrap can only be detected when the leaves move in an errant evening breeze.
     The driver hasn't given you a signal because he's too busy fast-talking to save your lives. Not that you can hear that. "No sirrah, I would'ant lie t'you," his voice lifts a bit. "I've an empty carriage... I've jest to get it to th'house..." His voice cuts off as he becomes visible past the little window. At the waving of a sword, the driver heads to the carriage door as instructed. He glances to the carriage with a frightened and apologetic face.
     "I've seen a lot of carriages come this way," another man's voice sounds -- it is smooth, with a refined accent. "But none of them have ever been empty...Open it."
     With that tone of voice and the sword in his face, the driver has no other choice...

     Cassandra and Helen gasp in mutual alarm, clinging to one another for support. They cast looks of mute appeal to Penelope, who stares back at them for a moment. What do you want ME to do? Take on armed bandits singlehandedly?
     You two don't find bandits so very interesting and exciting and romantic now, do you? Of course, neither do I...
     Penelope lifts her chin. There's really no help for it. She was born the eldest. "That won't be necessary," she calls out in a clear and carrying voice. "I'll come out of my own accord, thank you. And I'll thank you not to hurt my driver." She puts a hand to the door, cracking it open just a bit - just enough to slip out on her own, in the hopes of leaving her sisters inside and undetected. "The worst sin he's committed was to take an honest job for honest pay."
     She drops out of the carriage, not quite tumbling, smoothing down her skirts and straightening with haughty defiance writ large in the squaring of her shoulders and the lift of her chin, middling-brown not quite chestnut curls in danger of disarray. She narrows her eyes, ignoring the squeaks of alarm from behind - hopefully any bandits will think it's just the carriage-springs resettling. Ruddy little idiots.

     "And he is doing it honestly, God preserve him," the Black Jack Davy, for it is he ...it must be, wears a smile upon his voice. A smile to go with his wretchedness. The horse is black and large, even as he is black and large -- or what may be seen of him. The trihorn hat covers his head, with something like a veil, of black silk, covering most of his features. Everything but his eyes. Hard to see in the dark, that's the point.
     "And for the protection of ..." a gloved hand lifts, "...three young women... who could blame him for the slip of a lie..." The horse's breath can be felt as he rides toward you.
     "Sorry miss," the driver whispers. "It's the Black Jack...and I've a wife and four children... ah...two mistresses and one bastard," he adds in a panicked hurry as the sword comes into view again.
     Black Jack Davy chuckles at that confession. A robber and a priest -- well, they're not so different. "Your jewelry, please, and that of your...sisters," the highwayman hazards a guess. "And your...confessing carriage-man may then lead you unmolested for the rest of your journey..."

     The man receives a dark look from Penelope, and her chin comes up again. "His services will not be necessary the rest of the way back. Under the circumstances, I should feel the safer without him."
     Unhurriedly, she begins pulling off her gloves, slapping them against each other and then laying them down against the lintel of the carriage. "I'm sure you heard him as well as I did, sisters. You may as well get your jewelry out and pass it out through the window. There's no need," her tone is evenness itself, "for all three of us to be exposed to such uncouth villainy."
     The door, of course, swings open wide, Cassandra blinking her blue eyes wide. "But Penny! Mama's sapphires!" She squeaks as she catches sight of the large man on the large horse, hands going to her mouth as she leans back from the now open doorway. Penelope sighs.
     Why was I the only one to get father's brains...

     The large horse is a thoroughbred. Black through and through. The tack is black, everything inky. Imposing, yes, as it is brought close to you. The horse is turned to the side, you given the profile of your captor. Just like the Wanted: Dead or Alive posters. In the low light, can you tell that his hair, unlike everything else, isn't black?
     He is likely quite tall, for the horse fits him well. "I am rather partial to sapphires," the Black Jack Davy croons out, the sword sheathed. Deft fingers quickly untie a black sack, velvet, empty. As quickly as one might imagine he could unfasten a bodice -- just like in the songs and stories. Leaning in, he hands it to the young woman. "Penny... is it? If you would be so kind..."
     As the Black Jack sits back, he stares at the young woman. "You might be able to spare the sapphires the...cruel fate of landing in my bag... but the price...you may not wish to pay..."

     "I'm sure that you are fond of sapphires. And of any other gemstone that you can get your thieving hands on, just so long as you haven't got to pay a fair price for them," Penelope answers, trying to keep the snarl out of her voice. The size difference has never been so noticeable to her before, between a human and a horse... between a human and a human on horseback... between a defenseless young woman and an armed man on a thoroughbred. "And to that end, it hardly matters what kind of gems they are, does it? You'll still take them. Just like anything else which isn't rightfully yours."
     One hand comes up rather automatically, pushing her hair back from her cheek as she glares at the man, snatching the bag away rather than just taking it. Behind her there's another squeak, this time from Helen. "Penny, you can't let mama's sapphires go! She'll never let us away from the house again - and it's only the beginning of the season!" Blue eyes threaten to well up in tears.
     "There is a large man with a large sword demanding the jewels, Helen," Penelope says carefully, turning her back for a moment on the Black Jack - a mistake, no doubt, but better to point out truth to her younger sisters than to have them more directly offering everything else on a platter. "He wishes our jewelry. I don't particularly think that he terribly much cares about how this will affect your social life; he is much more interested in money."
     Cassandra sniffles. "But it's my first season! And - and - and if mother says..." Her lower lip quivers; the baby of the family, well armed with the weapons of guilt.
     Penelope sighs, lifting her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I feel a headache coming on," she declares. Bag still in hand, she turns back. "What will it take for you to go away and leave my sisters alone, preferably with our mother's sapphires? They aren't even very big sapphires, quite frankly; you won't get very much money for them, they're mostly valued to us and to mother for the sentiment."
     "And they look so good with my eyes!" Helen contributes.
     "And," Penelope agrees, raising her eyes heavenwards, "they look good with my sister's eyes. Quite frankly, I am only humoring you and them for the sake of his life," she lifts a hand to point at the cowed driver, "because in all the stories I have ever heard of any Black Jack Davy, I have never heard it said that he has ever hurt a woman. Men, certainly. So." She folds her arms, and there is the suggestion of a toe tapping, eyes now narrowed uncompromisingly. "What?"

     "Your sister makes her own compelling argument. But if you have heard the stories, then you already know my price." A booted foot comes out of the stirrup and swings over as he pivots easily (too easily) to dismount. Right. In. Front. Of. You.
     He is six-foot tall (or so)...
     And he smells of quince and clove...
     "It is true, I never have hurt a woman but for the absolutely unavoidable." My, whatever could that mean? "In the future, I will caution you to have two riders. Lovely women such as yourselves shouldn't be held in harm's way by a philandering," he sniffs, "... sack swilling shoveler of horse shit..."
     The man's protest is cut off by the unholstering and unlocking of the flintlock pistol. "Sit there and snivel in quiet," he commands. And then he looks to you. "My lady Penny, the price for your mother's sapphires is a kiss. I could be a rascal and ask one of each of you, but as you have chosen to spare them the... indignity, I shall adhere to your bargain..."

     Penelope jerks her head back, cheeks blazing with sudden colour. "Really, it is too bad," she declares, vexation loud in her tone, "that you are such a villain! Why would any woman wish to kiss you?" She sniffs loudly, tossing the bag at the rider's feet. "No, not for my mother's sapphires nor for all the gems in the world would I kiss you. I value the sanctity of my lips beyond that!"
     "Penny!" There are two despairing wails from the back of the carriage. "It's just a kiss," Helen cajoles. "Besides, you've been complaining forever about being without a beau. Won't simply everyone be dying to hear that you kissed the Black Jack Davy and rescued mama's sapphires?"
     Cassandra sniffles. "And it's my first season, Penny, please! Papa will forgive you, I am certain of it! We'll - we'll make a pact never to tell mother. Right, Helen?" Both girls nod solemnly.
     Penelope, for her part, looks as if the headache has just landed on her scalp with spurred feet. "Why was I 'blessed' with such sisters," she inquires aloud, "that they inform the entire world of my impending spinsterhood, announce the existence of gems which could otherwise have been concealed, and urge me on to kiss bandits? I realize that perhaps I have overly monopolized father's time and attention, I am aware that I perhaps have not always been as kind to widows and orphans as perhaps I ought, but I do not recall the vicar making any mention of this. I suppose then that if the wages of sin are death," she gives the enormous man a dark look, "then so must the wages of pettiness be perpetual vexation. If you wish anything of me, I'll not kiss you in front of my sisters and that - that pitiful excuse for a man." The driver gets a black look as well. "...And you had not better expect it to be a very good kiss. I don't value mother's sapphires half so much as I do a peaceful life."

     The Black Jack Davy reholsters the pistol and his gloved hand holding the bag, feeling its weight and the potential worth. He cinches it up, his fingers holding it securely as he reaches for your hand. "Very well, my brave lady Penny, I shall spare your sisters the carnality and you the immodesty of granting a favor to a strange man in front of a coward. Give me your hand..."
     The large highwayman takes that moment to tie the weighted bag to the belt at his waist. It is not a large haul by any means but the jewels will help later. Every little bit is precious, is it not? And of worth.

     There is a narrowing of her eyes, but it isn't as if she has much choice, now, is it? She's committed herself, however recklessly. "I have not given you leave to call me by such childish nicknames," Penelope announces coldly, even as she places her hand very carefully on the much larger one offered. "I am Penelope Carter, daughter of Lord General Thomas Carter. I do not take kindly to such liberties." And the small chin comes up again, imperious.
     Small wonder that she is quite without a beau; she must terrify most of the young men. And they say that Lord General Carter is quite without sons, with three daughters to marry off. Three daughters, and no sons...
     She turns her head a scant few degrees. "Cassie, Helen, stay in the carriage. I will return shortly. If the driver gives you any trouble," the man receives a hard look, "tell him that I will speak with my father upon our return and if he has done anything further to cross us, I will ensure that he is impressed into the Royal Navy forthwith. I hold no truck with craven cowards and lying fools."
     That having been said, she turns back to her escort. "Lead where you like; I no longer care. Let this be done with so that I may actually reach my home and the comparative idylls of Aristotle the sooner. Not that someone like you would appreciate such things."

     "On the contrary," Black Davy grins, the grin partly visible. "I am a fan of Aristotle's, Lady Carter," he speaks as he leads her around the body of the thoroughbred. "Are you acquainted with the poetics?" On this side, darkness seems deeper. Perhaps it is just your being trapped between the large dark-clothed highwayman and his large dark horse.
     A gloved hand touches the side of your face, along your hair. The leather comes up under your chin, tapping it upward as you so like to jut it yourself. His other hand comes up and cradles and holds your face where he wants it, as he likes it.
     The rogue...
     He bends, the silk draping against your skin as his mouth comes quite near. "It is a pity you hate me so much... the one thing of the road that eludes me is a woman who can speak to me of Aristotle as we stare into the flames of a campfire..."
     Leathered fingers tap against your skin lightly. "Have these virgin lips kissed before now? Or have they only dreamed of it..."

     "I loathe Aristotle beyond all belief," Penelope says evenly, though the colour springs into her face as she is led around to the side of the horse. "The only thing I loathe more than I loathe Aristotle is the constant prattle of my sisters on the topic of clothing and young men. Up until now, I should amend; now I have a new thing to loathe, even more than I loathe that."
     She comes to a halt, jerking slightly as she does so. It is plain that she is uncomfortable - a situation which she is not remotely in the control of, nor one which can end well for her. When her face is held, there is again that brief jerky motion - surprise and an edge of panic, quickly stilled.
     "Even if I loved Aristotle," Penelope mutters, trying not to move despite the flaming blush to her skin, the awkwardness and intensity of it, "it would not make me love you. You are a thief, and no honest man. What difference does it make to you whether or not I have been kissed before? I have said that I would do, to save my sisters indignity. I have not offered you my history, nor my dreams." She braces herself, eyes narrowed. If she were to try and defend herself now - how unladylike. But she is the daughter of a soldier, after all. Curiosity stills such thoughts for a moment longer.
     "Why do you even care? You're just a highwayman. What possible difference could it make to you?"

     When you are mid-tirade, the kiss comes. The veil parts for it, as have your lips. Quite crafty, this fox of the highways, to take you when you least expect it...
     You are brought into his arms -- very strong arms indeed. You are quite captured. If he wanted to kidnap you... he could.
     But he lets you go. He will let you go...
     "Your sister may keep your mother's sapphires," he announces, giving you your freedom once more. He mounts the horse and spurs it forward. "Helen... enjoy your parties. Perhaps we shall dance one night, you and I..."

     She sputters, and it's hard to say what makes her the angrier. Penelope's eyes go wide, then flash with some strong emotion. Anger. Hurt. Despair. Relief. Something of all of them, perhaps. She makes her way hurriedly back to the carriage, scowling.
     "Get in and close the door," Penelope tells her sisters curtly. To the driver, she scowls even more blackly. "You can walk back to whoever will have you, for all I care. I will steer the carriage the rest of the way to home; we haven't any need of someone as wickedly useless as you." She begins pulling herself up to the driver's seat, tossing her head haughtily as she grabs at the reins.

     Hooves are only heard for a short time, then they, as all evidence of him, disappear. It is suddenly as if he never existed. Which is, perhaps, what the lady Penelope might wish just now. Just now and for ever more.

     The driver has his cap in his hand. "Oh, miss... I am sorry I am... I have a bad back...it's all this drivin'... but it's m'only livelihood... take it from me an'... an'... you're no better than tha' scavenger," he waves his arms in the Davy's direction.
     Then shrinks down a size just in case he's circled back...

     "I am sure that my father, Lord General Carter, will see to it that you receive what amends that you are owed." Penelope has no truck with it. "I have no guarantee that you are not in league with him, after all, have I? This could have all been an act, and you leading us directly to him. After all, he didn't split you open from gullet to gizzard with his sword, now did he? - Shut that door, Cassie, or I swear, I'm telling mother everything when we get home."
     There is a squeak from behind, and the door bangs shut. Penelope gathers the reins up in her hands, giving them a sharp rattle. "If you wish, report the coach as stolen to the local constabulary. No doubt they're most accustomed to the Black Jack Davy's antics, and will be most interested in what you can tell them. Don't forget the part where you tell him exactly what is inside the carriage, mind."

     The man kicks up the dirt then begins the slow walk home with his bad back, lame leg, and heart full of fear. Every third or fourth step, he's glancing back to see if the Davy will return for his hide...
     "An honest man can't make a livin' in the modern world..."

     The carriage begins to weave its way drunkenly down the road, with squeals from the interior. "Penny, do you know what you're doing? Cassie almost fell off the seat!"
     "It can't be much harder than steering a horse, can it? Just hold on," Penelope answers crossly. "And shush. Haven't you two said quite enough for one night? You'll be lucky if we're home before dawn and father doesn't send out the local garrison looking for us." She rattles the reins again, and the coach lurches forward to an accompaniment of shrieks from the back. That's all to the good; it gives her time with her own thoughts. Time to brood, and wish for revenge.
     After all, how many girls get their first kiss from a bandit whose only interest is in preserving her younger sister's ability to dance with him...

Posted by rowan at August 06, 2005 07:09 PM