Page 30 of Her Wily Duke

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Three weeks later

One evening in April they were driving in the curricle, down the Foxridge valley road which was newly muddy from the spring rains which had but recently dissipated, and Adam was telling her about the events at Foxridge Park since she had last been there. It seemed that everyone at Foxridge Park was talking about the Masked Rider’s latest attack, which had been late yesterday, when, according to rumour among the lower servants, the Rider had pulled out a whip made of flames and attacked the poor coachman. Wiggins was apparently so shaken by the experience that he had expressed to more than one person his intention to retire.

“Do you really think that happened?”

Emme spoke in a tone of great awe, her eyes wide.

“You know how superstitious people can be,” said Adam, “and how quickly stories can change and evolve. Probably he lit a match, and in their panic and confusion they mistook it for a flaming whip in the darkness. Anyone might make the same mistake under the same circumstances, if they were already in a superstitious frame of mind.”

“But do you think Wiggins will really retire? I can’t imagine Foxridge Park without him!”

“He seems set on it, though I took him aside this morning and begged him to reconsider. He’s been a pillar of strength to the whole staff during the last year, and it would be a shame to see him go.”

Silence fell for a moment and Emme considered. The main effect of the highwayman’s periodic attacks had been to frighten the Duke and the servants half out of their wits. The climate of hysteria which had swept through the household did not seem to have affected the tenants, who rather liked the mysterious figure. Nor, for that matter—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hooves in the distance ahead of them, and when she looked up, she was greeted by a strange, surreal sight.

The Masked Rider, Wily Black Fox, call him what you may, was coming down the lane towards them. But rather than flying at a furious gallop, as he had been wont to do before, he was moving at a slow and steady pace. The way that the horse casually trotted along reminded Emme of illustrations she had once seen in a children’s picture book. Both rider and horse seemed perfectly at their ease.

Somehow the sight chilled Emme’s blood, so out of character was it from everything that she had previously seen and heard of him. It was as if she had seen a dragon taking a pleasant stroll through the centre of Trenton, ignored by everyone.

There is a terror which comes from menacing things that attack by night, but there is a terror which runs even deeper than that, of things utterly out of their normal, safe place.

Adam, too, was growing noticeably more and more uneasy as the dark horseman approached. He turned his eyes to Emme for a moment.

“Should I attempt to capture him, to chase after him?”

“He’s right there,” said Emme. “Practically begging you to. You would be remiss not to. Albeit, it would be difficult to do so in a carriage, when he is on a horse. And, on the other hand, there is the possibility that it may be a trap.”

Adam frowned uncertainly, then shook his head slightly.

“No, with you in the carriage, it would be too great a risk.”

Emme baulked at the suggestion.

“I can take care of myself, certainly enough not to hinder you, thank you.”

“I know that you can, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. You mean too much to me.”

Emme was so captivated by the slow approach of the highwayman that she scarcely acknowledged this surprising admission of affection – she tucked it away in her mind, for she would have to think on it carefully, later, but now was not the time for that.

As the highwayman drew near their carriage, she had half a mind to seize the reins from Adam, and attempt to block his path, to attack the man directly herself in some way, uncovering his true identity once and for all. Adam, perhaps sensing her tightly coiled focus on the black horse approaching, kept a tight hand on the reins all the while.

The Rider was practically upon them now. Emme and Adam held their breath, watching him, as he watched them, through the slits in his mask, feeling certain that something must happen, but not knowing what. It was as if the world held its breath around them.

He reached them, and in what felt like a very anticlimactic manner, simply continued. Then, just as the horse was passing their carriage, it rose up on its hind legs and let out a whinny which could have been heard for a mile round, had there been any but them to hear it.

At the same moment, the Rider himself reached up and touched the brim of his velvet hat with the tips of his fingers.

Emme gasped at the gesture of acknowledgement.

And then the rider had passed, and they continued on their way.

“Did you see that?” said Emme, not caring if the Rider heard her. “It’s as if he thinks that we’re friends!”

“It does indeed seem like that.”