The Repentant Rake

    'Where are you heading?' asked the man.

    'London,' said Christopher.

    'So are our noisy neighbours. Fall in with them and you'll have a safer journey.'

    'I'll make better speed on my own, I think.'

    'Do you have a good horse?'

    'An excellent one.'

    'Then I'll bear you company part of the way, if I may,' offered the other. 'My home is near Hertford. Could you tolerate me alongside you until then?'

    'I believe so.'

    The man beamed. 'That settles it.' He extended a hand. 'Zachary Mills at your service.'

    'Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,' said Christopher, shaking his hand. 'My name is Christopher Redmayne.'

    'Have you ridden far?'

    'I had business in Northamptonshire.'

    'Ah, so did I, Mr Redmayne. Sad business, as it happens. I was visiting my sick mother in Daventry. She is desperately ill but I like to think that I helped to sustain her while I was there. The doctor holds out little hope.'

    'I'm sorry to hear that.'

    'It comes to us all,' said Mills resignedly. He brightened at once. 'But I'll not burden you with my family problems. I'm so relieved to spend some time on the road with a gentleman. Some of these fellows,' he added, nodding in the direction of the three full tables, 'have yet to learn proper manners.' Another roar went up as a more uncouth jest was passed around. 'Do you take my point?'

    'I do, Mr Mills.'

    'I could see that you would.'

    Zachary Mills was a pleasing companion, urbane, well-spoken and attentive. When he had ordered his own meal, he insisted on buying Christopher a second tankard of beer. The conversation was confined to neutral subjects and Mills made no attempt to pry into Christopher's personal affairs. The latter was grateful for that and glad that he would have someone to share the next stage of the journey. In the event of attack from highwaymen two swords were better than one, and Mills had the air of a man who knew how to use his blade. As time passed, however, the rowdiness increased among the other travellers and the two men left by tacit consent. They strolled towards the stables, talking amiably about the advantages of living in London, a city that Mills seemed to know extremely well. He had a sophistication that had been notably lacking among the other guests at the inn. Christopher warmed to him even more.

    When they entered the stables, however, Mills's manner changed at once. Putting a hand in the small of Christopher's back, he pushed him so firmly that the latter stumbled to the ground. Christopher was on his feet at once, swinging round to face the other man and ready to demand the reason for the unwarranted shove. He found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol and his question was answered. The plausible friend was a cunning robber. Mills gave him a broad grin.

    'You should have stayed with the others, Mr Redmayne. Safety in numbers.'

    'I took you for a gentleman.'

    'Why, so I am, good sir.'

    'Indeed?'

    'I extend every courtesy to the people I rob.'

    Christopher was sarcastic. 'What would your sick mother say?'

    'She's in no position to say anything, alas. She died several years ago.'

    'Out of a sense of shame at her son, no doubt.'

    'Do not vex me, Mr Redmayne,' cautioned the other. 'This pistol is loaded. All you have to do is remove that satchel and hand it over with your purse. I'll then be obliged to bind and gag you while I make good my escape. By the time that drunken crowd stumble out here and find you, I'll be well clear.'

    'How will you tie me up?'

    'I have rope in the saddlebags directly behind you.'

    Christopher glanced over his shoulder. 'I see that you planned this very carefully, Mr Mills,' he said with grudging respect.

    'I leave nothing to chance.'

    'That remains to be seen.'

    'I'd advise against any futile heroics.'

    'I'll remember that,' said Christopher, weighing up the possibilities of escape. They were severely limited. 'May I ask why you singled me out?'

    'The satchel gave you away, I'm afraid.'

    'Did it?'

    'Yes, my friend. In all' the time we were at the table, you never once took it from round your neck. That means it contains something valuable.'

    'It does. Something that I'll not part with easily.'

    'Gold?'

    'Drawings.'

    Mills was sceptical. 'Drawings?'

    'Correct, sir.'

    'I've no time to play games, Mr Redmayne.'

    'It's the truth. I'm an architect by profession and I've been visiting a client who wishes me to design a new house for him.' He patted his satchel. 'The preliminary sketches are in here. They'd be worthless to you and it's vital that I keep them.'

    'That satchel contains more than a few drawings,' said Mills, levelling the pistol at him. 'Hand it over or I'll be forced to take it from your dead body.'

    Christopher shrugged. 'If you insist.'

    'I do.'

    'Then first let me prove that I'm a man of my word - unlike you, I may say.' Christopher opened the satchel to take out a piece of folded parchment. 'Here, see for yourself. A town house in the Dutch style, commissioned by Sir Julius Cheever.'

    Mills took the parchment and flicked it open to glance at the various drawings. They were neat and explicit but he was still unconvinced. The pistol was turned in the direction of the satchel.

    'I'll wager there's something else in there, Mr Redmayne, or you'd not have been nursing it like a baby throughout dinner. I'm wondering if this illustrious client of yours might not have given you some money on account. Is that what's in the satchel?'

    'Alas no!' sighed Christopher. 'But have it, if you must.'

    He slipped an arm through it and lifted the strap over his head. Mills glanced down at the drawings in his hand. It was a fatal mistake. Christopher moved at lightning speed hurling the satchel into his face and diving straight at him, knocking him against one of the stalls with such force that the pistol dropped from his hand. It was no time for social niceties. Grabbing his adversary by the throat, Christopher pounded his head against the stout timber. Mills cursed, struggled and kicked but he was up against someone stronger and more determined. Christopher was annoyed at himself for being duped and that gave him extra power. When

    Mills tried to pull out his dagger, Christopher hurled him to the ground and stamped on his wrist until the weapon slid uselessly away. The commotion had upset the horses and they neighed in alarm, shifting in their stalls as the two men grappled together on the straw-covered floor.

    It was when Mills's flailing body squirmed on to the drawings that Christopher really lost his temper. They were only early sketches but they represented something very important in his life and he was not going to have them treated with disrespect With a burst of manic energy, he sat astride his opponent and subdued him with a relay of punches to the face, ignoring the pain in his knuckles until Mills lapsed into unconsciousness. Breathing heavily and with bruises of his own from the fight, he hauled himself to his feet. His first priority was to secure and silence the other man. When he found the rope in the saddlebags he used it to bind Zachary Mills to a solid oak post, then took out the latter's own handkerchief to use as a gag. Though his first instinct was to deliver the man up to the local constable, he saw the drawbacks. It would mean an interminable delay as he tried to explain what had happened and Mills would assuredly contest his version of events. Pain and humiliation would be the highwayman's punishment. Trussed up tightly and covered in blood, he would have time to repent of his folly in choosing the wrong victim. It might be hours before he was discovered and released by the departing travellers. Christopher would be in the next county by then.