‘No, my fine gentleman, but you’ll have to render a lot more than praise to Gentleman James,’ rang out a strong voice.
Our friend, the highwayman, had timed his attack to a nicety. The coach had stopped at the bottom of the hill, and both coachman and guard were busy removing the skid chains, the latter having most carelessly left his loaded blunderbuss upon the roof of the coach. Both men, taken by surprise, and powerless to assist, took cover behind the huge wheels, while a gay masked face and two horse-pistols menaced the confused passengers. The terrified Lisette, thinking the apparition none other than the Scarecrow, broke into her native tongue and mingled with the Captain’s oaths and Mister Pitt’s excitement; the voices of the little old lady and Doctor Syn were hardly heard at all.
‘Come now,’ cried Mr. Bone, enjoying the joke hugely, ‘who will be the first to render unto Jimmie Bone? Oh no, Captain, I shouldn’t try and touch your sword. This is my territory — not your St. Martin’s Fields.’ And that angry gentleman, whose fingers indeed had been twitching at his hilt, was flummoxed into silence. ‘Ladies first, sir, I’ll relieve you of that later,’ continued Mr. Bone. ‘Come, miss, the guard will assist you to descend.’ The trembling maid, clutching the jewel-case, was helped out of the coach while Mr. Bone emptied the jewel-case into his saddle-bag. Lisette, having no personal effects, was allowed back into the coach, and Miss Gordon was the next to descend, which she did, all outward indignation, though secretly enjoying the adventure. Taking the rings from her plump little fingers, she advanced fearlessly to Mr. Bone and handed them to him. He had to stoop low in the saddle to take them from her and he said, ‘’Tis a crying shame to take the rings from such a pretty hand.’
‘I have no wish to cry, and no compliments, please,’ she snapped. ‘I am too old for jewellery, as anyone can see, but ’tis most annoying of you, sir, or rather ’twill annoy my niece Cicely Cobtree, for I had planned to leave them to her. And shall have something to say to her father if he can’t keep order on his own land better than this.’ So saying, the old lady handed over the rest of her baubles, and called to the poodle, ‘Come, Mister Pitt, give the gentleman your bracelets.’ Thus summoned as he thought for another perambulation, the white poodle took a happy flying leap through the open door and pranced, jingling, round the hooves of Mr. Bone’s horse, which said gentleman was so amused and having taken a liking to the courageous old lady, swept off his hat and laughed. ‘Though I have robbed many a dirty dog, ma’am, I have no wish to rob a clean one, and with such a famous name to boot.’ So Mister Pitt, with property intact, followed his mistress back into the coach, and Jimmie Bone peered inside to select his next victim.
Upon seeing Doctor Syn he seemed to be most annoyed. ‘Devil take it!’ he cried. ‘A parson, and I must live up to my old slogan and respect the cloth. I never robbed a cleric yet, though I once had the Archbishop himself in my power, and I don’t doubt that the old Agger-bagger hadn’t more in his bags than you, eh, Mr. Clergyman?’ And had anyone been able to see beneath Mr. Bone’s mask they might have been surprised to see him give Doctor Syn a gigantic wink.
So there was nothing else for the Captain to do than to scramble ignominiously out on to the road, while Jimmie Bone surveyed him critically, and said: ‘Well, here’s a fine gentleman, and with a fine reputation too if I’m not mistaken. I warrant you’ll be visiting the coast for the good of your health.’ Again, the warning note. ‘Then you’ll not be needing the sword that’s hanging by your side. Come, sir, hand it over. Oh no, sir, sheath and all. You might be tempted else to pick one of your customary quarrels with some poor Kentish lad.’
And the glowering Captain could do nought else hand over his infamous duelling-sword. After which he was made to turn out his pockets while the guard was ordered to go through the mail bags and luggage. So it was that when the Captain was finally prodded back into the coach by the tip of his own sword, he had very little left other than what he stood up in, his stock-intrade, guineas for gambling, and weapons for killing gone, as were his beautiful Hessian boots.
And so it was with bulging saddle-bags and full pockets that Mr. Bone bade them a cheery farewell, and putting his horse to the bank, rode up it and vanished in the dark seclusion of the woods.
The person who seemed least affected by this untoward adventure was Miss Gordon, who, although she had lost a considerable amount of valuables, could hardly retain her laughter at the Captain’s discomfiture, as he sat, a sorry sight, in his stockinged feet. Indeed she had to hold her muff to her face to hide her uncharitable amusement. Doctor Syn may have noticed this, for hie was the first to break the silence, by addressing the Captain. ‘My dear sir,’ he said, ‘this rascal has left you in a deplorable state. Indeed you must be regretting already your resolve to visit our part of the country. For my part, I cannot apologise enough, for I should have included highwaymen in my list of dangers that you might encounter on the Marsh. Now, we must see what can be done. It is my duty to assist you. Your feet. Dear me. Now — I have a pair of carpet-slippers in my bag — perhaps you would — you couldn’t? No? Oh well, perhaps you’re right. A village cobbler, perhaps. Then please let me lend you a guinea or so, until you find yourself in funds? Oh, in insist,’ and the Captain had the mortification of having to accept Doctor Syn’s offer. He also had a nasty feeling that the parson was laughing at him, so that he was further piqued when this ambiguous gentleman continued solicitously, ‘And your sword, sir. Your favourite weapon. Dear me, what a loss. Now, if you will permit me? I have a very fine collection of Toledo blades. I used to fancy myself somewhat as a swordsman — in my younger days, of course. You have only to call at the Vicarage and make your choice of weapons. Can I advise you further?’
‘I can,’ laughingly broke in Miss Agatha Gordon. ‘My further advice would be — when next you go a-coaching, you should disguise yourself either as a parson or a poodle.’
At the ‘Red Lion’ in Hythe, the Dymchurch passengers left the coach, where Miss Gordon was met by a smart turn-out with postilions, the Cobtree arms upon the panelling, so that Doctor Syn, who had intended to take a local coach, was prevailed upon to join her. Luggage piled in, they caught a final glimpse of Captain Foulkes surrounded by laughing postboys and a crowd of gaping yokels, who, having heard from the guard that the robbery had been so neatly done by the popular Jimmie Bone, laughed the louder as the Captain’s stockings picked their way gingerly and painfully across the cobbles to the doubtful seclusion of the bar parlour. With no weapons with which to force his will, he looked as he felt, a bedraggled shadow of his former self. Indeed, the Captain’s courage had vanished with his boots.
Chapter 4
The British Grenadiers
Midway between Hythe and Dymchurch the marsh road joins the seawall and then for three miles runs parallel but beneath it, thus sheltering the traveller from the full force of the sea breeze, for indeed in rough weather it was well night impossible for pedestrians to walk upright upon the footpath that ran along the top of this great stone and grassy bank, though on this autumn evening the weather was calm enough. Dust was falling and the postilions spurred hard to reach home before lantern light, so the smart little chaise sped along the dyke-bound road in fine style.
The comfort of the well-sprung vehicle and the absence of their ill-mannered companion put them in a merry mood, and Miss Gordon, her face no longer hidden by her muff, was able to join Doctor Syn in a hearty laugh when they discussed Captain Foulkes’s misfortune.
‘I vow I would not have cared a fig for his feelings had that roguish highwayman deprived him of his breeches too, for I have seldom met with such a boorish oaf,’ she chuckled.