Stand & Deliver

[MBS1969]

Stand & Deliver (Closed for MBS1969 & Maid of Marvels)

He was breathing heavily, the ride from Stratford had been tiring and eventful. He'd had to avoid the king's special guards as he made his way north. It had been too close, he'd almost ridden straight into their checkpoint and only a last minute tug of the reins had enabled him to veer to the safety of the forest.

He couldn't be sure that they hadn't seen him and thought he heard shouts as he'd galloped away. The sensible thing to do would have been to circle around and head back home. Riding for three hours with no reason though, was not what he had in mind, no no, sensible was not an option. Nothing about his life was sensible.

Will was a highwayman, the scourge of the traveller. No-one was safe from his bloodcurdling call, his pistols and his daring. If Will decided that a weary traveller should be relieved of their possesions, then that was what would happen. His name had become notorious among the upper classes of middle England. He had a huge bounty on his head, but was so confident of his own ability to avoid authority, that it didn't matter one bit.

Will had come to a stop near the mansion of the Duke and Duchess of Salop. A disgruntled former chambemaid had sold him the information which had brought him here. The Duchess was travelling alone this evening to London. Why she would make such a perilous nightime journey alone he couldn't imagine, and didn't really care! He hoped she was travelling with many expensive possesions and that tonight he would become considerably wealthier.

Steam rose from the neck and haunches of his magnificent black stallion, panting from it's exertions. Will dismounted and tied the horse to a tree, out of sight of the highway and the mansion. He crept silently through the undergrowth until he had a good view of the building. His information looked to be reliable, a coach was stood outside the grand entrance.

He watched for a while, planning his strike, weighing up any possible opposition he might face. The driver and another coachman looked to be his only obsticles and they would be no match for him. At last the Duchess appeared, in the dim light of the oil lamps he caught a glimpse of her face. Younger than he had expected and very beautiful, maybe he would have his way with her too, maybe he would enjoy her body as well as her possesions tonight.

The driver and coachman climbed into position and soon the coach moved slowly down the gravel path to the gates. As the coach's lights disappeared down the highway, Will scurried quietly back to his mount and began to follow the coach from a safe distance. They travelled in a convoy although only Will was aware of this fact. He was waiting for the right moment to circle around and appear out of the darkness with pistols flashing and his order....

"STAND AND DELIVER!!!!"

This is now a closed thread for MBS1969 & Maid of Marvels

 

[Maid of Marvels]

The Duchess of Salop pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders as the coach slowed and she heard the words that everyone in her circle talked about in fearful whispers but had never actually heard. "Stand and deliver!"

"Keep going!" she called out as the sound of a whip cracked and her body was thrown back against the seat; the driver had already urged the horses into a gallop.

******​

Angelique Gaspard had been born in the district of Paris called the Pigalle, the unwanted child of a prostitute who had quickly given her up for adoption. From the moment she had been able to reason, she was determined to escape the clutches of the nuns who reminded her daily of how blessed she was to be living where she was and how thankful she should be for the one scratchy dress and woolen stockings that had been provided for her through God's benevolent will. It was all religious gibberish of course, and when the uncomfortable gropings by the parish priest began, well...

By the age of ten, Angelique found herself back in the surrounds where she had been born. Living on the streets, sleeping in alleyways, she was oftentimes not much better than a petty thief - stealing crusts of bread and pieces of fruit from street stands - but when the first signs of winter arrived, Angelique knew that she had to find some other way of making do.

Perhaps this was the first "blessing" she was willing to admit to, although whether her new circumstances were the result of divine intervention or sheer greed on the part of her new employer - the cook in one of the grande maisons - Angelique was now gainfully employed, working twelve or more hours a day, seven days a week and was provided with one meal a day and a pallet in the attic.

******​

Her knuckles were bone white as she gripped the edge of the seat, struggling to retain her balance as the coach careened wildly down the roadway. The sound of gunshots rang in her ears, bringing the Duchess of Salop back to the present. "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed as a dark shadow of a man fell past the window of the coach. Whether driver or coachman, she couldn't tell... but if one had fallen the other would not be far behind. "Help us!" Evoking that name for the first time in her entire life, Angelique Barnard, nee Gaspard, knew that it had all been for nought. Her life - and her husband's honor - were at an end.

 

[MBS1969]

Will dug his heels into the side of his stallion and urged him along, at speed now, the dark forest a blur. A strangled shout came from the stagecoach as the coachman saw him coming quickly from behind. Too late, Will had squeezed the trigger of his pistol and the man was down. Will yelled into the darkness his cliched phrase “Stand and Deliver!!”

The feet of his horse thundered past the prone figure and he hoped that the fall had not killed the man. Will might well loathe the aristocracy but he would not kill a common working man in cold blood. He knew his shot had hit the man’s leg but a fall from a moving carriage could well have been more dangerous, especially at this speed. The driver must be more than a little insane to push the coach so much, he might kill his passenger himself.

The convoy took another tight bend and the coach balanced dangerously on two wheels and looked as if it must tip over. In the gloom of the forest Will saw a figure slide from the front and land with a crash in the undergrowth. With no-one to urge them on now the horse began to ease off and he soon found himself right along side the dimly lit window of the coach.

He briefly saw a pale face looking up at him from inside the carriage and enjoyed the look of terror he had caused this blue blooded bitch. It served her right, they were all the same, the upper classes, using the poor to feed their indulgences. He pressed the stallion further and came up alongside the now frightened horses. With a daring leap he jumped from his own mount onto the nearest horse, grabbing the driver’s reins as he did so.

Soon everything was still, the coach horses whinnying softly in the silence of the night. His own horse came up alongside, panting softly from his exertions. There was no sound from the carriage behind and only the soft light from the window illuminated the night. Will dismounted quickly and hurried to the door, anxious that the wench did not have time to flee into the trees. He was gratified to see that she hadn’t, that she was sat quietly on her seat, as if resigned to her fate.

Will’s muscular arm writhed open the carriage door and he stuck his masked face inside, his three cornered hat catching on the doorframe, momentarily exposing his jet black hair. He remembered his youth and how the local farm girls seemed fascinated by it.

Will had grown up on the estate of a very wealthy earl, his father had worked tirelessly for the master. His mother was from Spain and he had inherited his hair colour from her, along with his olive complexion and deep brown eyes. From his father he had gotten his physique, six foot tall and strong as an ox.

At the age of twelve though, Will’s life had changed for ever. He had seen the strain of life in service gradually wearing down his father. Over many years he had gone from a strong and healthy man to a broken shell before finally after one final hard winter he passed away. Will knew who to blame, the Earl of Bloody Westleigh, that was who. He had ground the spirit and life from his father to feed his luxurious lifestyle.

It was understood that Will should take over his father’s work to enable the family to stay on estate land so he begrudgingly did so. He worked hard but also watched carefully at the excesses of his master, the parties, the banquets and the general debauchery.

His loathing of them grew and grew until one day he came home from a night’s work and found his mother sat pensive, at the kitchen table. He knew something was wrong straight away and heard a muffled scream from upstairs. Bounding up the steep steps he heard a loud noise from his sister’s bedroom.

Crashing his way through the door he found his half naked sister on the floor, tears flowing down her flushed cheeks. Stood over her leering was the Earl’s son, Joshua, “None of your business farm hand” he said as he buttoned up his fly, “run along now before I have you beaten”. Will still had the scythe in his hand and with one mighty swing, took the lad’s head clean off.

So began his hatred of the aristo’s and it was with an unfeeling heart that he watched the terror cross the face of this fine lady. She would become another part of his vendetta against them all, part of the revenge for the destruction of his family. She could expect no mercy from him this night.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

One of the things Angelique had learned in the years before her marriage to Jeremy Barnard, and further cultivated during the ten years since, was the ability to hide her emotions. This ability (some would call it a talent) enabled her to look resigned rather than shocked at the bitter hatred that shone from the eyes of the highwayman. While she understood repugnance, disgust, envy and superiority, hatred such as this - especially hatred that had no obvious basis - both confounded her and brought her to the realization that she might not survive this night. Her mind whirled with possible ways she could diffuse his anger and perhaps turn it into something other.

Prying her fingers loose from the edge of the seat, the Duchess of Salop raised her hand slowly to the edge of her hood and lowered it slowly before unfastening her cloak and letting it fall open. Her dress, she knew, would come as a surprise to this man. It was well-made, certainly, but without frills or flounces; a dress more suitable to a housekeeper than to the Lady of the manor; the one exception being a maroon silk purse fastened to her waist.

She watched as his eyes took in her appearance and moved toward the purse before returning to her face; his mouth turned upward into what Angelique knew to be a smile though, to her, it seemed more a rictus. Repressing a shudder, she spoke at last, her eyes flitting downward. "What little gold I carry, you will find there." With any luck, he would set off the small pistol that the bag also held.