“Well?” she called, as Jimmy reloaded the gun she’d just fired. “Your heads present a far larger target than that which I have just blown out of the sky.”
The three men seemed to hesitate.
“I have two guns and remarkably good aim. That means only one of you will have the chance to escape while I reload. Who is it to be?”
Cassandra leveled her gun and motioned it back and forth, as if deciding who she ought to shoot first.
The man who had spoken first was the first to turn tail and run. The other two, seeing they were no longer to wonder who would be shot and who would not, as there were sufficient bullets for them both, quickly did as their leader.
Cassandra found herself breathing heavily as the three highwaymen clattered off through the trees. Now that the danger had passed, she felt as wobbly as a newborn foal. Though she had aimed at no end of birds and clay balls, this was the first time she’d aimed at a man. She really did not know if she would have had the courage to shoot and thanked the heavens she’d not been forced to find out.
A curtain drew aside and an elegant, older lady leaned her head out the window of the carriage. “You are Miss Knightsbridge, I think?”
Cassandra felt a little wave of irritation pass through her. She supposed her reputation had become such that any lady seen with a shotgun in her hands was instantly recognized as Miss Knightsbridge.
She nodded, remembering she’d vowed to be as she was and never mind the naysayers. Those that did not approve of her habits could very well not look at them.
The lady said, “I am the Dowager Duchess of Carlisle, just now on my way to see your father.”
“Your Grace!” Cassandra said, her thoughts all in a muddle. Why should Lord Hampton’s grandmother have arrived? Her father had said nothing of the visit. Though they had corresponded these many years, the lady had never come to Trebly Hall.
What a time for her to come! She presumed the lady arrived in response to her father’s letter outlining what had occurred and Lord Hampton’s hand in it. But why come? Why not simply respond by letter?
The dowager turned to Jimmy and said, “What is your name, young man?”
Jimmy looked as if nobody in his life had ever inquired into his name. “Jimmy, Your Grace,” he stuttered.
“Jimmy,” the Dowager said, “might you and your friend up there on the hill manage to take back the horses so that Miss Knightsbridge may ride with me?”
Jimmy, appearing to receive this request as any knight given a noble commission, nodded enthusiastically. “Me and Johnny will see to it, Your Grace. We’ll see to it all efficient like.”
“Excellent,” the Dowager said.
Cassandra did not see what else was to be done but acquiesce to the dowager’s arrangements. She dismounted her horse and handed her gun to Jimmy.
“My dear Miss Knightsbridge,” the Dowager said. “Perhaps bring a gun with you. Loaded, of course. One never knows if a scoundrel who’s run off might find his courage lying about in a heap somewhere and decide to return.”
Cassandra thought that idea full of good sense, though she was rather surprised that the elegant elderly lady should wish to have a girl with a gun in her carriage.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said.
“Ma’am will do,” the dowager said. “No need for the daughter of my old friend to stand on ceremony.”
Jimmy handed back her gun and Cassandra made her way to the carriage. As she got in, the Dowager called to her coachman. “Well, Bradley, have you recovered enough from this adventure to carry on?”
Bradley, though he still appeared rather shaken, tipped his hat. It was not a moment before they were on their way to Trebly Hall.
The Dowager’s carriage was richly appointed, the seats a fine leather and the sides padded beneath silk coverings. There were all manner of fur throws folded on the seats. Seated on one particular pile of blankets was a cream-colored Pomeranian, its eyes bright and staring at her.
“That is George,” the Dowager said. “Lovely company but entirely useless against highwaymen.”
Upon hearing his name, George let out an appreciative yap toward the coach’s roof, having no idea his usefulness against highwaymen had been so recently disparaged.
“You, however,” the dowager said, eyeing Cassandra, “have proved mightily helpful against those devils.”
Cassandra supposed the dowager both grateful and shocked that a girl should wield a gun. “I know it is not usual—”
“I care nothing for usual, Miss Knightsbridge. Usual, in my opinion, is highly overrated.”
