Mr. Dalrymple Revealed by Lydia M Sheridan Page A

cobbled street that they didn’t
know like the back of their hands (or hooves). Kate hardly had to guide the
big horse to the ancient oak near the river.
    Now came the worst part of any job. Waiting and watching,
straining to hear the sound of the approaching carriage. It gave Kate too much
leisure to imagine the deadly consequences: a bullet to the heart, or worse, a
clap on the shoulder from the long arm of the law; being hauled off to gaol and
having to watch the looks on her family’s faces as the noose was placed around
her neck--.No, definitely a swift end would be preferable. Kate pulled her
cloak tightly about her neck and waited.
    This night the wait seemed interminable because of the cold
and wet.
    On the one hand, it helped to muffle sounds. On the other,
the puddles reflected the moonlight, threatening the secrecy of her hiding
place, so that Kate wished for the nice, heavy rain to begin again. Still, on
the other hand--.
    She was running out of hands.
    As they waited, rigid with anticipation, the wind picked up,
lashing the branches of the huge old tree into a frenzy. A few crumpled leaves
swirled to the ground, black spots on the lighter mud. Her throat constricted
with fear. Dead leaves could not possibly be a good omen when one plans to rob
the next coach coming over the hill.
    Kate’s nervousness increased, transferring to Diana. When an
owl screeched, screamingly loud in the silence, hear heart leapt into her
throat and she flinched, jerking at the reins. Diana shied, tossing her head.
She wasn’t used to such missish behavior from her mistress.
    Neither was her mistress.
    Trembling more than her horse, Kate reached forward to pat
her neck. “Easy, girl. Easy there." The sound of her voice, steady and
calm, insensibly reassured them both. Gradually, Kate’s fear began to subside,
replaced by a ripple of exhilaration up her spine, that thrill of anticipation
whetting her appetite for the danger she courted. It was at such moments as
this that she understood why men went to war.
    Far in the distance the church bells tolled, crystal clear in
the cold air.
    Midnight.
    As her informant had promised, from far in the distance a
yellow glow appeared. After a time, the glow became two thin beams of light.
Diana pricked up her ears, pawing the ground excitedly. Kate leaned forward,
straining to hear the muffled clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the metallic
jingle of harness borne on the chilly wind. Another minute, Another gust
brought the faint creak of carriage wheels coming ever close, ever louder.
    Her last bit of nervousness vanished. This was no game for
the chicken-hearted. All Kate felt was her heart pounding with exhilaration.
The light from the carriage lamps disappeared as the coach dipped down the
hill. They had two minutes.
    With heightened calm, Kate drew two old pistols from the
saddle bag. Fashioned for dueling, they were silver-chased and perfectly
balanced. She hadn’t had to shoot anyone yet, thank heaven. So far, the mere
threat had been enough to keep her victims in line.
    Thrusting one in her waistband, the other in the saddle
holster, she tied a grey silk scarf over her eyes and nose. With two holes cut
for her to see, the only part of her not disguised were her hands. Like
Diana’s socks, they were smeared with lamp-black. Despite the cold, Kate
needed her fingers free to control the pistols. Custom-made for her
grandfather, they were too large for her hands. One of these days she was going
to drop one during the middle of a robbery and then she really might shoot
someone.
    Still as a couple of corpses, they waited, poised at the
ready. Through the blood thrumming in her ears, Kate could only just hear the
muffled clatter of hooves as the carriage drew ever closer to the top of the
rise.
    With aching slowness, she urged Diana forward. Silently,
horse and rider crept up the incline behind the hedgerow just after the crest
of the hill. So single-minded was her purpose that not a