The Highwayman's Footsteps

The Highwayman's Footsteps Read Free

Book: The Highwayman's Footsteps Read Free
Author: Nicola Morgan
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her eyes. Her skin felt hot, burning with fever. I had never seen anyone with such a fever and I did not know what to do. I searched my mind for anything that I might have been told, but found nothing.
    What now? My own hunger and faintness were increasing. And thirst. I had had nothing to drink for some hours now. The thirst was worse than the hunger. My tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, tasting of metal.
    I had need of that purse, needed my money.
My
money? Well, even though it was not mine, I needed it now.
    My plan had been to go to the village for food and drink before I was held up by this girl, and it was not yet too late. I must retrieve my purse and then go. It did not seem right to touch a young girl’s body as she lay helpless, but I had no choice. Quickly, and turning my face away, I slid my hand under her shoulder and round her back, until I found what I was looking for. I pulled the purse out and put it in my own pocket. I noticed, as I did this, that there was no other pistol.
    Her lips were moving now as she started to mutter, though at first I could not make out the words. I put my head closer to her mouth, pushed the hair away from her face. Still she muttered.
    â€œWhat is it? What are you saying?” I asked, my voice sounding suddenly loud in the darkness.
    She mumbled again and I realized she was asking for water.
    â€œI have none,” I replied. “I have nothing. Try to sleep and I shall find food and water. In the morning light.” Would I? Should I not simply disappear and put myself as far as possible from this place? What did I owe her? Did I not have my own troubles? Even if I could help her, which I doubted, why should I? Why risk my own life for a stranger, and a criminal at that?
    She was still muttering, trying to move. I put my hand to her shoulder to keep her still. She seemed to be pointing. I looked around the room. She was pointing to the black doorway into the next chamber. At that moment, the moon disappeared behind a cloud and suddenly we were in deeper darkness. Now, the only sounds were our breathing, rustlings from the rafters, and the soft whirring of the wind before it rains.
    I must wait. Still she mumbled and pointed. “Hush,” I said. “Wait a little.”
    â€œWater.” Her voice sounded slurred, as though her lips or tongue were swollen. “My bag.”
    As I tried to quieten her, the moon at last returned and I could see the darkened doorway once more. With my heart thumping faster now, I walked towards it. Inside was dark as pitch. I entered, straining my ears in the silence, my arms in front of me, ready for what I might find. My feet stumbled on an object. I crouched down. It was soft – a cloak, and the bag. Beneath them lay something hard – the matching pistol. I picked them all up and went back to the girl.
    Inside the bag I found a bottle, corked. I pulled the cork out and sniffed. It had a slightly musty smell of old water, but not excessively old. I was about to put it to my lips, but, despite my terrible thirst, I could not do so. I held it to the girl’s mouth and carefully trickled some between her lips. Most of it was wasted as it trickled out again.
    â€œYou,” she said, licking at her lips. “You drink.”
    I did as she told me, surprised that she had the grace to think of me. Feeling somewhat guilty, as though I should be helping her and not the other way round, I took only what I needed. I poured some more between her lips.
    I knew not the proper way to behave towards her. She was a criminal; she had tried to kill me; she was no lady; yet, despite everything, I had been born a gentleman and she was weaker than I. But these were strange times and I must do what needed to be done. Whatever that seemed to be, I must try to do the right thing.
    There was bread in her bag, too, a part loaf, dried at the edges but edible. I broke some and offered it to her but she closed her mouth and shook her

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