‘What do you mean?’ she asked, trying to ignore a painful rise of laughter.
‘Listen!’ Effie hushed, her eyes as large as side plates.
It was only at this point that Phoebe became glaringly aware that the coach was entirely stationary, in the middle of an empty road, with the winter light fading fast around them. Briefly, she recalled the lurch, and wondered if they hadn’t landed in a ditch, or been forced to stop and fix a wheel.
Which was when she heard voices.
‘I said open the door, and no one gets hurt!’
‘I will not! The safety of passengers is my responsibility, and I must warn you that at this very moment, my rear coachman has a blunderbuss aimed?—’
‘Then accept my commiserations!’
There was a poignant moment when a single shot rang out, and then another, before a heavy silence descended. Effie clamped her hand to her mouth, muffling a bat-like shriek, while the rest of the passengers seemed undecided as to whether to cling to one another, or run for their lives.
And all the while, Phoebe’s thoughts ran wild.
A highwayman! An actual, real highwayman was holding up their coach!
Suddenly, all the stories she’d ever read about courageous heroines who refused to give up their jewels, before stealing away on the highwayman’s horse, chased through her head – framed by the scent of real musket fire. She imagined Sophie’s wide-eyed drama, the twins’ grins of excitement, Matilda’s envy, Josephine’s cursory glance, Fred’s mild concern, and Thomas – well, Thomas being Thomas, really – all while her own feelings remained somewhat unidentifiable.
It crossed her mind that she might still be under the influence of Briggs’s deceptively intoxicating brew, but she didn’t allow the thought to linger.
Now was not the moment for her courage to buckle!
This wasexactlythe type of adventure for which she’d yearned, while curled up with her favourite tales of historical heroines. It was a moment to face with fortitude and wit – a story of heroism with which to regale Josephine and Matilda when she returned to Knightswood.
She drew a deep breath.
‘Has anyone got a weapon?’ she whispered into the gloom.
It seemed as though all the occupants turned simultaneously, but Phoebe wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t some remnant of her double vision.
‘A Bible?’
‘My basket?’
‘How about a sword, dear?’
At this, everyone turned again towards a slight lady in a corner of the coach, who hadn’t spoken a word for the entire journey. She looked around sixty years of age, wore a flocked dress with a grey shawl and felt bonnet, and was tapping an unremarkable umbrella on the floor in front of her. Phoebe felt her flicker of hope gutter instantly. She looked the very last person in the world to own a sword.
‘Come again?’ Flora asked doubtfully.
‘Well, technically speaking, it’s a dress sword,’ the lady enunciated carefully, as though they were all hard of hearing. Swiftly, she twisted the handle of her unremarkable umbrella to reveal a glinting épée concealed at its centre. ‘Miss Sarah Siddons, daughter of Roger Kemble and Sarah Ward, at your service,’ she added, with a wink.
Immediately there was a low gasp, followed by a hushed mutter, as the travellers realised they had theatrical royalty in their midst.
‘Did you say you’re the daughter oftheesteemedactorsRoger Kemble and Sarah Ward?’ the severe looking gentleman repeated, while Effie’s eyes widened so much she put Phoebe in mind of one of the twins’ toads.
Edward and Henry were thirteen, and keen zoologists. Thankfully, they were much more like Fred than Thomas, if rather too keen on bringing their studies into the library.
‘Yes, dear, one and the same! Now, do you want the épée or not?’ she added, offering the handle to Phoebe.
‘Oh, what a brave young gentl’man you is!’ Effie wailed, clutching her hands together in the style of a renaissance maiden. ‘See, Ma! Didn’t I say he wasn’t three sheets to the wind?! He’s as noble a young gentl’man as I ever knew – and now he could perish protecting us… Oh, please don’t perish protecting us, it would break me ’art!’
Phoebe stared in horror as Effie began to sob. Great big shoulder-shaking sobs that rocked the whole coach as its occupants waited expectantly.
‘I assure you, Effie,’ she began awkwardly, ‘I very much intend not to perish at all?—’
