Page 23 of Her Wily Duke

Still, he should not be wishing for such things, indeed, should not be so happy in seeking her company. At present, he should have all of his attention on the continuing process of changing the fate of the estate, and of the villagers and farmers. His desperate plan was beginning to look like it might actually work, but there was much to do yet.

*****

One evening, the Duke, as a result of his ongoing fury about the highwayman, overcame his resistance to leaving Foxridge Park, and insisted that Wiggins drive him to the village, so that he might once again attempt to learn the identity of the ‘Masked Rider’.

Wiggins did so, but, once he realised that the Duke intended to spend some hours downing pints of ale with the villagers in the local pub, the Black Fox, hoping that they would confide in him, chose to leave Frederick there, and return to Foxridge Park to get his own work done, rather than sitting freezing, waiting with the carriage. He promised the Duke that someone would return in a few hours to collect him – for the Duke would certainly not have entertained the idea of driving himself, and thus either Wiggins would have to stay and waste time, or the Duke would have to depend on his return.

Adam, who had been informed of the expedition by Wiggins before they left, found the concept that Frederick expected the villagers to tell him their secrets a bizarre idea, for Frederick was certain to make no effort to hide the fact that he was not a regular tavern-goer, but in fact the Duke of Foxridge, owner of a large and formidable estate, and their landlord.

Adam did, however, take the opportunity which Wiggins had provided him, with some amusement, and made sure, when collecting his brother from the village, that Frederick was aware that he, Adam, was being far kinder than Frederick had been to him, on the occasion of his return from London.

Frederick simply fumed, for he had already been subtly humiliated by the pub owner and the tavern-goers, and was no closer to learning the identity of the highwayman than he had ever been. Adam found the whole situation to be rather appropriate, in that the highwayman was rather effectively punishing Frederick in multiple ways at once. Whether Frederick would learn anything from it remained to be seen.

On their return to Foxridge Park, Walham and Wiggins met them with freshly brewed tea and some biscuits to warm them.

“My one consolation is that at least I wasn’t robbed on the way by the Rider himself,” Frederick said as he sat in his study kneading his temples while the others looked on. “Though I fear even that might be to his advantage, for it gave me no opportunity to discover his identity. The first moment that I see him in person, I’m determined to pull off that mask of his, no matter how hard he fights me, or how fast he flees.”

“None of us can know how we would react in a given situation until we’re in it,” said Wiggins, not a little defensively. “It might be that in the heat of action your resolve would forsake you, your courage fail, and you would behave no more bravely than any other person has behaved in the presence of the highwayman.”

“Any other man,” When Adam spoke, the Duke and the butler both looked at him. “While the courage of men might fail in the presence of the Rider, I’ve seen no evidence that women are affected in the same way. If anything, the scoundrel’s antics seem to embolden and enthral them. All those years reading Gothic novels must have affected their minds. They find him thrilling, romantic even.”

“And not just women,” said the Duke. “He seems to have enthralled the whole village.”

“Your Grace?” said Wiggins.

“They view him as a symbol of heroic resistance against my ‘tyrannical regime’,” Frederick practically spat out the words in a tone of disgust. “Down at the pub it was hard to find a single man or woman of the lower classes who didn’t support him. The enthusiasm they show for him, and his exploits, borders on fanaticism.”

“That raises another prospect,” Adam commented, “and not a very good one — that the Rider’s antics will inspire others to copy his actions. Indeed, they may have already done so - for all we know, half of the robberies committed by the ‘Rider’ were done by other people, perhaps even a number of them, conspiring together.”

Wiggins and Walham both nodded, looking suitably worried, and Frederick glared at Adam, as if everything was his fault.

“The possibility had occurred to me.” Frederick scratched his head furiously. The web of veins in his bloodshot eyes showed in the candlelight. “But I don’t seriously think that we’ve seen more than one highwayman, yet. These attacks were carefully coordinated. Whoever committed the last three robberies knew exactly when the carriage arrived at the bank to fetch the money and when it left the bank to return here. That fact raises two other possibilities — that the Rider is somehow connected to the bank, or—”

“Your Grace!” exclaimed Walham. “Each time Wiggins and I have made a withdrawal, we have done so with the aid of the same bank officer.” He looked at Wiggins, who nodded an agreement. “He knew in advance the day that we were coming,” Walham continued, “the amount of the withdrawal, the receptacle in which we secreted the monies, and even our route home. He might have somehow signalled a confederate that we were on the way home, and to follow us.”

“That is possible,” replied the Duke. “But I think it to be a bit farfetched. So that leaves one possibility.”

“That he lives on these grounds,” said Adam.

Frederick nodded darkly.

“Perhaps even in this house.”

He leaned back forlornly in his chair, his chin in his hands, rapt in thought. Wiggins and Adam turned perplexed faces to each other.

“But that could only be one of us,” said Wiggins, “or one of the household staff.”

“Yes,” the Duke replied. “The question is, who has such a vested interest in the dignity and well-being of my tenants that they would go to such lengths? Who fights for them?”

“What do you mean? Why would the tenants have greater well-being because you have been robbed?”

Adam presented an expression of confusion.

The Duke scoffed.

“They have never been happier! The rising costs of rent should have driven half of them off the land by now, but they continue to pay month after month, out of their own pockets. Where are they getting the money? It must be coming from somewhere, and the only conceivable answer is that the masked scoundrel is bankrolling them.” He gripped his forehead tightly, as if to say that the stress of being undermined by so many people at once was killing him. “In the village, tonight, I made some inquiries - apparently Foxridge Park is the only estate of any note that’s been robbed in the past year, which only further confirms my suspicions.”

“You have many enemies, Your Grace,” said Wiggins in a tone of agitation. He clearly disliked the implication that he and / or one of the other domestic staff was committing the robberies. “Not all of them live here. Half of London despises you and would pick your pockets if they were able.”