Read Online Miss Marcie's Mischief by Lindsay Randall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lindsay Randall
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Cole in a low and lethal voice. "I could shoot out your left eye before you even have a chance to pull the trigger. If I were you, sir, I would think twice about trying to shoot the lady."
"Well, you ain't me," snapped the man, his scratchy voice wavering. "Now do as I say!"
"The devil I will," said Cole Coachman.
Marcie panicked. She had to do something. Anything!
But Prinny took that moment to hop up onto her lap. "Oh, Prinny, no!" she cried, hoping the owl's movement didn't cause the highwayman to shoot. She reached to capture the owl.
Too late!
The owl, frightened by her quick movement, took that moment to test its broken wing. It fluttered up and off her lap, landing haphazardly on the slouch hat of the highwayman with much flapping of its wings.
"Awk!" squealed the highwayman. "Call him off! Call him off, I say!"
The man dropped his gun, which landed innocently enough on the ground. John Reeve, having jumped down from the hind boot when the coach stopped, moved to scoop up the weapon and checked it.
"It was never loaded!" he cried, staring up in dismay at Cole Coachman, who shook his head and muttered a curse.
Marcie, however, found her thoughts solely on Prinny.
"Oh, you silly bird," she chided, climbing down off the bench, then reaching up to retrieve the owl from the highwayman's head.
"Gah! He done scratched my face, he did!" cried the highwayman.
Marcie managed to calm the man's weather-worn horse even while coaxing Prinny to perch on her shoulder.
"If that is all he did, then you should consider yourself fortunate," scolded Marcie. "Imagine, holding up a Royal Mail coach, and threatening to shoot me! Your mother would doubtless turn over in her grave!"
"Oh, pray, miss, do not say such a thing! I loved my mum. She was the bright spot of my sorry youth. I was just hungry. My horse is hungry, too."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" said Marcie, her tone softening. "We've some sweetcakes on board. And sweetmeats, too. We'll share them, certainly."
"We will?" demanded Cole, glaring down at Marcie.
"Of course we shall," said Marcie, turning round and looking up at Cole. In a whisper, she said, "Can you not see that the man is desperate for food? I dareswear I might be forced to rob a coach should I be caught up in such dire straits!"
Cole released a disgruntled sigh. "No doubt you would, you little mischievous soul," he said.
Marcie turned back to the highwayman. "You haven't another weapon on your person, have you?"
The man bowed his head, his growling stomach obviously getting the best of him. "Only a knife in my boot."
"Hand it over," ordered Marcie. "That is, if you wish to join us. We'll take you to our next stop and see that you have a decent meal, and that your horse has a warm stall."
"You would do that for me?" said the man, amazed.
"Of course," said Marcie. She looked up at Cole. "Won't we, My Lord Monarch?"
"Oh, for the love of—yes, yes, of course," he grumbled. "I've taken up a runaway schoolgirl, an owl, why should I cease my philanthropic acts now?" All of this was highly irregular, but then again so was the fact that Cole had taken the reins of a Royal Mail coach and not a mere stage coach as some swell did.
"My exact thoughts," said Marcie, smiling.
"Reeve," Cole ordered, "see the man—" he paused a moment. He turned a stern stare toward the highwayman. "What is your name, man? And don't be giving me any aliases you've doubtless assumed."
The highwayman lifted his grubby face to stare at Cole. "My true name be John, but my mum always called me Jack."
It seemed an honest enough answer. Cole nodded. To Reeve, he said, "See that Jack has a place to sit."
Reeve shuddered in haughty distaste. "Surely you do not expect me to house him on the hind boot," grumbled he. It was a preposterous notion for any guard worth his salt to allow a stranger to perch in the lofty hind boot, for it was upon that very boot where the guard rode and made a living of protecting the mail bags.
Cole
"Well, you ain't me," snapped the man, his scratchy voice wavering. "Now do as I say!"
"The devil I will," said Cole Coachman.
Marcie panicked. She had to do something. Anything!
But Prinny took that moment to hop up onto her lap. "Oh, Prinny, no!" she cried, hoping the owl's movement didn't cause the highwayman to shoot. She reached to capture the owl.
Too late!
The owl, frightened by her quick movement, took that moment to test its broken wing. It fluttered up and off her lap, landing haphazardly on the slouch hat of the highwayman with much flapping of its wings.
"Awk!" squealed the highwayman. "Call him off! Call him off, I say!"
The man dropped his gun, which landed innocently enough on the ground. John Reeve, having jumped down from the hind boot when the coach stopped, moved to scoop up the weapon and checked it.
"It was never loaded!" he cried, staring up in dismay at Cole Coachman, who shook his head and muttered a curse.
Marcie, however, found her thoughts solely on Prinny.
"Oh, you silly bird," she chided, climbing down off the bench, then reaching up to retrieve the owl from the highwayman's head.
"Gah! He done scratched my face, he did!" cried the highwayman.
Marcie managed to calm the man's weather-worn horse even while coaxing Prinny to perch on her shoulder.
"If that is all he did, then you should consider yourself fortunate," scolded Marcie. "Imagine, holding up a Royal Mail coach, and threatening to shoot me! Your mother would doubtless turn over in her grave!"
"Oh, pray, miss, do not say such a thing! I loved my mum. She was the bright spot of my sorry youth. I was just hungry. My horse is hungry, too."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" said Marcie, her tone softening. "We've some sweetcakes on board. And sweetmeats, too. We'll share them, certainly."
"We will?" demanded Cole, glaring down at Marcie.
"Of course we shall," said Marcie, turning round and looking up at Cole. In a whisper, she said, "Can you not see that the man is desperate for food? I dareswear I might be forced to rob a coach should I be caught up in such dire straits!"
Cole released a disgruntled sigh. "No doubt you would, you little mischievous soul," he said.
Marcie turned back to the highwayman. "You haven't another weapon on your person, have you?"
The man bowed his head, his growling stomach obviously getting the best of him. "Only a knife in my boot."
"Hand it over," ordered Marcie. "That is, if you wish to join us. We'll take you to our next stop and see that you have a decent meal, and that your horse has a warm stall."
"You would do that for me?" said the man, amazed.
"Of course," said Marcie. She looked up at Cole. "Won't we, My Lord Monarch?"
"Oh, for the love of—yes, yes, of course," he grumbled. "I've taken up a runaway schoolgirl, an owl, why should I cease my philanthropic acts now?" All of this was highly irregular, but then again so was the fact that Cole had taken the reins of a Royal Mail coach and not a mere stage coach as some swell did.
"My exact thoughts," said Marcie, smiling.
"Reeve," Cole ordered, "see the man—" he paused a moment. He turned a stern stare toward the highwayman. "What is your name, man? And don't be giving me any aliases you've doubtless assumed."
The highwayman lifted his grubby face to stare at Cole. "My true name be John, but my mum always called me Jack."
It seemed an honest enough answer. Cole nodded. To Reeve, he said, "See that Jack has a place to sit."
Reeve shuddered in haughty distaste. "Surely you do not expect me to house him on the hind boot," grumbled he. It was a preposterous notion for any guard worth his salt to allow a stranger to perch in the lofty hind boot, for it was upon that very boot where the guard rode and made a living of protecting the mail bags.
Cole
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