The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts by Avi

Author:Avi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2017-05-03T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

In Which I Reveal Who Was at the Door.

Standing on the threshold was Mr. Sandys. He leaned hard against the door frame, his left hand clutching his right shoulder, his face pale and haggard.

On the instant, Captain Hawkes snatched up his pistols and aimed them at the man. Mr. Sandys looked at him with what seemed resigned disgust. Then he turned to me with an accusatory look.

The woman, seeing her son, gave a cry and rushed forward, put her arms about him, and helped him into a chair. He sat heavily, letting forth something of a groan. She then struggled to remove his jacket, which was not easy, for it caused him much pain. When she finally drew the jacket off, the sleeve of Mr. Sandys’s shirt was stained red.

In all this no words were spoken, but it was clear that Mr. Sandys had been wounded. Naturally, I thought of the shots I’d heard.

Captain Hawkes continued to stand there, pistols in hand, watching Mr. Sandys.

The woman hurried out of the room.

Only then did Hawkes speak. “The coach driver was armed, then?” he said to Mr. Sandys.

The highwayman nodded. It was a worn-out motion and suggested that he was suffering.

“Sandys, you’re a fool to work alone,” said the captain. “It takes more skill than you have.”

Mr. Sandys stared angrily at me and for a moment I thought he was about to reveal that he and I had met. Perhaps he thought better of it for he turned back to Hawkes and said, “Why are you here?”

Captain Hawkes said, “Mr. Wild was informed you were in the area. He sent me here and asked me to deliver a message.”

“Speak it then,” said Mr. Sandys. He was staring at the ground, as if resigned.

The woman came back with a bowl of water and a cloth. She pulled away Mr. Sandys’s bloody sleeve and began to wash the wound.

Captain Hawkes said, “You do not have Mr. Wild’s permission to be on the roads. Moreover, he requires you to report to him.”

“In London. At the King’s Head?”

Hawkes nodded.

“What will Wild do for me?”

“You can guess as well as me.”

“He’ll take out his book,” said Sandys, “and put a double cross next to my name.”

“You’ll have to take your chances.”

Mr. Sandys pointed to me. “Is this boy one of Wild’s coves?”

“Not yet, but I hope he will be.”

With that, Captain Hawkes turned to the woman. “I thank you for your hospitality, madam.” He bowed and flourished his feathered hat. To me, he smiled and made another bow. “Boy, I hope we shall meet again. Once more, I urge you to visit Mr. Wild.”

With that Captain Hawkes left the inn.

What was clear to me now was this: Mr. Sandys had attempted to rob the stagecoach, the same coach I had planned to be on. He had been held off, wounded by an armed guard—the gunshots I heard—and was escaping to where his mother lived, the Swan Inn.

Furthermore, Captain Hawkes was connected to the highwayman, and had come to give him a warning from this Mr.

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