Turpin's Tales: A Short Story Collection (Dick Turpin Book 4) by Foreman Richard

Author:Foreman, Richard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2023-09-28T00:00:00+00:00

Turpin’s Mount

It was as pleasant a day as one could have hoped for in Essex, during September. Rich autumnal russets and browns adorned the landscape, along with ripe, soft greens and lustrous yellows - beneath a sky as blue as a robin’s egg. The trees had yet to shed their leaves, the hedgerows were still teeming with life. A lone ploughman and shire horse could be seen toiling in a distant field - turning the earth. Even soil becomes exhausted and needs a rest and some care. The air was even free from the sickly-sweet aroma of manure which often perfumed such scenes.

Dick Turpin sat upon Black Bess, ambling along a track which looked down on the contoured, colourful valley. He was travelling home, in no particular hurry, from having lunch with his partner in crime, Nathaniel Gill. They had arranged a celebratory meal, after having a good month. Ill-gotten gains were still gains. Their bellies were now as full as their purses. Turpin’s belt bit into his hips. The highwaymen had shared a large meat pie at The Cock and Bull. They had initially cut the feast in half but, as was their custom, Gill ended up consuming two thirds of the dish. Turpin had eaten a few oysters to start with, washed down with a measure of porter. Everything tasted better with porter, he believed.

“Food, glorious food,” Gill pronounced, or almost sung, as he finally finished his meal. Satiated. Triumphant, at having bested the mound on his plate.

As was his habit, when he was alone with his horse, Turpin spoke to the creature. Aside from perhaps Gill and his wife, the highwayman spent more time with the mare than anyone else. He could have employed someone to do so, but Turpin still groomed and tended to his steed. Lest he arouse suspicion by calling Bess by her name too often, he had devised a series of whistles and trained her to respond accordingly, as in when to approach or stop. Turpin loved the loyal horse dearly - and not just because she had delivered him from capture on more than one occasion. It was difficult to remember a time when he had been without her.

“We’re in a good place right now, Bess - and I am not just speaking about Essex. Elizabeth seems content too. Happy wife, happy life. I do not miss having a mistress - and I certainly do not miss the expense. It’s exhausting, pretending to be fond of someone when you’re not. It’s equally exhausting pretending to be enamoured with someone who isn’t fond of you. If ever some thoroughbred comes up and smells your arse - and whinnies exuberantly - know that he’s only after one thing. Even when he’s had his oats, he’ll still want more. He may joke that there are no flies on you, or that one should never look a gift horse in the mouth - but trust him about as far as you can pick him up and throw him.

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