“Yes,” said Julian. He put his hand upon the pistol and smiled. “Good morning to you both.”

“This is a private coach!” said Lord Turlentort, the nostrils of his huge nose flared and his painted eyebrows lifted nearly to his false hairline. “Driver! Driver, come here!” he shouted.

Benson came, said, “On our way in a moment, sir,” and shut the door with a flourish.

“I won’t stand for this!” The lord reached for the door’s handle but his hand stopped in midair when Julian lifted the pistol.

“Nice day for a trip to London,” Julian said, and still smiling he scratched his unshaven chin with the four barrels.

“Heavens!” cried the lady. “They’re ruffians bound to rob us!”

“Not at all, fair one,” Julian answered. “We’re simply in need of transportation to London. You’re going there, so are we, and all is right with the world.”

“The company shall hear of this, and mark it well!” Lord Turlentort threatened, but Matthew was sure that like so many others had been in Julian’s career, the man’s fearful eyes were fixed on that damned pistol.

“I’ll mark it in my book of sins.” Julian set the gun down again; Matthew thought that if that thing went off in here all that would be left of the Turlentorts would be wig curls and false eyelashes.

“Pullin’ out!” Benson shouted, and then, the traditional coachman’s cry for luck from the gods of safe travel: “Tally ho!”

With a jarring lurch the coach started off and quickly gained speed. Matthew mused that Benson might be a Jarvey—a regular, speed-conscious coachman—but the gold guinea and the promise of another had turned him into a Jehu, a coachman who drove the team with reckless abandon.

“Good Christ, we’re moving fast!” said the lord as the wheels really started turning. There came the sound of the whip cracking the air. The coach itself began rocking back and forth, the weathered wood without and the varnished wood within making whines and pops of protest.

“Faster we move, faster we get there,” said Julian. “Settle back and enjoy the ride.” He touched his saddlebag. “I have some dried beef and fish I would share, if you’d like.”

“We certainly would not!” said the lady. She looked near tears. “Travelling with two … two unkempt criminals is not my idea of a wonderful journey! You both smell vile!”

Matthew decided to try to ease the woman’s fears. “I apologize for the aroma, but baths have not been on our recent agenda. May I ask why you’re going to London?”

Neither one replied for a few seconds, and then the lady sniffed and said, “Shopping, of course! Everyone who is anyone does their shopping in London!”

“Little you’d know of that!” sneered the lord.

“True,” said Julian. “I do prefer to rob for what I want. Also, killing is high on my list of pleasures. I’ve already sent a man to his grave this morning. It’s what I do, just after breakfast.” He glanced at Matthew. “Isn’t that right, Scar?”