The man was practically a national hero, after all. What accounted for his astounding popularity was that he robbed only the rich Anglicans of the hated Ascendancy and was rumored to share his laigesse with his starving countrymen. His identifying mark was the Cross of Ireland, which he always wore in the form of a silver pendant hanging from a chain about his neck. That was how the people knew that the Dark Horseman was as Irish as they. Although the Horseman was highly revered and much talked about in the Irish quarters, and regarded with universal fear among the Anglicans, no one could lay claim to have ridden with him, or knew his true identity, or even if he truly existed. But his name could galvanize Willie, without fail.

"I'm no coward! And the Horseman would take me sure! Just you watch this!" Willie was already starting toward the gentleman. Caitlyn followed a little way behind him, a small grin curving her lips. Invoking the Dark Horseman was better than flaying Willie with a whip.

"Please, yer lordship, c'n ye spare a copper? For a starvin' boyo?" Willie had reached the gentleman and was bowing and scraping in front of him, whining his beggar's whine. The purpose was to focus the victim's attention on Willie to the exclusion of all else. While the gentleman was distracted, Caitlyn, walking past, would supposedly stumble and fall against him, muttering a pardon as she deftly relieved him of his purse and the gleaming gold watch that was tucked into a waistcoat pocket, its chain glinting across the fine white cloth covering his middle.

"Don't beg, lad," the mark said gruffly, scowling down at Willie, who continued to grovel and whine before him. "You shame yourself."

Here was a fine gentleman in truth, Caitlyn sneered silently as she approached, worried about a starving lad shaming himself. She'd like to see him forced to steal and beg and do anything and everything for a crust of bread.