Runaway

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  I told him and he gave a decisive nod. ‘I think I know where she’s gone,’ he said. ‘But it’s a devilishly long way from here by road. How did you get here, Charlie?’

  ‘I rode Storm,’ I said anxiously, hoping I hadn’t acted wrongly, but he looked cheered. ‘Capital! I’ll wager you were pleased with him?’

  I relaxed a little and smiled. ‘He’s wonderful,’ I agreed.

  ‘Good, I’ll take him from here and you can drive the gig back home. Do you feel confident to do that?’

  ‘I’ve never driven alone,’ I said dubiously.

  ‘I trust you. Mrs Fielden,’ he said turning away from me. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. I’m sorry to leave you in such a rush, but I’m sure you understand. Please tell your husband I’ll take the puppy with the white foot for his lordship.’

  I felt very responsible harnessing Sorrel to the gig and setting out by myself, but I soon relaxed and enjoyed being out in the late afternoon sunshine, the reins in my hands. It was infinitely preferable to mucking out or cleaning tack, the tasks I would be performing otherwise. But worry for Belle disturbed what was otherwise a tranquil drive. By the time I reached the lodge gates, the sun was low in the sky. I’d eaten the pastry on the way and now felt tired and very thirsty.

  Mrs Saunders was at the gate once more and opened it as I approached. ‘Good evening, Charlie,’ she greeted me with a smile. ‘You look hot and bothered.’

  ‘It’s a warm afternoon,’ I admitted.

  ‘Why don’t you step down a moment and take a cool glass of milk?’ she invited. My thirst warred with my fear and won. Besides I was curious about her interest in me.

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ I replied, reining Sorrel in beyond the gate.

  Mr Saunders took Sorrel’s bridle and hitched her to a ring beside the gate and then disappeared back into his garden. There was a trough of water there and she drank thirstily. I climbed down from the gig and followed Mrs Saunders into the tiny lodge house. It was neat and precise, with embroidered covers hanging over the armchairs and polished brasses above the empty fireplace. Mrs Saunders invited me to sit down at the table and poured me a glass of milk from a jug. She also fetched a pie from the pantry. ‘Will you partake of a little pie, as you’ll have missed your dinner?’ she asked me.

  I accepted uneasily, wondering why she was showering me with such kindness. As I ate and drank, Mrs Saunders sat down opposite me. Her eyes were fixed on me. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and met her gaze. It was now or never: ‘You stare at me a great deal, Mrs Saunders,’ I said. ‘May I ask why?’

  Mrs Saunders flushed and her eyes filled with tears. ‘You look like someone … I once knew,’ she said.

  ‘Who was that?’ I asked, my heart beating quickly, wondering what I might discover. I thought of my mother’s letter, written from Deerhurst Park, currently hidden in the stable block.

  ‘My … my daughter,’ said Mrs Saunders, and burst into tears.

  Horrified, I reached out and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. It only made her cry more. Her apron held to her face, she rocked back and forth. Moved by her distress, I drew my chair over to hers and put my arm around her. ‘Please, Mrs Saunders,’ I murmured. ‘Don’t cry!’

  After a few moments, she seemed to pull herself together. She lifted her head and looked at me once more with red-rimmed eyes. I drew back from her and watched her anxiously.

  ‘Who are you, Charlie?’ she asked brokenly. ‘Why have you come to haunt me with the past?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to do so!’

  ‘But you do. You’re the image of her for all you’re dressed as a boy!’

  I caught my breath at her words. So, like Martha, Mrs Saunders had seen through my disguise. Would she betray me? I felt danger around me once again, close and suffocating.

  ‘You know,’ I said. ‘Who have you told … who will you tell?’

  But Mrs Saunders wasn’t listening. She continued to pour out her memories as she wept: ‘Ah, my dear daughter has been dead these many, many years. She was in love with a man she couldn’t marry. When he abandoned her, she lived a year in sorrow then took her own life.’

  I patted the sobbing woman’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry!’ I said helplessly.

  ‘But you see, I always doubted it,’ wept Mrs Saunders. ‘They would have it she’d taken her life, my husband and the Lawrences, but her body was never found. And now you come here, looking just like her.’

  ‘Mrs Saunders,’ I said gently. ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Her name was Emily.’

  I caught my breath in amazement. ‘In that case,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Perhaps she really didn’t die? I’m not sure, of course, but I wonder … You see, my mother was called Emily … And I think … that is, I have reason to believe she used to live on the Deerhurst estate. That’s why I came here.’

  Mrs Saunders turned deathly white. ‘My Emily, your mother? It’s what’s been on my mind since I saw you. But I hardly dared believe … My Emily left with nothing, you see. Not so much as a clean shift. We always thought that meant that … you know. It destroyed us. Can you imagine how hard it is to live with the knowledge your own child was thrown into such despair that she chose to die and she did not turn to her own parents for help? We were to blame for opposing her love, I know. But how could we have guessed? We thought … But after she was gone, we gave up the farm and came to live here and … ’

  ‘The farm? I asked with a gasp. ‘Did you live at the Home Farm?’ That was the address my mother had written her letter from. It all fitted.

  ‘Yes, we did. But we lost all heart when Emily died.’

  ‘I think perhaps she didn’t die,’ I said uncertainly. ‘Not then anyway. I think perhaps she ran away …’

  ‘How can this be? Was your mother Emily Saunders?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I don’t know what her maiden name was. She was married, you see.’

  ‘But you are Weaver. She didn’t know anyone by that name!’

  I hesitated. I’d kept my secret so carefully. Was it safe to tell Mrs Saunders? If I didn’t trust her, I might never know anything more about my parents. I felt sure I had discovered an important link.

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ I asked seriously.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mrs Saunders tearfully.

  ‘You mustn’t tell anyone. But my name isn’t Weaver. It’s Smith.’

  I sat back and waited for gasps and explanations. But Mrs Saunders frowned, thought deeply, and finally shook her head. ‘She didn’t know anyone of that name either,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ I was bitterly disappointed. For a moment I’d thought I was on the brink of discovering my family. ‘Perhaps … perhaps she ran away and then met my father later?’ I asked.

  ‘Or your mother and my daughter are not the same person,’ replied Mrs Saunders with a sigh. She took my chin in a trembling hand and looked into my eyes once more. ‘And yet …’ she said. ‘You are so like her, my dear. What are you doing dressed as a boy?’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Earning an honest living,’ I said briefly, unwilling to enter on explanations. ‘Mrs Saunders, may I ask, would you recognize your Emily’s writing?’ I asked. ‘If I brought you a letter?’

  ‘I think so,’ Mrs Saunders agreed. ‘Do you have one?’

  ‘I do.’

  I was stunned by my talk with Mrs Saunders and could think of nothing else as I drove the gig back to the house. I had come to Deerhurst with some hope of learning more of my mother, but this was beyond anything I’d imagined.

  The yard was ominously quiet on my return. I unhitched Sorrel and tethered her ready for grooming, then went in search of a drink. There was a bucket of well water in the grooms’ room. I dipped the ladle into the cool liquid, filled myself a beaker, and drank thirstily. My hands were not quite steady, I noticed as I raised the beaker. It wasn’t until I’d drained two cups that I noticed Ben sitting quietly in the corner.

  ‘Ben,’ I exclaimed, star
tled. ‘What news?’

  He shook his head gloomily. ‘Word is, ’is lordship’s worried sick and in a towering temper. Miss Lawrence ain’t been found. Leastways, no one’s back yet.’ He sighed. ‘And there’ll be a mountain of tack to clean when they do get here, and guess who’ll get that job?’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ I promised him. ‘If you’ll give me a hand putting the gig away?’

  Together, we hauled the gig into the coach house and closed the big door. Then I rubbed Sorrel down and stabled her, making sure she had fresh hay and water.

  As I walked back out into the yard, I caught the sound of clattering hooves. When the riders emerged under the archway, it was Mr Lawrence on Storm and Miss Judith on Belle. I sighed with relief to see them all and went straight to Belle’s head. She was exhausted and trembling, her eyes dull. Miss Judith sat sulkily on her back until Lawrence dismounted and then allowed him to assist her in getting down from the horse. Once on the ground, she turned away from him at once, without so much as a pat or a word of praise for her tired horse.

  ‘Go straight to your grandfather!’ Lawrence called after her. ‘He’ll be in a fret of anxiety!’

  Miss Judith flounced off without replying while I made up for her neglect by petting the beautiful bay mare. Lawrence turned to me. There was a furrow of tiredness and annoyance on his brow, but it smoothed away as he looked at me. ‘Charlie,’ he said. ‘You didn’t put the gig in a ditch then?’

  ‘Worse! It’s in pieces,’ I replied. ‘I hid the remains in the woods.’

  Lawrence laughed briefly. ‘I should have known! Charlie, can I leave you with the two horses? I need to go and make sure the volcanic eruption of his lordship’s rage and relief isn’t too violent.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, biting back the wish that he wouldn’t spare Miss Judith too much. In my opinion, it would do her good. I wished I could ask him where Judith had been, but it was none of my business.

  I tethered Storm and led Belle to the post for grooming. It was then I noticed that she was limping. I ran my hands over her leg. Her near hock was hot and swollen. That stupid, stupid girl! How could she treat her beautiful horse so? I ran and drew water from the well, dipped a cloth into it and washed down the heated place. I kept washing it, squeezing the cool water over it for a long time. Belle, stiff and sore from being ridden so hard, nuzzled me gratefully and made soft whickering noises. I stroked her soothingly, speaking to her in a long, gentle flow of words that I hoped she found comforting.

  Ben had groomed Storm and led him into his stable, the other grooms had returned one by one from their fruitless search, and darkness had fallen before I was done. Bridges checked Belle over and promised to mix a poultice to put on her overnight.

  The hock was cooler, though still swollen, as I finally led Belle, now dead lame, to her box. She nosed listlessly at the hay and stood quietly, resting her injured leg. Reluctant to leave her alone, I ran only to grab a drink of water and my blanket, before spending the night in my usual spot in Belle’s box.

  The last Sunday of the month was an afternoon off for most of us, and the day dawned bright, clear, and unseasonably warm for late May.

  ‘Let’s go to the river,’ suggested Ben. ‘It’ll be cool in the shade there.’

  Content that, after a week of lameness, Belle was on the mend, I agreed to go with them. It would be nice to get away from the stable yard and do something different for a few hours.

  Ben, Peter, Joe, and I set off once we’d mucked out the stables, been to church and eaten an early cold dinner. The rest of the long summer’s day was ours to do as we pleased. I planned to visit Mrs Saunders later in the day, once the heat had faded.

  It was a hot walk down to the river, and we were pleased to flop down in the shade and recover when we reached it.

  ‘Who’s for a swim then?’ asked Ben after a few minutes. He was sitting up, eager for fun and games. ‘Charlie?’

  I shook my head hurriedly. ‘Can’t swim,’ I lied. ‘I’ll just paddle in the shallows.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ said Ben, stripping off his shirt. ‘It’s not deep enough that you need to be able to swim!’ I averted my eyes as he dropped his breeches and kicked them onto the grass before running naked to the river bank and leaping into the water with a great splash. The other boys soon followed him, leaving me red-faced on the grass, wondering what to do. I’d thought I’d sit on the bank and dangle my feet in the water, but the sight of the three boys wrestling naked in the water was too much for me. I felt as though I was spying on them under false pretences and, really, it wasn’t as though I had the least wish to look. I’d grown up with a brother, so I knew as much as I wanted to know about boys’ anatomy.

  I wasn’t left in peace for long. Ben’s cry of ‘Let’s throw Charlie in!’ didn’t give me enough warning to make my escape. They surrounded me, picked me up and threw me fully dressed into the river. I surfaced, gasping and spluttering at the shock of the cold water, and struck out for the bank.

  ‘Hey, look! He CAN swim!’ yelled Pete.

  ‘What were you so afraid of, Charlie-boy?’ demanded Joe.

  ‘Doesn’t want to get his tool out in front of us and that’s the truth, I reckon!’ shouted Ben. ‘Ain’t that right, Charlie? That’s why you won’t join us for bath night either, hey? Terrified we’ll see how tiny it is!’

  ‘On the contrary, Ben,’ I said with a grin. ‘I don’t want to make you feel inadequate.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie, you’ve asked for it now!’ said Ben.

  ‘Asked for what?’ I said, realizing too late my bravado had been disastrously ill-judged.

  ‘Strip him, lads!’ shouted Ben, splashing into the water next to me, churning up the water, mud, and weed. ‘Let’s see the truth of this!’

  All three lads converged on me, laughing uproariously. It was a game to them; they had no idea. Terror gave me a strength and speed I didn’t know I had. I leapt through the water to the bank and clawed my way up through the mud, the three boys close on my heels. At the top of the bank, Pete threw himself at me, bringing me down full length with a painful bump, my face hitting a stone.

  Half stunned and convinced all was over, I gave myself up. But just as the three boys piled onto me, a girl’s voice cried out from the trees: ‘Oh, what are you rough boys doing to poor Charlie?’

  Susan, the kitchen maid, was standing in the trees with two of the other maids. The sight of them made the naked stable boys holler with shock and leap back into the water. As soon as they backed off, Susan rushed forward towards me, putting a hand on my wet, muddy shirt and bending over me solicitously. ‘Are you much hurt, Charlie?’ she asked tenderly. ‘There’s blood on your face!’

  At that moment, she was my saviour. I smiled up at her, light-headed with relief. ‘I’m well enough, thank you Susan,’ I told her. ‘I think I hit my head.’

  ‘You’re so brave,’ she sighed admiringly. ‘Why don’t you come with us? We’re walking further down the stream to paddle and pick flowers.’

  ‘Thank you, I will,’ I replied, scrambling to my feet. It was an unexpected helping hand and I didn’t hesitate to take it.

  We spent a very pleasant afternoon wading in the shallows, plucking wild flowers, and chatting. Susan made a great deal more fuss than was necessary cleaning up my muddy face with her pocket-handkerchief. I had a cut across one eyebrow that had bled a little. It stung as Susan cleaned it gently.

  The girls shared their lunch with me, since mine had been left behind with the boys. After lunch, I helped them weave flowers into their hair. I felt a little wistful, as my own hair was still only mere fuzz on my scalp. I kept it very clean now though, hoping there would be no need to shave my head again too soon.

  ‘You’re so good at this, Charlie,’ said Susan, smiling up at me. ‘Wherever did you learn it?’

  ‘Oh, I have sisters,’ I said quickly. It had been so pleasant to enjoy female company again that I’d forgotten myself. Luckily my glib explanation seemed to satisfy
her.

  ‘Oh, sisters! That explains why you’re so nice to talk to too. Not like the other boys, all rough and shouting.’

  I had the grace to blush.

  As the heat of the afternoon faded, we walked up to the Home Farm and bought a pitcher of cool milk for a farthing, which we shared sitting under an apple tree in the garden. Much refreshed, we walked back down to the house, in time for the evening meal to be served. Parting at the back of the house by the door to the kitchens, Susan stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and then fled with her two friends, giggling.

  As I turned away, shaking my head, I saw Lawrence striding towards me from the stables in riding dress, whip in hand. I realized he’d witnessed the little scene and that a frown creased his brow.

  ‘I hadn’t taken you for a ladies’ man, Charlie,’ he said with a definite note of disapproval in his voice. ‘Aren’t you a bit young for that? I hope you can conduct yourself with propriety and not get any of our maids into trouble.’

  I fixed my eyes on the ground. ‘Oh n-no, sir,’ I stammered awkwardly.

  ‘And you’ve been fighting again,’ he said despairingly.

  I touched my brow lightly, realizing it had swollen.

  ‘N-not exactly,’ I replied. ‘It was all in fun, sir.’

  He shook his head and sighed. ‘Get some ice on it,’ he said curtly. ‘I need you to accompany me out tomorrow morning without looking like a prizefighter. Be ready in your livery at nine o’clock sharp!’

  Lawrence nodded a curt dismissal to me and I made my way back to the stable yard feeling unaccountably low. It took an hour of grooming and petting Belle to restore my peace. The gentle mare had a restful presence.

  Later, I braved the kitchen and Susan’s attentions once more to fetch ice for my bruises. In the cool of the evening, I walked up to the lodge gates to speak to Mrs Saunders, with one of my mother’s letters tucked into my shirt. But before I reached the lodge house, Mr Saunders walked towards me, with no friendly expression on his face.