Runaway

by Marie-Louise Jensen

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, as she spread the yellowed sheet out and saw the writing. She turned it to look at the signature and tears filled her eyes once more.

  ‘It’s her,’ she faltered. ‘Her very hand; her signature! This is from my dear daughter! My Emily!’ Mrs Saunders looked up at me, her eyes sparkling. ‘This was indeed your mother?’

  I nodded. ‘It was,’ I agreed. ‘I’d know her hand anywhere. She taught me to read and write.’

  Mrs Saunders put a trembling hand to her. ‘Then she did not die when she left us! And … you really are my granddaughter?’

  ‘I think I must be.’

  Mrs Saunders embraced me, a scent of wood smoke, home-baked cake and soap enveloping me: the scent of my grandmother. I was so moved to have found her I wept a little myself. I was no longer alone in the world. Unlikely as it seemed, I’d found my mother’s family.

  The door opened and Mr Saunders stepped in. He stood silently in the doorway, as Mrs Saunders released me. I felt my heart quicken with anxiety. He would be furious with me for coming here.

  ‘What’s this?’ Mr Saunders demanded, pushing the door shut behind him with a snap. His wife went to him with tears in her eyes.

  ‘You may not be angry, my dear Bill,’ she said. ‘For it is as I thought; this really is our grandchild! Emily did not die when she left us!’

  Explaining everything in a breathless, emotional voice, she put the letter into his hands. Contrary to my expectations he examined it, noting the date, the address, and reading the first lines. Meanwhile, Mrs Saunders questioned me eagerly about my mother: how she lived, what she was like, when she died.

  ‘Do you see?’ Mrs Saunders asked at last, turning back to her husband. ‘Do you see from the letter that she was planning to run away, not to take her life?’

  ‘This is not proof,’ growled Mr Saunders. ‘Anyone could have got hold of this letter. It proves nothing! Except that Emily was still in love with … ’

  Mrs Saunders came to me and took my face gently between her hands, turning it to her husband. ‘This is all the proof I’ll ever need!’ she exclaimed, interrupting him. ‘Just look at the dear girl! Isn’t this the image of our own Emily?’

  ‘Girl?’ asked Mr Saunders bewildered.

  Mrs Saunders laughed shakily and rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, you men never see further than your noses. This is Charlie! Is it your real name, my dear? Is it short for Charlotte?’

  I nodded dumbly.

  The kettle was boiling on the fire by now and Mrs Saunders hurried to make a pot of tea, which she set upon the table with cups. ‘Sit down, Charlotte,’ she said to me. ‘You must tell us who your father was. This is all so extraordinary! You have brought joy into my old age!’

  Mr Saunders looked less delighted as I slid into a seat and accepted a cup of tea. He still stared at me suspiciously, his lower lip jutting out. ‘Forgive me if I’m cautious,’ he said at last. ‘I’m slow to accept new ideas.’ He looked at the letter again and at his wife. ‘She wrote to him!’ he said to her. ‘Look; it’s addressed “Dear Andrew”. Did you have any knowledge of this?’

  ‘No, not until I saw this letter,’ Mrs Saunders replied.

  Mr Saunders turned back to me. ‘Your father was Andrew Lawrence?’ he asked with a frown.

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed, taken aback. ‘My father was Andrew Smith. He wasn’t a grand gentleman at all!’

  ‘Smith?’ Mr Saunders asked dubiously. I nodded.

  Both husband and wife looked at me. ‘Emily didn’t know a Mr Smith,’ said Mr Saunders.

  ‘Perhaps she met him later. Bill, do not lose sight of the fact that this is our grandchild! That our Emily did not die when she left us! Can you not take pleasure in that? It seems to me to matter very little whom the child’s father was. Only that she found love and happiness again.’ Mrs Saunders wiped a tear from her eye.

  I looked at Mr Saunders’ doubting face and made a helpless gesture. ‘I quite understand that you won’t take me on trust!’ I said. ‘And the truth be told, I am puzzled over my parentage myself. There are … many things I don’t understand. For example … ’ I hesitated, unsure how much to tell them. I was sure I could trust them with my identity, but what of the mysterious ring that might incriminate my father in a crime? And what of his murder?

  ‘Gate!’ came a cry from outside.

  I jumped to my feet, startled. It was Mr Lawrence’s voice.

  ‘Please!’ I begged Mr and Mrs Saunders. ‘Do not tell him, or anyone yet, of what we suspect! There are reasons why … ’

  Mr Saunders looked suspicious again at once, but Mrs Saunders embraced me. ‘Of course! You wish to keep your place here. But come again as soon as you can, Charlie. Bring the other letters and we’ll puzzle it out between us.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised.

  Mr Saunders stepped outside. ‘I see you have Sorrel and the gig here,’ I heard Lawrence say to him. ‘Do you also have my errant stable boy? Miss Lawrence has been waiting these several hours for her new gown and hat and gave me no peace until I came to look for them.’

  I took a deep breath and stepped outside too. ‘I’m sorry, sir!’ I apologized to Mr Lawrence. ‘I felt a trifle faint in the heat and Mrs Saunders kindly offered me a cup of tea.’

  Mr Lawrence looked at me closely. ‘You look very pale, Charlie. Let me drive you home. We can tether Storm behind the gig.’

  He dismounted at once and led Storm to the gig. I felt guilty for lying to him and putting him to so much trouble. I climbed meekly into the gig beside him and sat quietly as he drove me back down to the house.

  Out of sight of the lodge, Lawrence cast another searching look at me. ‘You look as though you have been crying again rather than ill, Charlie,’ he remarked, once again showing uncomfortable acuteness. ‘I’ve asked this before; is there anything I should know about?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m perfectly recovered now, I thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry to have put you to trouble on my account.’

  ‘A mysterious tearfulness that has now communicated itself to Mrs Saunders,’ mused Lawrence with yet another glance at me. I could feel the colour rising in my cheeks. ‘What is the mystery, Charlie? What are you hiding from me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I assured him, feeling guilty about the lie.

  ‘And yet Mrs Saunders has scarcely been able to take her eyes off you since the day you arrived here, has she?’

  I caught my breath. Mr Lawrence noticed so much more than one imagined. ‘I remind her of … someone she once knew. That is all,’ I told him. Mr Lawrence frowned, irritated by my reserve.

  ‘Very well, we’ll leave it at that for now,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, I would like to leave for London the day after tomorrow to attend an auction. Will you be well enough to accompany me?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow?’ I asked, biting my lip, thinking of my promise to Mrs Saunders.

  ‘If that doesn’t interfere with your many social engagements, of course,’ remarked Mr Lawrence with heavy irony.

  I flushed. ‘No, of course not,’ I replied.

  Ben poked his head into the tack room the following evening as I was soaping a saddle. Bridges was on the other side of the room checking over the carriage harness.

  ‘Message from Mr Lawrence,’ Ben told me. ‘He’ll be leaving for London in the morning and you’re to go with him, Charlie. We’re to harness Mustard and Cress to the travelling chaise for the first stage. They’ll be sent back from there and you’ll hire horses the rest of the way.’

  ‘Thanks, Ben,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, and Susan’s looking for you. Shall I send her in?’

  ‘No, please do not!’ I cried in alarm. Ben disappeared and I could hear him snorting with laughter. Susan walked into the tack room a moment later. She’d washed her face and tied a ribbon in her mousey hair. She hesitated when she saw Bridges but, surprisingly, he smiled at her. ‘Don’t mind me!’ he said.

  ‘Charlie!’ Susan said, turning to me with a coque
ttish smile. ‘I never seem to see you these days.’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ I replied, thinking ruefully of the many times I’d concealed myself recently to avoid her.

  ‘I’ve got an hour free later. Would you like to walk out with me? When you’ve finished your work, of course.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I have to finish cleaning this tack and then groom Mustard and Cress ready for tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘That’s all right, lad,’ said Bridges mischievously. ‘Ben can do that. We can spare you for half an hour.’

  I sent him a look of heartfelt reproach and he turned a sudden snort of laughter into a cough. It seemed the entire stable staff wanted to set me up with Susan.

  ‘I really can’t leave it to Ben,’ I said to Susan, feigning regret. ‘Mr Lawrence’s orders. Why don’t you ask Ben, Peter, or Joe to walk with you?’

  Susan pouted, hurt that I should suggest someone else. ‘Certainly not,’ she said. ‘I shall watch you work and we can talk instead.’

  As good as her word, she hung on the door of Mustard’s stall while I brushed him down and checked his hooves. ‘How strong you must be to make such a great horse pick up his foot,’ Susan sighed admiringly.

  ‘Not at all,’ I assured her truthfully. ‘I daresay I’m not much stronger than you!’

  ‘Oh, you are!’ Susan breathed.

  ‘It’s all in the technique. Look: I lean on him until he shifts his weight onto the other foot. And then it’s easy enough to pick up.’ I demonstrated, cleaning out the mud from Mustard’s hoof while it was lifted.

  ‘Charlie,’ she asked as I worked. ‘If you’re busy today, will you walk out with me this Sunday instead?’

  I bit my lip. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry, but I’m going away with Mr Lawrence tomorrow for a week.’

  Susan’s face fell ludicrously. ‘Oh! Must you go?’

  ‘Yes, indeed I must. I am his groom, you know.’

  She nodded sadly. ‘I shall miss you.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper: ‘You can kiss me if you like. There’s no one looking.’

  I edged further back into the stable and put Mustard’s bulk between us.

  ‘No, I can’t. Really, Susan, I … ’

  ‘Come now, Susan, do you not have work to do?’ Mr Lawrence’s voice made Susan jump out of her skin. She blushed scarlet and fled. I drew a sigh of relief.

  Lawrence frowned at me. ‘You need to keep that damsel at a distance, Charlie,’ he said. There was irritation in his voice.

  ‘Indeed, I wish you might tell me how to do so!’ I exclaimed.

  Lawrence’s brow cleared and he laughed. He shook his head at me. ‘A personal groom is supposed to be almost as discreet as a butler, you know,’ he said. ‘Yet you brawl and flirt at every opportunity. My fault, I suppose for employing you so young.’

  ‘You misunderstand me, sir,’ I said, a little hurt, but I didn’t argue any further.

  ‘You got my message about tomorrow?’ Lawrence asked. When I told him I had, he nodded. ‘Good. Meanwhile, saddle Storm for me, will you? I find I’m obliged to ride across to West Farm to collect his lordship’s new dog. He should have had him a week or so ago, but was in the gout again and couldn’t face it. I must fetch the creature before we leave for London.’

  I left Mustard with a pat and a word of affection and went to lead Storm out of his box. He’d managed to lie down in his own droppings after he was groomed this morning, so I was obliged to sponge him down and brush him off swiftly before tacking him up. Lawrence stood and exchanged conversation with Bridges meanwhile, and I was pleased to see them both smiling. That meant there were no complaints about me.

  When Storm was ready and I led him across, Lawrence said, ‘Bridges tells me Belle has not been out for a couple of days. Saddle her too, Charlie, and you may accompany me.’

  Flushing with delight, I handed Storm’s reins to Mr Lawrence and rushed to do his bidding. I’d never ridden Belle, though I’d longed to do so. I petted her as I brushed her quickly down and lifted a saddle onto her back.

  Belle went like a dream for me. I’d ridden several fine horses since I’d been at Deerhurst. As Lawrence liked to say, it was the greatest perk of the job. But Belle was better than any of them: smooth-paced, responsive, and so light on her feet.

  ‘You look as though you’re enjoying her,’ called Lawrence with a smile as we pulled up from a canter across a meadow.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ I exclaimed enthusiastically, bending forward to clap her burnished neck and praise her. ‘She’s the finest horse I’ve ever ridden!’

  ‘I thought you would like to say farewell to her,’ said Lawrence. ‘Just for the week!’ he added hastily, as I turned an alarmed face towards him. ‘There’s nothing sinister in store for her, I swear! Bridges has promised to ride out with Miss Judith and keep a close eye on her while we’re away. Besides, Judith will be away herself for several days at a house party.’

  Returning from West Farm with the puppy on Lawrence’s pommel, we passed a herd of cows being taken in for milking. Belle grew out-of-reason nervous and became hard to control. When a dog appeared at her heels out of nowhere and barked, she shied, then bolted.

  I clung on to Belle’s mane and lay low over her neck. She was in full flight, mane and tail high, with the bit between her teeth. She had torn across a field and crashed through a hedge before I was able to gain some measure of control. I circled her and she slowed up, sweating. I kept speaking to her soothingly and gradually she came to a trembling, snorting stop. I praised her and encouraged her to turn, and walk gently back. Once I was sure she was not going to snatch the bit again, I patted her.

  ‘Brave Belle,’ I told her. ‘There was no need for that panic, my beauty. It was just a sheepdog.’

  Storm and Mr Lawrence came thundering up to me. ‘Are you hurt, Charlie?’ asked Lawrence. There was real concern in his voice.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said calmly. ‘It’s Belle that’s spooked. She would never have behaved like this a few months ago.’

  ‘I know. What does Judith do to upset her so?’

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure. I know she uses her whip far too freely. She rides recklessly and has dreadful hands; I’ve frequently seen her job Belle in the mouth both by accident and in temper.’

  Lawrence nodded. ‘I’ve seen all that and more. Perhaps she treats her even worse when we’re not by. I’ve known her tease her grandfather’s dogs most cruelly at times. Come, let’s get this poor fellow home.’ He indicated the puppy that he now cradled in one arm. The tiny thing wagged his tail and wriggled, trying to lick Lawrence’s hand. ‘I fear he got a little crushed when we followed you!’

  We rode home steadily, giving Belle an opportunity to calm down, but she was still damp with sweat when we rode into the yard. To my consternation, both Lord Rutherford and Miss Judith awaited us there.

  ‘I told you, grandpapa!’ Judith piped up, as the horses’ hooves clattered over the cobbles. ‘That groom’s been stealing my horse again! He’s always sneaking off with her. He can’t ride properly and he’s ruining her!’

  ‘What’s this, Lawrence?’ asked Lord Rutherford gruffly as we pulled up beside them. I slid down from the saddle directly, but Lawrence remained seated.

  ‘I asked the boy to accompany me,’ he said calmly, stroking the puppy wriggling in his arms to soothe it. ‘Belle had not been exercised for several days and Judith was otherwise occupied.’

  ‘How dare you take my Belle-belle?’ demanded Miss Judith furiously, snatching the reins from me so that Belle startled and threw up her head. ‘You’ve galloped her into a sweat too! Grandpapa, it’s too bad! The boy should be dismissed!’

  Lord Rutherford cleared his throat. ‘John, did you indeed give the boy permission to ride the horse?’

  ‘I did, my lord. I thought she needed exercise. I’m sorry if you consider I did wrong.’

  Miss Judith was feeding Belle sugar and cooing at her. Belle was accepting it, but warily. She looked poised to dodge out of the way
at any moment, her ears laid back. ‘Look what he’s done to her! Galloped her into a lather and frightened her!’ said Miss Judith.

  ‘I hold you responsible for this, John,’ said his lordship sternly. ‘You’re not to take Judith’s horse without permission again.’

  ‘Ever!’ added Miss Judith fiercely, sending him a look of dislike.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Lawrence replied.

  I thought how dignified he was, sitting calmly and accepting the unfair reproaches without embarrassment and managing to hold on to a restless puppy at the same time. As for myself, I was flushed and shaking, feeling slandered but fearing I might lose my position if I defended myself. I kept my eyes on the ground, and tried to make myself as small and insignificant as possible.

  ‘Won’t you dismiss the dirty, arrogant boy, grandpapa?’ Miss Judith coaxed. From the corner of her eyes she darted me a look of hatred. I felt sick with fear.

  ‘Not today, Judith, m’dear. But he’s on a warning. Do you hear that, boy?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Bring the dog to the house, would you, Lawrence?’ added Lord Rutherford.

  He turned to leave. Miss Judith followed him, her concern for her horse seemed to have disappeared and Belle was handed casually to Bridges without so much as a pat. As soon as the two had left, Bridges handed me Belle’s reins again. ‘Rub this horse down, will you, Charlie?’ he said with a wink.

  Lawrence dismounted quietly and with a brief, ‘See you at six tomorrow morning, Charlie,’ he left, handing Storm over to Bridges.

  We worked in silence, Bridges very properly not deigning to discuss the incident with someone as junior as I. Lovingly, I rubbed Belle down, until her bay hide gleamed in the evening sun. I was dreading parting from her the following day. We were the last in the yard when I finally led Belle to her box. I stood for a few moments, stroking her in peace and quiet before following the others in for dinner.

  The roads, as we set out for London, were quiet so early in the morning. The day was deliciously cool with a promise of hot sun later. We passed cows returning from milking, sheep being driven to market, a carrier’s cart loaded high with goods, and a lumbering wagon. Once we’d reached the main road from Bath to London, we saw trains of packhorses heading for the capital loaded with wool, but none were Martha’s horses.