Regency Buck

by Georgette Heyer

  The time for their departure from London drew near; everything was in train; all that remained to be done was to pack their trunks, and to decide upon the route to be followed. There could be little question: all the advantages of the New Road, which was shorter and in better condition than any other, were felt. At the most four carriages only could be thought necessary, and with her own horses posted on the road, Judith might expect to accomplish the journey in five hours or less. Twenty-eight stage-coaches a day ran between London and Brighton during the season, but Peregrine could not discover that any of them made the journey in less than six hours. He was of the opinion that a light travelling chaise-and-four might very well accomplish it in five, though he, driving his curricle, had every expectation of rivalling the Regent’s performance in 1784, when, as Prince of Wales, he had driven a phaeton drawn by three horses, harnessed tandem-fashion, from Carlton House to the Marine Pavilion in four hours and a half.

  ‘Though I shan’t drive unicorn, of course,’ he added. ‘I shall have four horses.’

  ‘My dear, you could not drive unicorn if you wanted to,’ said Judith. ‘Those randoms are the most difficult of all to handle. I wish I might go with you. I hate travelling boxed up in a chaise.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you?’ said Peregrine.

  She had spoken idly, but the notion having entered her head it took root, and she began seriously to consider whether it might not be possible. She very soon convinced herself that there could be no harm in it; it might be thought eccentric, but she who took snuff and drove a perch-phaeton for the purpose of being remarkable, could scarcely regard that as an evil. Within half an hour of having first mentioned the scheme she had decided to put it into execution.

  In spite of having assured herself that no objection could be made to it, she was not surprised at encountering opposition from Mrs Scattergood. That lady threw up her hands, and pronounced the plan to be impossible. She represented to Judith all the impropriety of rattling down to Brighton in an open carriage, and begged her to consider in what a hoydenish light she must appear if she adhered to the scheme. ‘It will not do!’ she said. ‘It is one thing to drive an elegant phaeton in the Park, and in the country you may do as you please without occasioning remark; but to drive in a curricle down the most crowded turnpike-road in the country, to be quizzed by every vulgar Corinthian who sees you, is not to be thought of. It would look so particular! Upon no account in the world must you do it! That sort of thing can be allowable only in such women as Lady Lade, and I am sure no one could wonder at whatever she took it into her head to do.’

  ‘Do not make yourself uneasy, ma’am,’ said Judith, putting up her chin. ‘I have no apprehension of being thought to rival Lady Lade. You can entertain no scruple in seeing me drive away with my own brother.’

  ‘Pray do not think of it, my love! Every feeling must be offended! But you only wish to tease me, I know. I am persuaded you have too much delicacy of principle to engage on such an adventure. I shudder to think what Worth would say if he were to hear of it!’

  ‘Indeed!’ said Judith, taking fire. ‘I shall not allow him to be a judge of my actions, ma’am. I believe my credit may survive a journey to Brighton in my brother’s curricle. You must know that my determination is fixed. I go with Perry.’

  No arguments could move her; entreaties were useless. Mrs Scattergood abandoned the struggle, and hurried away to send off a note to Worth.

  Upon the following day Peregrine came to his sister and said, with a rueful grimace: ‘Maria must have split on you, Ju. I’ve been at White’s that morning, and met Worth there. The long and short of it is that you are to go in a chaise to Brighton.’

  An interval of calm reflection had done much to soften Miss Taverner’s resolve; she could not but admit the justice of her chaperon’s words, and was more than a little inclined to submit gracefully to her wishes. But every tractable impulse, every regard for propriety, was shattered by Peregrine’s speech. She cried out: ‘What? Is this Lord Worth’s verdict? Do I understand that he takes it upon himself to arrange my mode of travel?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Peregrine. ‘That is to say, he has positively forbidden me to take you up in my curricle.’

  ‘And you? What answer did you make?’

  ‘I said I saw no harm in it. But you know Worth: I might as well have spared my breath.’

  ‘You submitted? You let him dictate to you in that insufferable fashion?’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth, Ju, I did not see that it was such a great matter after all. And, you know, I don’t wish to quarrel with him just now, because I am in hopes that he will consent to my marriage this summer.’

  ‘Consent to your marriage! He has no notion of doing so! He told me as much months ago. He does not mean you to be married if he can prevent it.’

  Peregrine stared at her. ‘Nonsense! What difference can it make to him?’

  She did not answer, but sat tapping her foot for a moment, glowering at him. After a pause she said curtly: ‘You agreed to it, then? You told him you would not drive me to Brighton?’

  ‘Yes, in effect I did, I suppose. I daresay he may be right; he says you are not to be making yourself the talk of the town.’

  ‘I am obliged to him. I have no more to say.’

  He grinned at her. ‘That’s not like you. What have you got in your head now?’

  ‘If I told you, you would run to Worth with the news,’ she said.

  ‘Be damned to you, Ju, I would not! If you want to put Worth in his place I wish you luck.’

  She looked at him, a glint in her eye. ‘I will lay you a level hundred, Perry, that I reach Brighton before you on May 12th, driving a curricle-and-four.’

  His jaw dropped; then he burst out laughing, and said: ‘Done! You madcap, do you mean it?’

  ‘Certainly I mean it.’

  ‘Worth goes to Brighton himself on the 12th,’ he warned her.

  ‘It would give me infinite pleasure to meet him on the road.’

  ‘Lord, I would give a monkey to see his face! But do you think you should? Will it not be remarked on?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, curling her lip. ‘The rich Miss Taverner is expected to astonish the world.’

  ‘Ay, very true; so it is! Well, I am game. It’s time Worth tasted our mettle. We have been too easy with him, and he begins to interfere beyond what is reasonable.’

  ‘No word of it to Maria!’ she said.

  ‘Not a murmur!’ he promised gaily.

  Mrs Scattergood, in ignorance of what was in store, and believing herself to have checkmated her charge, set about the business of departure in a mood of considerable complacence. Had she guessed that Miss Taverner’s meek acquiescence in all her plans sprang from nothing but a desire to allay any suspicions she might nourish, her peace would have been quite cut up. But she had never come up against Miss Taverner’s will, and had no idea of its strength. In happy unconcern she went about her affairs, instructed the housekeeper what chairs and sofas must be put into holland-covers, arranged for the servants they were to take with them to leave Brook Street not later than seven o’clock in the morning, and gave orders for the chaise that was to convey herself and Miss Taverner to be brought round at noon.

  The momentous day dawned. At ten o’clock Miss Taverner, dressed in her habit, and with a handful of spare whip-points thrust through one of her buttonholes, walked into her bedroom where she was fluttering about in the midst of bandboxes and valises, and said coolly: ‘Well, ma’am, I shall see you presently, I trust. I wish you a pleasant journey.’

  Mrs Scattergood cast one aghast glance at her, and cried:

  ‘Good God! what does this mean? Why have you put on your habit? What are you going to do?’

  ‘Why, ma’am, I have engaged to race Perry to Brighton, driving the other curricle,’ said Miss Taverner, preparing to depart.

  ‘Judith!’ shrieked Mrs Scattergood, sitting down plump upon her best bonnet.

  Miss Taverne
r put her head round the door again. ‘Don’t be uneasy, Maria; I can out-drive Perry. I beg you won’t forget to send word of it to Lord Worth, if he should still be in town.’

  ‘Judith!’ moaned the afflicted lady. But Miss Taverner had gone.

  In the street Peregrine was tossing his driving-cloak up on to the box of his curricle. Hinkson was to accompany him, while the second curricle was in charge of Judith’s own groom, a very respectable, smart-looking man, with an intimate acquaintance with every turnpike-road in England.

  ‘Well, Ju, is it understood?’ asked Peregrine, as his sister came out of the house. ‘We take the New Road, and change three times only, at Croydon, Horley, and Cuckfield. The race to begin the other side of Westminster Bridge, and to end at the Marine Parade. Are you ready?’

  She nodded, and taking the reins in her right hand got up on to the box of her curricle, and deftly changed the reins over. Peregrine followed suit, the grooms got to their places, and both vehicles moved forward down the street.

  Until Westminster Bridge was crossed the pace was neces sarily slow, but once over the bridge, Judith, who had been leading, drew up to let Peregrine come abreast, and the race began.

  Very much as she had expected he would Peregrine fanned his horses to a rattling speed immediately, and went ahead. Judith kept her team at a brisk trot, and said merely: ‘His horses will be blown by the time they reach the top of the first hill. No need to press mine yet.’

  A mile and a half brought them to the Kennington turnpike. Peregrine was not in sight, and as the gate was shut it was to be presumed that he must have passed through some minutes previously. The groom had the yard of tin ready, and blew up for the pike in good time; as the curricle drove through he remarked with satisfaction: ‘The master must be springing ’em. Brixton Hill will take the heart out of his cattle, miss. You may overtake him anywhere you please between Streatham and Croydon.’

  Another two and a half miles brought Brixton Church into sight.There was no sign of Peregrine, but instead an Accommodation coach, loaded high with baggage, presented a ludicrous appearance with a wheel off, and all its disgruntled passengers sitting or standing by the roadside. No one seemed to be hurt, and Judith, checking only for a minute, drove past, and into Brixton village. She had been nursing her horses carefully, and they brought her up the hill beyond at a good pace. She steadied them over the crown, swept past a stage-coach painted bright green and gold, with its destination printed in staring white capitals on the panels, and let her horses have their heads. Peregrine’s curricle came into sight a mile farther on, crossing Streatham Common. His horses were labouring, and it was evident that he had pressed them too hard up Brixton Hill. Judith gained on him steadily; he sent the lash of his whip out to touch up one sluggish leader, and the wheeler behind shied badly. Judith seized her chance, demonstrated how to hit a leader without alarming the wheel-horse by throwing her thong out well to the right, and bringing it back with a sharp jerk, and shot by at a gallop just as the Royal Mail Coach came into sight round a bend. The curricle swung over to the side of the road, and the two vehicles met and passed without mishap.

  Peregrine had now no hope of overtaking his sister on the first stage, and was content to hang on as close behind as he could for the four miles that lay between them and Croydon.

  A gallows-sign straddling Croydon High Street showed the position of the Greyhound, one of the two chief posting houses in the town; the groom blew a long blast for the change, and by the time the curricle had turned into the courtyard the ostlers and post-boys were bestirring themselves to be in readiness for whatever vehicle should appear.

  Miss Taverner kept her seat while the horses were taken out and the new team swiftly put-to, but Judson, her groom, jumped down and ran back under the archway to watch for Peregrine’s arrival. He came back in a few moments with the news that the master had passed, and was making for the King’s Head, in Market Street.

  A little time had to be wasted in giving the necessary directions for the return of Miss Taverner’s own team, but in a very short space the curricle was away again, and bowling through the town towards the turnpike three-quarters of a mile on.

  Just short of the pike the Sussex Iron Railway ran for a little way beside the road. A number of trucks loaded with coal were being hauled along iron rails by teams of horses, and the sight was so new to Miss Taverner that she slackened her speed to watch this queer form of transport.

  The new team was not an ideal one to drive, one of the wheelers being a bad holder. His continual attempts to break into a canter, coupled with the sluggish disposition of his fellow, made the task of driving the whole team up to their bits a difficult one. Miss Taverner had some trouble with them, and further experienced the misfortune of coming up behind a stage-coach which obstinately held the crown of the road for a good half-mile. Its progress was erratic; it lurched and swayed along at an unusual speed for such a top-heavy vehicle, and the roof-passengers, who were all of them holding tightly to their seats, looked as though they were not enjoying their journey at all. When Miss Taverner at last succeeded in passing it, the reason for its odd progress was explained, for she saw that it was being driven by a rakish young Corinthian, who had bribed the coachman to give up his place for a stage, and was tooling the coach along at a great rate, with all the reins clubbed in his hand. It seemed probable that at the first corner the Corinthian would overset the equippage – a not uncommon ending to this particular pastime. Miss Taverner felt sorry for the other passengers, and especially for a thin, unhappy-looking man immediately behind the box-seat, who sat in imminent danger of having his hat whisked off by the Corinthian’s unruly whiplash.

  Once past the stage no further check was experienced, but Miss Taverner knew that she had lost valuable time, and could only hope that Peregrine would be similarly unfortunate. But a few hundred yards short of Foxley Hatch he came into sight, and caught his sister up at the toll-gate, where she was being detained by an attempt on the gate-keeper’s part to fob her off with a ticket which would carry her only as far as the next pike. Judson immediately took control of the matter, and while he pithily informed the gate-keeper that he was no Johnny Raw to be cheated of the correct ticket (which opened all the gates and pikes as far as Gatton), Peregrine and Judith had time to exchange a few words.

  ‘What sort of team, Perry?’ Judith asked. ‘You have got a roarer, I see.’

  ‘Lord, yes!’ replied Peregrine cheerfully. ‘And a couple of regular bone-setters as well. Did you see the spill down the road? Some fellow’s put the stage in the ditch. What’s the trouble here? Is the gate-keeper trying to gammon you? Hi, Judson, tell him if he thinks we’re flats he mistakes the matter!’

  By this time, however, the dispute had been settled, and Miss Taverner’s curricle was free to pass. She drove through the gateway, and once past Godstone Corner set her horses at a brisk trot up the long, straight road ascending the pass to Smitham Bottom. Bearing in mind the maxim that an unsound team was best driven fast, she took them down into Merstham, four miles on, at an easy gallop, only slackening the speed when the village was reached. A toll-gate lay just beyond Merstham, but the ticket issued at Foxley Hatch opened it, and with scarcely a check Miss Taverner swept through, and opened out her leaders on the mile stretch that led to Gatton toll-gate, which was placed by the nineteenth milestone, where the old road branched off to Reigate. Here a new ticket had to be bought, and with Peregrine hard on her heels, only waiting his opportunity to challenge her, Judith began to resign herself to the prospect of losing her lead on the second stage.

  She maintained it, however, for the two miles, aided by circumstance, for twice when Peregrine would have passed her, a vehicle coming in the opposite direction made it impossible, and she was able to draw away again. Red Hill gave an advantage, for Peregrine, who was in the habit of letting his leaders do too much work on the flat, was forced to let his team drop into a walk there.

  Past Red Hill the road ran in a seri
es of switchbacks over Earlswood Common, and such magnificent bursts of country presented themselves to her gaze, that Miss Taverner almost lost sight of the fact that she was endeavouring to reach Horley before her brother in admiring the grandeur of the scene.

  They were nearing the end of the long stage, and her team, which had never gone well together, were labouring. She was a little surprised that Peregrine should not challenge again, but concluded that the ups and downs of the road were not to his taste.

  ‘The master’s nursing his horses, miss,’ remarked Judson. ‘Hinkson will have told him where to take his chance. He’ll challenge short of the Salfords pike, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘How far to Horley?’ Miss Taverner asked.

  ‘No more than a couple of miles now, miss, downhill all the way.’

  She smiled. ‘He may yet miss his chance.’

  Over the lonely common a long, gradual fall of ground led down to the Weald, past Petridge Wood and Salfords. The team picked up their pace, and for a quarter of a mile Peregrine could not slip by. But just when Miss Taverner was entertaining reasonable hopes of maintaining her lead, her off-side leader went lame, and Peregrine dashed by in an eddy of dust.

  There was nothing for it but to follow at a sober pace, and by the time the curricle stopped at the Chequers in Horley, Peregrine had accomplished his change, and was away again. His old team were being led off when Miss Taverner drew up; she caught a glimpse of his tail-board vanishing down the street; and realised, from the sight of a waiter going back into the inn with an empty tankard on a tray, that he had allowed himself time for refreshment.

  The Chequers, which was the half-way house, was busy, and swarmed with ostlers. A London-bound coach, heralding its arrival with three long blasts of the horn, drove up as Miss Taverner’s horses were being taken out; a bell clanged some where in the stables; the first turn-out was shouted for; and almost before the coach had pulled up the new team, with post-boys already mounted, was being led out.

  In addition to the stage, several private vehicles, including a post-chaise carrying a smart-looking lady and gentleman, who stared curiously at Miss Taverner, were drawn up in the big yard. There was a young man with a gig, who seemed to have driven in from somewhere in the neighbourhood. Having quizzed Miss Taverner for several minutes, he started to come towards her curricle, but encountered such a frosty look from her that he changed his mind, and began to curse one of the ostlers instead. Judith had sent to procure a glass of lemonade, but finding herself the object of so much interest, she was sorry to have done so, and would have preferred to drive on with a parched throat than to have been obliged to stay in the yard to be impertinently scrutinised. She began to be uncomfortable, to wish that she had not embarked on such an adventure, and for the first time to realise the impropriety of being upon the box of a gentleman’s curricle, unattended except for her groom, and upon the busiest turnpike-road in the whole south country. A very small tiger, who seemed to belong to an elegant tilbury drawn by match-greys, and with its owner’s scarlet-lined driving-coat hanging negligently over one of the panels, looked her over with an expression of strong derision, openly nudged one of the ostlers, said something behind his hand, and sniggered. But just at that moment a lean, saturnine gentleman with a club-foot came out of the inn, and the grin was promptly wiped from the tiger’s face, and he sprang to attention. The gentleman limped up to the tilbury, pulling on his gloves. He saw Miss Taverner, and looked her up and down till she blushed; then he shrugged his shoulders, got into his carriage, and drove off.