The Luckless Elopement

by Dorothy Mack

  The coachman remained unmoved, his shrewd old eyes uncomfortably penetrating. “What kind of mistake?”

  “She had embarked on an impulsive elopement with a man she’s really afraid of. Too old for her by far, and I wouldn’t put it past him to be a fortune hunter, either. He’s sold her some tale of having ruined herself if she doesn’t go through with it, when anyone with half an eye can see she’s too young and innocent for marriage at all. All I am doing is lending her countenance to protect her reputation. Now, let’s go!” she finished, assuming an air of crisp determination she didn’t entirely feel as she pulled open the door to the chaise.

  To her immeasurable relief, Amos allowed her to enter the vehicle, merely muttering, “I don’t like it, no good ever came from a body’s meddling in what don’t concern them.”

  The burly coachman climbed heavily up onto his perch behind the fresh team. He nodded somewhat grimly at the waiting ostler to release them, and drove out of the inn yard. The delay had cost them more ways than one, he reckoned. The rain had at last dwindled to a fine mist, but it was going to be full dark before they reached home, and unless he missed his guess, carrying a load of trouble into the bargain. Nothing about their circumstances caused a lightening of the coachman’s lowering expression as he expertly guided the unfamiliar horses through the streets of Stamford.

  Ten minutes after the Seymour coach rumbled out of the inn yard, a tall, dark-visaged gentleman walked back into it from the town street wearing an expression of such dangerous annoyance that it caused a stable boy who found himself in his path to do an abrupt about-face and scurry away. The man was totally unaware of the byplay. As he headed for the dining room, he seemed to make a conscious effort to relax his features, and he swept a smoothing hand over waving dark hair when he had removed his grey beaver. A swift survey of the half-empty room was enough to bring the frown back to his face, however, and he spun on one heel to go in search of the landlord.

  “Where is the young lady who is with me?” he inquired, upon locating that worthy on his way back from the kitchen.

  To the landlord’s reply that he supposed her to be still in the dining room, the gentleman retorted that he had just been there.

  “Perhaps she has returned by now,” replied his host soothingly, taking him by the arm and retracing his steps.

  “I’m not blind, man!” The patron shook off the guiding hand but entered the room, gesturing toward the empty table, which was being cleared by the waiter. When questioned by his employer, the waiter denied seeing the young lady leave but handed over a screw of paper he had just spotted on top of the tablecloth.

  With a professionally disinterested mien, the landlord gave the paper to the customer, but he was quick to notice the sudden flare of the latter’s nostrils and the tightening of his chiselled mouth as he untwisted the note and rapidly mastered its contents. His eyes flashed around the room once more, and the frown intensified. It was a moment before he could subdue his chagrin; then he said quietly, “She writes that she has met an old friend and has decided to pay her a visit for a few days.”

  “Ah? Then everything is fine, sir?” replied the landlord jovially.

  The customer’s expression did not alter, and he was obviously doing some rapid thinking. “I am going after her. I shall be bringing her back here. We would have had to stay tonight in any case, as the centre pole of my chaise was cracked. It was promised for tomorrow. We shall require two rooms.”

  “Very good, sir. And the name?”

  “Andrew Massingham. The young lady is my sister. I am bringing her back to school against her wishes, hence the unheralded departure. Send someone to the smith’s for our baggage, please.”

  He spoke easily, with a rueful grimace that was quite convincing. The landlord relaxed his facial muscles into an understanding smile which was briefly returned by Mr. Massingham.

  When he reappeared in the inn yard a moment later, however, there was no evidence of a smile on the tall man’s features as he began to question the ostlers about recent departures. On learning that a dark-haired young lady in a red pelisse and bonnet had been seen entering a private carriage with two other ladies, one of them a most attractive young woman with fair hair, the man snapped his teeth together, causing the ostler a nervous twinge, but he made no comment. The employee was unable to identify the unknown woman, but further questioning of the others elicited the information that the coachman was known at the inn. He was thought to be in the employ of a Mr. Richard Seymour from somewhere outside of Melton Mowbray. He had been in a pucker tonight, anxious to set out, since the drive was close on two hours.

  With a commendable foresight and efficiency of action, Mr. Massingham had ordered a horse saddled before he talked to the ostlers, and it was led up now while he inquired more detailed directions to Mr. Seymour’s estate. The intermittent drizzle had paused for the time being as he rode out in pursuit of the Seymour carriage scarcely twenty-five minutes after its departure from the yard of the Candle and Unicorn.

  CHAPTER 3

  Miss Seymour settled herself comfortably against the padded corduroy backrest and examined her travelling companions with amused interest. Lily was quiet for the moment, her large brown eyes covertly surveying the newcomer, though she must be given credit for attempting to disguise her curiosity for the sake of good manners. Meanwhile the girl beside her was smoothing her gloves with short, compulsive motions and trying unsuccessfully to banish the anxiety from her expression as she smiled shyly at her benefactress. It would be helpful to know whether the anxiety represented uncertainty and regret for not continuing with the elopement, worry that what she had done by escaping might result in an even more unfortunate situation, or perhaps just a simple fear that the formidable Drew might yet have his way.

  Suddenly Miss Seymour gave way to the mirth bubbling up inside her. “That was a close-run thing!” she remarked cheerfully.

  Two pairs of dark eyes alike in their innocence sought enlightenment.

  “I was petrified that Amos was going to demand the identity of his newest passenger before consenting to leave the inn. Then we should have been in the basket indeed.”

  Neither listener seemed to find this explanation particularly illuminating, judging by their puzzled expressions, and Miss Seymour chuckled outright as she addressed her new friend in tones of gentle admonition. “You never did tell me your name, my dear.”

  “Ohhh, how goosish of me! You must think me perfectly hen-witted, ma’am.” A red stain crept up over the cheeks of the pretty brunette, alleviating the pallor that had persisted since her disastrous discussion with her former fiancé. “My name is Drucilla Hedgeley and I live in Russell Square in the home of my uncle, Mr. Bernard Mortimer.”

  “Well, I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Drucilla, but you really must call me Vicky, since we have already agreed that such an impromptu invitation could only arise between old friends.”

  A shy smile of acquiescence further melted the nervous stiffness of Miss Hedgeley’s features and her red-clad figure eased itself somewhat into the other corner of the seat. She acknowledged the subsequent introduction to the maid with pleasant civility, not seeming in the least put out by the other’s eager inspection of her fashionable attire.

  Miss Seymour again warned her new friend that they had a journey of nearly two hours ahead of them and made polite inquiries as to her comfort, which were responded to with equally polite assurances that Miss Hedgeley had never travelled in such a well-sprung carriage and that she was warm as toast, thank you. The residual sensation of warmth arising from a good dinner in a comfortably heated inn enabled the three passengers to endure the next hour without much noticing the gradual increase in dampness and the rapidly fading light in the sky as the coach moved at a steady pace over the wet road.

  Despite Miss Seymour’s invitation to her guest to dispense with formality, Drucilla displayed a rather becoming diffidence at first, responding willingly to questions but not proffering an
y comments or inquiries of her own. She handled the problem of instant intimacy with one who was clearly her senior in age and experience by avoiding the use of titles at all, a difficult feat not unappreciated by her hostess, who found it necessary to hide a smile on occasion when the younger girl stumbled verbally, then plunged ahead to make an observation. Vicky’s acquired social sense and genuine interest in her companion eventually succeeded in putting the latter at ease, however, and she was prattling away about her dull existence in her uncle’s household before they had gone many miles.

  It was abundantly clear that a certain moral severity and concomitant heaviness of spirit in the lifestyle of her relatives, arising quite probably from their religious beliefs, had caused the young girl, who had been reared in a very different atmosphere in her extreme youth, to chafe under the restrictions imposed upon her by a set of well-meaning but dull persons for whom she cherished no lifelong affection which might have mitigated the situation. From her eager questions about Vicky’s activities during her residence in the city, that lady deduced that Drucilla avidly followed the doings of Society as reported in the daily press and most probably read widely of the non-improving sort of literature that would have been censored by her relatives had they been aware of her leanings in this direction. Before an hour had passed, her hostess felt entirely confirmed in her first judgment that the impetuous elopement had been entered into solely from a desperate desire to escape an uncongenial mode of living. Drucilla’s feelings for her former fiancé, Mr. Andrew Massingham, were ambivalent, to say the least, a blend of admiration, fear, and excitement. What the blend did not seem to contain was any smidgen of the deep affection conducive to success in marriage. Vicky was able to set the girl’s mind at rest concerning her “lost reputation” by promising to inform her family of her whereabouts by the earliest possible post. She expressed regret that their flight had made it necessary to leave Drucilla’s baggage behind, but ventured to suggest that by the time Mr. Massingham arrived at the Oaks with it, the girl would be able to meet him with a more composed mind to discuss their possible future together.

  Surprisingly, this suggestion caused the colour to rush into Miss Hedgeley’s cheeks once again, and she hung her head in a guilty fashion.

  “Why, whatever is the matter? What did I say to upset you?” asked Vicky in quick concern.

  “I was afraid Drew would stop me. You do not know how determined he can be. I … I did not dare to tell him,” stammered Drucilla, her eyes shimmering with tears.

  “What exactly did you not dare to tell him?”

  The words were calmly spoken and did not reflect the fatalistic sense of unwelcome knowledge that had assailed Miss Seymour on receiving Drucilla’s confession. She scarcely heard the girl’s whispered reply that she had not acquainted Mr. Massingham with the name of the old friend with whom she had departed so irregularly. It had not been at all necessary to receive verbal confirmation of her guess.

  “I … I have some money with me, almost twenty guineas that I have saved. Surely I shall be able to buy some dresses with this.”

  “Yes, of course, my dear child, do not worry on that head,” said Vicky soothingly, trying to smooth the line of her own forehead as the girl gazed at her hostess in anxiety. Clothes were the least of her worries at that point. There could be no doubt that upon reception of the clear insult conveyed by such a message, the very determined Mr. Massingham would be on their trail either personally or through the medium of the law. The only question was how long it would take him to ferret out her name and direction. She was not personally acquainted with the proprietor of the Candle and Unicorn, but it would be marvellous indeed if someone at the inn had not recognised the carriage. Amos was certainly known in Stamford. She could only hope that a fortune hunter would hesitate to involve representatives of the law in his doings, in which case they would be spared a scandal and would only have to cope with a nasty scene with the thwarted lover. That had always been on the agenda, of course, but she had counted on the solid background provided by the Oaks to keep the meeting civilised. Now she could not prevent a glance out into the dark void beyond the window, and her ears strained to detect the sounds of pursuit. Their own horses’ hoofbeats and the far-off barking of a dog were the only noises discernible, apart from the occasional creaking of the carriage springs, and she sat back again, reassured for the moment.

  Now that the initial panic had subsided somewhat, she was able to think more efficiently. Drucilla had revealed that the couple was travelling in a post chaise with only a pair of horses and that something had happened to the chaise, necessitating an unscheduled stop in Stamford. The reason she had been left alone at all was that her fiancé had been called from the dining room to see about the repairs. None of this argued a particularly full purse. The chances were that Mr. Massingham’s resources had been strained to provide for a prepaid trip to Gretna Green and back. He might not be able to mount a search tonight if the repairs to the hired chaise should prove sufficiently time-consuming. In any case, no chaise and pair was going to catch Amos driving a specially built carriage behind a team of strong horses.

  Miss Seymour’s flashing smile lit the dim interior of the carriage as she embarked on a description of her home with the object of quietening the troubled spirits of her guest. After a few moments, Miss Hedgeley stopped clasping and unclasping her gloved fingers and her voice took on more animation as she was drawn into a discussion of country living. Both ladies were engrossed in conversation and Lily was nodding spasmodically when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang through the air, and the carriage came to a lurching halt at an angle that canted its passengers almost out of their seats.

  Lily’s squeak of alarm was lost in Miss Hedgeley’s fearful ejaculation. “It’s Drew, I know it is! He’s followed me! What shall I do?”

  Miss Seymour’s lovely features set in lines of controlled fury as she preceded to remove a false cushion in the arm of the seat, from behind which she extracted a small pistol.

  “If this is your Mr. Massingham, I shall give him a piece of my mind for daring to shoot at my coach,” she clipped out, ignoring the exclamations of the others at sight of the weapon while she checked that it was loaded. “Where can I hide it?” she muttered to herself after trying in vain to stuff it unobtrusively into a small pocket in her pelisse. “If it’s a thief, he’ll be sure to search our reticules.”

  “A thief!” squealed Lily, beginning to quake as curt commands sounded outside.

  “Here, take my muff,” urged Drucilla, proving once again that she could think coherently when quick action was demanded.

  Vicky stripped off her gloves and accepted the red velvet muff as footsteps approached the carriage.

  “Let us hope the thief, if it is a thief, has no sense of fashion, my dear, because this crimson colour against the cinnamon brown of my pelisse is in shockingly bad taste,” she uttered sotto voce as the door was flung open.

  Drucilla swallowed a giggle that turned into a gasp of alarm as a masked figure appeared in the doorway and demanded that they exit the vehicle without any shilly-shallying.

  “A parcel o’ women!” he exclaimed in disgust as the passengers complied with this order, standing close together as if seeking mutual aid in the face of danger. And the man accosting them did look dangerous apart from the heavy pistol he now stuck into a wide leather belt around his coat that already held one gun, presumably the one that had been discharged earlier. He stood well over six feet tall and was massively built. The lower part of his face beneath the black mask was covered with several days’ growth of beard, accenting the misshapen mouth that pulled down on one side toward a heavy jawline.

  “I’ll take that,” he growled, relieving Miss Seymour of the reticule dangling from her left arm with a jerk that took no account of her soft skin, leaving a red mark from the bag’s strings on her wrist.

  “No rings, no bracelets?” inquired the highwayman, opening the reticule and removing a small pile of gol
d coins, which he deposited in a capacious pocket in that strange dark coat he wore, before dropping the reticule to the ground.

  Miss Seymour slipped her left hand into the muff and withdrew her right, equally bare of jewels, for his scrutiny.

  She emitted a slight gasp as a rough hand jerked open the top of her pelisse and inspected the slim column of her throat rising from the round-necked gown she wore.

  “No sparklers? A well-dressed lady like yourself?” he demanded, eyes glinting evilly behind the face covering.

  “I don’t travel with my jewellery,” replied Vicky in cold tones that refused to be intimidated by that massive hairy fist close to her face or the hint of liquor fumes reaching her nose as he leaned nearer with the obvious intention of menacing her.

  “I’ll have those ear bobs,” snarled the thief, removing his attention to Miss Hedgeley and grabbing her reticule in turn. “I know just the prime article as will appreciate those gewgaws.”

  Watching Drucilla’s fumbling efforts to remove the earrings with both hands, Vicky knew a rush of thankfulness that she had been too occupied with the last-minute details of leave-taking this morning to bother with jewels. The little gun was reassuringly firm in her tightened grip inside the muff. She was starting to draw it out when the man whirled toward her again, having pocketed Drucilla’s money and ignored the cowering maid entirely. She froze in place.

  “You’re a prime article yourself for a gentry mort,” he commented, stepping much too close for Vicky’s liking and running his eyes over her person in an assessing fashion that brought the colour rushing to her pale face, though she stood her ground instinctively and refused to lower her chin. “It’s my notion that whoever owns a grand rig like that one would be glad to pay down handsome to recover a little beauty like you. How’d you like to come along wi’ me, sweetheart?”