Corseting The Earl

by Killarney Sheffield

  They pulled up behind the coach-and-four which delivered the mail each week. Mr. Becker helped her down and handed her trunk and carpet bag up to be secured to the top. When he was done, he tipped his hat. “Safe trip to you, Miss Nickle.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Becker.” The postmaster opened the door to the coach as her neighbor climbed back onto his wagon and clucked to his team. Philippa peered into the close confines of the shabby mail carrier. The worn red velvet seats were thread bare and uncomfortable looking, but at least it was empty. She climbed in, wrinkling her nose at the stale odor of whiskey and cigar smoke and arranged her skirts on the lumpy seat. The door was shut behind her and within moments the four horse hitch was whipped into motion.

  * * *

  At the next town they pulled up before a neglected inn to deliver the mail. The thatched roofing sagged in the middle, the shutters hung in disarray and the windows were grey with grime. Silently she thanked her lucky stars she would not have to stay the night at such a place. The trip to Bracenville would take most of the day and they would arrive after dark, but not too late to need over-night accommodation.

  After a few moments the coach door opened. A large woman was handed up into the conveyance. She glanced at Pippa, gave a brief smile and collapsed into the forward facing seat opposite with a un-lady-like grunt.

  Pippa smiled back. “Good day.”

  The woman cleared her throat before returning her greeting in a rough voice. “Good day.” She settled a large carpet bag at her feet and peered out the window with an anxious expression, as they pulled out onto the main road, and then fussed with her heavy canary yellow skirts.

  They rode in silence for a while. Bored, Pippa tried to strike up a conversation. “I am Philippa Nickle, but everyone calls me, Pippa…well my family that is. I am headed for Bracenville. Where are you headed on such a fine day?”

  Again the woman cleared her throat. “Mrs. Percephany Doyle. I am headed for London,” she answered in a hoarse, slightly unfeminine voice. She cleared her throat again and tugged at the froth of lace around her throat.

  Pippa smiled and pulled a flask of her mother’s sore throat remedy from her reticule. “You sound like you could use some of my mama’s elixir.” She held out the little bottle. “It will help your sore throat and cure just about anything else that ails you, according to my pa.”

  Percephany reached out a meaty hand and took the bottle with a grimacing smile. “Thank you.” After taking a swig she handed it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Retrieving the bottle, Pippa hid her distaste for the woman’s lack of manners and stowed it back in her reticule. “Are you going to visit someone?”

  “No, I have business there.” Percephany cleared her throat again and turned to stare out the window.

  Pippa studied her with a covert stare. The tower of blonde curls pinned under a faded straw bonnet looked stiff and unnatural. Thick skin-tone powder caked the woman’s face dotted with two red spots of blush and lip paint. Though the weather was warm, a thick wool shawl was wrapped around the woman’s broad shoulders and tied securely under her chin. She fidgeted, tucking a thick finger under it and pulling it away from her neck, as if it were uncomfortable. Pippa peered closer and smothered a gasp when she spied a large Adams apple bob beneath the fabric. It cannot be...can it?

  Scrunching closer to the door, she directed her gaze outside the coach. Could Percephany be a man dressed as a woman? If so why? Did he mean to rob the mail coach using a disguise? Heart thumping, she took in the scenery. They were in the middle of nowhere, it seemed. Trees whizzed by as the horses cantered at a steady pace down the wagon wheel-rutted road. Was it only a week before she heard a tale of a woman who was robbing coaches outside of London? Was this man the woman in question? Did he move farther from London to perpetrate his crimes?

  The he-she in question cleared his throat. Pippa looked up. Percephany smiled and reached into the bag at his feet. Pippa steeled herself for the inevitable drawing of a gun and the shouted command to “stand and deliver.” Instead the imposter pulled out a couple of apples and held one out.

  “Would you like one?”

  Pippa glanced at the bag and shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” Percephany rubbed the apple on one sleeve and bit into it.

  Pippa focused on the strong square jaw making short work of the fruit. Definitely a man…. Should she call him on his ridiculous disguise? Her gaze drifted back to the window. It would be a few more hours before they stopped at an inn for a late meal. Unease settled in her chest as she sat there, undecided as what to do.

  The coach slowed, shaking her from her inner contemplation. They rolled up alongside a man and a woman standing beside a gig mired deep in the mud. One hind wheel hung at a crazy angle, the spokes split in two. Relief made Pippa draw a deep breath. Surely the man would not try anything with two other occupants in the coach. The couple stepped forward and spoke with the coach driver. After a moment the man unhitched the little piebald horse and tied him behind. He then crossed to the door and opened it. He handed the delicate woman into the coach and clambered in after her.

  Pippa relaxed as the woman settled in beside her on the seat with a friendly smile. The man took the empty spot beside the man in disguise and tipped his hat in greeting when his gaze met hers. “Good evening, miss.”

  She responded politely, “Good evening to you, sir. You have broken down, I see.”

  He pouted. “Yes, the livery rented us a sorry gig. I’ve half a mind to return the contraption and the nag and demand my money back.” He shot a look at the he-she, his brows furrowing as if he too wondered at the gender beside him. The gender-confused man returned to stare out the window.

  More comfortable with the addition of the couple, Pippa settled back and chatted. Though the woman seemed reluctant to converse the man entered into discussion with ready enthusiasm. She looked over at the he-she and caught him staring at the quiet woman. His gaze was guarded and calculating. She shivered. Did he mean them harm? Pippa redirected her attention to the woman beside her, rather than dwell on unsettling thoughts. “Where are you headed?”

  The woman gave her a tight smile. “London…eventually. My...husband and I are to stop in Bracenville to visit family first.”

  Pippa returned the woman's smile with a warm one of her own. “I too am headed for Bracenville. My name is Philippa Nickle, but everyone calls me Pippa.”

  The woman glanced at her husband. “I am Penny Nash and this is my husband Peter.”

  Percephany cleared his throat again.

  Pippa studied him for a moment. His gaze shifted back and forth between the three of them with a thoughtful expression. He looked almost confused, or perhaps the flicker of emotion passing over his heavily rouged features was dismay; it was hard to tell, given the circumstances.

  “Peter and Penny Nash and Philippa Nickle?” The gender confused man groaned and mumbled under his breath, “Same initials...what now?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nothing, nothing. I was just remarking on all three of you having the same initials,” Percephany answered, before returning his stare out the window.

  With a shrug Pippa resolved to ignore the strange he-she and pulled a small notebook from her reticule. After fishing out the thin charcoal stick she always carried, she settled back to work on her latest poem to pass the time. At one point she glanced up to find Percephany watching her with an intense look. Unnerved, she returned to her poem, trying to ignore his odd behavior.

  A shout rang out from atop the coach. Then an explosion of gunfire broke the calm. The conveyance lurched to a halt. Pippa peered into the dusk outside her window. A lone man on a horse blocked the road. He held a rifle pointed at the coachman. “We are being robbed!”

  She turned to the other occupants of the coach and froze when she came face-to-face with the barrel of a pistol. Looking past it she gaped at Peter
Nash who opened the coach door and backed out. The woman held open a bag and gestured to the she-man with the gun in her hand. “Stand and deliver, ma’am.”

  Percephany frowned before dropping a handful of coins in the bag.

  The quiet woman turned to Pippa. “You too, miss.”

  With a trembling hand Pippa took the small amount of coin from her reticule and followed suit.

  The woman arched an eyebrow. “Is that it?”

  “Never mind their petty coin. Hold the gun on them whilst Ned and I unload the payroll trunk,” the man in the doorway hissed.

  The woman shrugged. As she stepped past Percephany, her partner headed around to the front of the coach. With a movement so quick Pippa could scarcely believe it occurred, the gender confused man tripped the woman. After getting her in a head lock, he wrenched the pistol from her.

  “Do not move,” he growled. When the woman dropped the bag, he eased from the coach with her tight in his grip. “I say, cease and desist before I put a lead ball in your pretty companion’s head here, mates.”

  Pippa leaned out the coach window to take in the scene. The coachman had been relieved of his weapons and now stood at the side of the road with his hands in the air. A man on top of the conveyance with a bandanna across the lower half of his face struggled to lower a large trunk with a silver padlock to Peter Nash.

  Peter swiveled around, his gun held in one hand pointed at the driver and the other on the handle of the precariously dangling trunk. “What the devil!”

  “I suggest you lay down your weapons, sirs.” Percephany remarked in a steady tone.

  “Well, ain’t this a pig in a poke?” the man atop the coach sneered. “Whatcha’ gonna do, lady, shoot us both?”

  Percephany focused on him with a stern look. “I assure you, I am quite handy with a piece, sir.”

  “Ma’am,” the coach driver piped up with a nervous look. “Perhaps we should just let these men take the trunk and be on their way now….”

  “Rubbish! Why, what kind of a lady would I be to turn away from a crime being committed? For shame,” she simpered.

  If the situation were not so serious, Pippa would have laughed out loud at the scene unfolding. The robbers looked back and forth at each other, clearly taken aback by a large lady defying them with a gun to the head of their accomplice.

  The man atop the conveyance dropped the trunk to the ground with a thud. “Well, now Ma’am, I suppose I’ll jus’ ’ave to shoot you then.” He raised his pistol, but before he could shoot, a shot rang out and the gun fell from his fingers. Howling he clutched his arm where Percephany’s bullet had caught him.

  The woman in Percephany’s hold chose that moment to bite down on his arm and kick the he-she in the shins.

  With a howl, Percephany let go of Penny Nash. The injured robber fled into the trees. Peter and Penny Nash scrambled aboard the abandoned horse and galloped off in the opposite direction.

  Pippa watched them go with a mixture of alarm and relief. “Percephany, um…I mean, Mrs. Doyle, are you all right?”

  The woman in question rubbed her shin with a grimace. “I am fine, dear.”

  The coachman hurried forward. “Are you sure you are not hurt, ma’am?”

  “I am perfectly fine, thank you,” Percephany snapped. “I say, we had best be moving before those devils regroup and return.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The coachman glanced at the trunk on the ground. “It will be a job to get that back up top.”

  Percephany stalked to the trunk, hoisted it up with a mighty heave and a grunt, and then gasped, “Get above quick and help me, before I burst my corset.”

  Astonished, the coachman scrambled up top and helped reload the heavy chest. After the trunk was back in place, Mrs. Doyle stuffed the pistol in the reticule dangling from his thick wrist and climbed back into the coach.

  Pippa stifled a giggle with her hand. The he-she raised an eyebrow and settled back against the cushions as the coachman whipped the horses forward. “Who says a lady is helpless now, eh dear?”

  Pippa snickered. “You, Percephany, or Mrs. Doyle if you prefer, are no lady.”

  Percephany fixed her with a steely gaze. “Well, let us just keep that little notion between us shall we?”

  “I am quite sure no one in their right mind would believe me anyway, sir,” Pippa snickered.

  “Quite right, miss.” He turned to gaze out the window.

  Pippa studied him in silence. Just what was the strange man up to anyway?

  Chapter Three

  It was dark by the time they made their next stop and picked up a young woman with a small boy, and an older gentleman. Pippa was glad for the company, rather than sitting in strained silence with the strange he-she. Word spread at each of the stops of the heroism of one Mrs. Percephany Doyle.

  Though the strange, cross-dressing fellow was a short term distraction, Pippa soon found herself wallowing in her former misery. She had only a few short weeks to come up with a way out of her predicament. Mitchel had played an awful game with her heart, but he couldn’t shoulder all the blame. She had been naive and irresponsible, to say the least. Gone was the sweet, flattering young squire she had fallen head over heels for. The handsome boy she couldn’t believe was smitten with her wasn’t at all. All those times they had spent at the pond, reading poetry, lying in the shade talking of their future, and the secret kisses which made her heart flutter, had all been a lie.

  Her cheeks flamed at the remembrance of their one and only fateful bedding, and she was glad of the dimness from the single lantern in the coach that hid it. The deed had been done in short order and with mild discomfort in the hay of his father’s loft, much to her disappointment. The tingling of her body, and thumping of her heart, had been all the wonder she had gotten when his rough entry made her cry out in pain. Within moments he was done and buckling up his breeches, while she lay there strangely unfulfilled. Never had she imagined coupling being so cold and empty. Like all girls, she supposed she attached a fairytale quality to mere rutting. It made one wonder why women consented to having their bodies used in such a fashion, beyond conception of the required heir, that is.

  Shaking the memory from her mind, she concentrated on the more pressing issue. How was she to hide her pregnancy from her parents? There seemed no way she could accomplish the feat, not for the last month or two for sure. When they found out they would cast her from their door, send her to a nunnery, or, Lord knew, something else much more sinister. If she told who the father was it would only be worse for her family, and if she refused to name the father, her family would still be shunned. There seemed no other way out but to run away; just where and how she had no idea. Maybe she could find employment somewhere.

  A loud snore disturbed her thoughts. She glanced up at Percephany. His chin drooped to his chest, eyes closed, and great rumbling snores filled the coach. Her giggle was met with an amused look from the older man, and a stern one from the lady with the sleeping boy sprawled across her lap.

  “Disgraceful,” the woman murmured.

  The older man snickered, cleared his throat and then gave Percephany a discreet nudge.

  With a snort Percephany’s eyes flew open. He glanced around the coach and then sat up straighter with a grunt. After fidgeting with the scarf around his neck, he settled back to stare out the window at the blackness beyond.

  Before long the lights of an inn appeared, and the driver slowed the horses to draw up before the doors. He helped each passenger disembark. As he took Pippa’s hand, he pressed two shillings into it. “If I may, I would like to return the money those thieves tried to abscond with, miss.”

  “Thank you, sir, it is the only coin I have to see me to Bracenville.”

  He tipped his head. “Your meal is on me, miss, for your trouble, but due to the incident I have decided to hold up the night at the inn. We will return on our journey at first light.”

  Pippa frowned and stepped to the side to allow Percephany to alight behind
her. “But I had not counted on the expense of a room, sir.”

  Percephany patted her shoulder. “Never mind, dear, I shall be happy to pay for your room, ’tis the least I can do for the good company you have provided an old widow.”

  Pippa was hard pressed to nod acceptance, rather than burst out laughing at the idea of the he-she being a widow, not to mention their lack of conversation being good company. However, the idea of sleeping in the stable did not interest her in the least; so she had little choice, but to accept the offer of a room. “Thank you, Si— Ma’am, ’tis most kind of you.”

  “Please,” Percephany squeaked, “No need to thank me, dear. Come along, a nice supper is what we need.”

  Left without another option, Pippa allowed him to escort her to the crowded inn’s dining room. All class of people occupied the tables for a late night meal. A well-dressed lord and lady sat at a small table in the corner, a farmer, his wife, and a brood of six children ranging in age from toddler to late teens crowded around the large center one, and a group of middle class merchant men the other. That left the older gentleman, the woman with the young boy, Percephany, and Pippa together at the remaining table. Within moments a tavern wench brought steaming bowls of mutton stew, coarse bread, and tankards of spiced ale.

  They ate in silence for a few moments until the older gentleman cleared his throat and looked to Percephany. “I say, this stew is rather good, don’t you think?”

  “Quite,” Percephany squeaked and then paid close attention to the bowl before her.