by Mary Nichols
As soon as he had gone, Louise sank on to the bed and looked about her, glad the candle was so feeble; she did not think she would like to see her surroundings any clearer. ‘Well, here we are,’ she said with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘Our first night.’
Betty stood looking down at her. ‘How many other nights like this do you reckon we shall hev?’
‘Four or five. I suppose it depends on the state of roads and not having any more hold ups like we had today.’
‘I pray we do not, though if we was to be rescued every time by a couple of handsome strangers then I shouldn’ mind.’
‘Oh, Betty, how can you say that? And remember you are supposed to be my wife. If you start making eyes at strange men, I shall have to become very jealous.’
‘Oh, wouldn’ that be fun!’
‘I do not want to draw attention to ourselves, Betty,’ she said severely. ‘I am not sure my disguise will bear close scrutiny.’
‘Nor I don’ neither, ’specially if you was to tek your coat off. That binding you put round y’self ain’t tight enough.’
Louise had stripped off her coat in order to wash and could see what Betty meant. As soon as she had completed her ablutions, she tightened the binding that was supposed to flatten her breasts and was not at all comfortable and put the coat on again. ‘Let us go down and find the dining room,’ she said. ‘I am hungry.’
‘T’ain’t to be wondered at, we had no supper last night, nor breakfast this mornin’, and the bread and ham we had at that inn in Welwyn were not enough to feed a sparer,’ Betty complained.
‘Come along then. And please remember I am Lou, not Miss Louise, not Miss Anything.’
‘Yes, m…Lou.’
The dining room was crowded, but the first person Jonathan saw when he entered was Mr Smith sitting on the end of the bench at the refectory table, which all but filled the room. He had taken off his hat and his thick hair seemed to spring out round his face. His nondescript wife sat beside him. Both were tucking into their pork chops as if they had not eaten for a week. He smiled, walked down the length of the table and took the vacant seat at the head of the table next to the young man.
‘Good evening,’ he said, as a waiter put a plate of food in front of him. ‘I trust the rest of your journey was uneventful?’
Louise lifted startled eyes to his. She had been talking about him only a few minutes before and here he was in the flesh. He was searching her face as if puzzled by it and she felt the colour rise in her cheeks. How stupid for a man to blush! ‘Yes, uneventful,’ she murmured, remembering to lower the timbre of her voice, then turned to look down at her food and concentrate on eating.
‘We didn’t think we should see you again,’ Betty told him, picking up a chicken leg in her fingers and gnawing at it. ‘What happened to those two highpads?’
‘They are safely locked up,’ he said, and though he was addressing Betty it was at Louise he was looking.
She knew that if she continued to behave like a nervous schoolgirl he would soon penetrate her disguise and she must do something to assert herself as masculine. She started by taking a long pull at the quart of ale which stood at her elbow and was glad her brothers had dared her to try theirs so she was not as shocked as she might have been by its bitter taste.
‘Glad you turned up when you did, sir,’ she said, putting the pot down again. ‘We were taken aback by the suddenness of the attack and I did not have time to draw my own weapon…’
‘Your weapon?’ Jonathan queried, smiling faintly.
‘Yes. One of Mantle’s best.’ She thrust her hand into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the pistol.
‘Good Lord! I never thought you meant it. Can you fire it?’
‘It would not be much use to me if I could not, would it?’ It was put back in her pocket before he could pick it up and realise it was unloaded. Mark, who was the best marksman of her brothers, had always said it was dangerous to carry a loaded pistol; it might go off in one’s pocket, and the sight of an unloaded one was often enough to save one’s life. The gentleman’s arrival on the scene had saved her from having to put that theory to the test. ‘I fear highpads are the scourge of travellers and one needs to defend oneself.’
‘True,’ he murmured, endeavouring not to smile. ‘And the sword?’
‘Given me by my fencing master,’ she said. That was partly true. Matthew had taught her to fence and it had been his sword, one she practised with until Papa had told her it was not a suitable accomplishment for a young lady.
‘And no doubt you can use it?’
‘Oh, you need have no fear on that score.’
He was amused. No doubt the young shaver was boasting to impress his young lady, though to look at her she seemed singularly unimpressed. At that moment she was making eyes at Joe, who had seated himself opposite her. He would have to have words with that young man.
‘Let us introduce ourselves,’ he said. ‘My name is Jonathan Linton.’ It was a name he used when on Society business. It left him free to assume whatever pose he chose; sometimes a title could be a hindrance.
‘Louis Smith. This is my wife. We are on our way to York to visit relatives.’
‘What a coincidence, so am I, travelling to York, I mean.’
She stifled her dismay; he was altogether too perspicacious for her peace of mind. ‘I hope you have not been too delayed by having to come to our rescue.’
He smiled. ‘I could not have gone past, could I? Your coach was blocking the road. Besides it would have been unchivalrous and it behoves all of us to maintain law and order where we can.’
‘You are never a Bow Street Runner!’ gasped Betty.
‘No, I am not. I am simply a private citizen doing his duty as he sees it, and glad I am that I did. I have learned those two men are wanted for other crimes in London and will be sent back there to stand trial. I am happy to have been instrumental in bringing them to justice.’ He smiled as he spoke. The two men had seen no reason to hide their real names when asked for them at the Baldock magistrate’s office and he had been surprised and delighted to discover they were the two he wanted in connection with Lord Besthorpe’s burglary, fleeing London. His journey had not been a wasted one, even if he never caught up with Miss Louise Vail.
He ought to have driven on through the night in an effort to catch her, but had decided not to risk his horses on the roads which, north of Baldock, were not always kept in good repair, in spite of the tolls. If his own horses were given a night’s rest, he could take them on the next day instead of hiring post horses. Besides, he was intrigued by the young whippersnapper who faced him now. There was something smoky going on and he hated unsolved mysteries.
The meal was finished and the cloth removed. A jug of ale, a bottle of Madeira wine and another of cognac were put on the table alongside glasses and a pack of cards. Jonathan, still amused by the boy, decided to test him further. He picked up the cards and began to shuffle them. ‘Do you play, Mr Smith?’
Louise hesitated. She could play a good hand of whist, but no doubt the man expected to play for money and she did not know if she dare risk it. But dare she refuse? She was sure he was already suspicious of her. And supposing she were to win, how much easier it would make their journey to have a few extra guineas in her pocket. ‘Yes, I like a game, sir, but I do not play deep. To risk more than one can spare seems to me irresponsible in the extreme.’ This was a long speech for her and was said in the deepest voice she could manage, which made her cough. She took another long pull of ale to clear her throat.
‘We are in agreement, Mr Smith,’ Jonathan said, pouring more ale for himself. ‘But one must do something to wile away the rest of the evening.’ He paused and again scrutinised her face. ‘Unless you prefer conversation?’
‘No, let us play a hand or two of whist,’ Louise said quickly. At least playing cards she would not need to talk much and the men might not notice she drank very little.
Jonathan turned to two men
who sat on the other side of Louise. They were dressed in fustian coats and leather breeches and wore black bag wigs. ‘Gentlemen, will you make up a four?’
They agreed and moved to join Jonathan and Louise at the head of the table, introducing themselves as Bill Williams and Charlie Burrows. Betty moved away to talk to Joe. Louise did her best to concentrate on the cards at the same time as she kept an ear for what Betty was saying. She was not sure the girl would not inadvertently give the game away. She lost the first hand and reluctantly added a half guinea to the pot. ‘Betty, my dear, I think you should go to bed,’ she suggested. ‘I am sure you are tired and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’
Betty scowled but obeyed. Louise realised everyone was grinning. She laughed. ‘Must keep one’s hand on the mare’s bridle, don’t you think? Shall we go on? Your deal, I believe, Mr Burrows.’
The evening wore on. Without having to worry about Betty, Louise was able to concentrate and luckily for her the cards fell well. She put them to good use and soon had a small pile of coins at her elbow. But the strain of maintaining her role and her previous sleepless night were beginning to tell. This was nothing like making up a fourth with her brothers, even though they had taught her well. This was fraught with tension. And Mr Jonathan Linton seemed not to be able to take his eyes off her. Was he studying her face in order to intimidate her into playing badly? She began to feel more and more uncomfortable.
‘I think this must be my last hand.’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a yarn.
‘But the night is young,’ Williams protested.
‘Nevertheless I am for my bed.’
‘Ain’t anyone ever told you, ’tis not done to go off with the winnings without giving a body a chance to win some of it back?’ Burrows added.
‘There is no sense in going on if one is going to lose everything one has gained,’ she said, putting her hand over the coins she had won and drawing them towards her, intending to put them in her pocket. Before she could do so Jonathan put his hand over hers and stopped her.
‘You can’t do that, Mr Smith.’ He was enjoying himself hugely. Those wide eyes, the unruly hair, the delicate hands with their neatly manicured nails, the voice that wavered from a squeak to a rumble, the delicate colour in his cheeks, all proclaimed a young lad barely out of puberty, trying to act like a grown man. Burrows and Williams had undoubtedly come to the same conclusion and had determined having some sport with him.
Not that he would be an easy victim. Jonathan had watched him closely; the young man seemed to know which cards each of his opponents held, had played his own hand judiciously and won. Had he cheated? If he had, he had not detected how it had been done. But what if he were not the innocent, but an accomplished confidence trickster? His apparent innocence would deceive most people.
Solving mysteries was the raison d’être of the Club; as long as they were travelling in the required direction, he would to stick with his mission and have a little fun, at the same time. He still had his hand over the young man’s, imprisoning both it and the coins beneath it. ‘You have to prove your success was not beginner’s luck.’
She longed for her bed and the feel of his warm, strong hand over hers was having a very strange effect on her. It made her feel weak and womanly and that would never do. She pulled her hand free. ‘I have to prove nothing, Mr Linton. It was a little game to wile away the evening. They were your words. The evening has sped by and now I am for bed. My wife will be waiting for me.’
‘We must not keep the little lady waiting, must we?’ Williams said with a laugh. ‘Whose hand is on the reins now?’ Then everyone laughed. Jonathan’s own lips twitched, but he refrained from joining in; he did not like to see the boy humiliated. Why that was, he did not know.
Furious Louise snatched up her winnings and left the room with all the dignity she could muster.
Betty woke as she was taking off her coat. ‘Did you win?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. We can eat well tomorrow then.’
They could, but what it had cost her in nervous tension was only now beginning to make itself felt. She was shaking with relief to have escaped so lightly. Those men could easily have detained her and taken her winnings from her—Burrows and Williams, in particular, frightened her. She did not include Mr Linton in her condemnation, though why she did not she was not so sure. He was not like the other two, being more of a gentleman, but what difference did that make? Gentlemen could also be rogues.
She put the extra guineas in her purse and slipped it under her pillow before climbing into bed beside Betty. If her study of the timetables of the York coach had informed her correctly, she had three more nights to endure like this one. At least, they might not be so bad. She put her hand under the pillow and felt the comforting presence of the purse. Betty was right; they would travel in more comfort the rest of the way.
Before he undressed for bed himself, Jonathan sat down to write his daily log, which was required of him when on the business of the Society. He stated the facts without embroidery. Mrs Vail’s attitude had led him to believe there was something suspicious about her daughter’s disappearance and after questioning everyone at the vicarage, he had come to the conclusion she was travelling to Yorkshire, probably accompanied by a young girl, the sister of her father’s gardener. He had followed in his own carriage and come upon a coach being held up by highwaymen, whom he had apprehended. The Society would be pleased to hear that the two men involved had turned out to be Lord Besthorpe’s burglars. He had handed them over to the Baldock magistrate and was continuing his pursuit of Miss Vail.
Louise did not see Mr Linton at the breakfast table next morning, even though, to her shame, she looked for him. He had probably set off much earlier. She and Betty ate a hearty breakfast to prepare them for the day ahead and, having paid their dues, boarded the coach to continue their bone-shaking journey. She was disconcerted to discover the cleric and his wife were no longer with them and they were joined by a very fat lady with a kitten in a basket and the two card players of the evening before. It meant she had to be doubly on her guard and speak as little as possible.
It was not long before she became aware that Mr Linton’s rather splendid carriage was behind them again. Sometimes it stopped when they stopped, sometimes it overtook them and disappeared in a cloud of dust, but then it must have stopped to change horses somewhere else because it was soon behind them again. They were on a turnpike road which was better than most and made good progress, though sometimes they were held up by lumbering wagons and sometimes they had to squeeze themselves to one side to allow a carriage to go past at breakneck speed.
On they went, up and down hills, through woods, alongside fields of growing corn, past cows grazing in meadows, through tiny hamlets where women at their doors stopped to stare as they passed and children, playing in the road scampered to one side. Through Ware they went, then Wadesmill and Puckeridge to Buntingford, where they stopped at the George and Dragon for a whole hour instead of the two or three minutes allowed for a change of horses. Jonathan and his man followed them in, much to the delight of Betty, who was convinced Joe had taken a shine to her.
‘Mr Linton, it is strange, is it not, that we keep bumping into each other?’ Louise ventured. ‘Are you following us?’
‘Not strange at all, Mr Smith,’ Jonathan said. ‘This is the Great North Road; in truth, it is the only road worthy of the name going north from London and even then it is very bad in parts. It seems reasonable to assume that anyone beginning a journey at about the same time, will arrive at stopping places on route at about the same time. That is why the coaching inns are where they are.’ He ignored her question that he might be following them. ‘I am about to leave, but I have no doubt somewhere along the way we shall meet again. I shall look forward to it.’ He swept her a bow. ‘Your obedient, sir.’ And with that he strode out to the yard and climbed into his carriage, now sporting a fresh set of horses. Joe was on the driving se
at.
Louise watched it go, half-relieved, half-disappointed. Was he right, would they see him on the road again? In spite of herself she liked him; she liked his good looks, his captivating smile, his teasing good humour. Above all she liked to know he was close at hand in case they had any more frightening adventures and especially now when she was forced into the company of Burrows and Williams.
They heard the passengers being called to the coach and left the remains of their dinner and went out to it. It was becoming a familiar routine, this bumping along and then stopping to change horses and then bumping along again, sometimes at a canter, sometimes no more than a walk, but whatever speed they went, it made her whole body ache.
They passed through Huntingdon, a quaint little town with narrow twisting streets, once the home of Oliver Cromwell and Samuel Pepys, so she was informed by Burrows, who was the more talkative of the two men. Somewhere they must have passed Mr Linton without knowing it, because soon afterwards he was behind them again.
‘What is the man about?’ Williams demanded. ‘He comes and he goes. It is almost as if he were following us.’
‘I asked him that,’ Louise told him. ‘His answer was that if two coaches set out at the same time to go to the same place, they are bound to come across each other from time to time.’
‘That might be true if they were equal in weight and horseflesh, but that vehicle is lighter than this, carries only two passengers and is pulled by four of the finest cattle I have seen for an age. He must be very high in the instep to be able to command the best the posting inn can procure. He could outrun us easily if he had a mind to.’ All of which, Louise realised, was true.
‘He’s keeping an eye on his money,’ Burrows said with a laugh, nodding towards Louise. ‘Wants the chance to win it back.’
‘He is only watching out for us,’ Betty said, relieving Louise of the need to comment. ‘We were held up afore and he’s making sure it don’ happen again.’
