by Mary Nichols
They dined with Joe. Betty was unusually quiet and afterwards said she was tired and wished to go to bed. Louise, who had been half-hoping, half-afraid Mr Linton would arrive before the evening was over, was disappointed when he did not put in an appearance. ‘I think an early bed will suit me very well,’ she said, rising.
‘Goodnight, Mr Potton.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Smith. Mrs Smith.’ He was grinning from ear to ear. He would laugh on the other side of his face tomorrow when he discovered he had been left to face his master alone, Louise thought grimly.
Her plan was thwarted when she discovered the only coach leaving early the next morning was full with race goers making their way back to wherever they came from. Carrying their bags, she and Betty walked up and down the main street where they hoped to find another coaching company, but the result was the same. No seats. ‘We’ll have to go back and wait for Mr Linton,’ Betty said, hopefully.
It had become a battle between Louise’s stubbornness and her longing to be looked after and the stubbornness won. She could not give in now she was so near her destination and, she hoped, the answer to the questions that plagued her, had plagued her ever since her father had dropped that bombshell, had been with her all along the way. If she had not been born in wedlock, if she were a bastard, then there was no hope for her—she would be condemned to the fringe of polite society, she would be unmarriageable, just as her papa had hinted. It was strange that the need to know had assumed an extra significance since she had met Mr Linton.
‘No, we’ll find a carrier to take us a little further along the road and perhaps pick up another coach somewhere not quite so busy.’ They were approaching a building that appeared to be an open stables, where a covered wagon was being loaded. ‘Are you going north?’ she asked the old man who was heaving a sack of flour over the tail of it. ‘We need a ride.’
‘I can take you as far as Barnby.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Five mile up the road, on the way to Selby.’
‘The name of the place meant nothing to Louise. ‘Is it on the way to York?’
‘To be sure it is.’
‘Then we will come with you as far as that, if we may.’
He helped Betty up and Louise remembered just in time, that, as a man, she would be expected to get up on her own, which she did, settling herself beside Betty on the flour sacks, just behind the driver’s seat.
They took the main street and crossed the river at the north end of the town before continuing up the Great North Road. Louise, looking back the way they had come, half-expected to see Mr Linton’s carriage hard on their heels. She had become so accustomed to it being there, it seemed strange without it. But they had not gone far, when they left the main road, branching off east wards. They were soon bumping along on a very bad road.
‘Where are you taking us?’ she twisted round to ask the driver, trying not to sound alarmed.
‘To Barnby, like I said. I take supplies to the villages and bring back whatever they want brought back.’
‘Oh.’
It was soon apparent that the roads that joined these villages were little more than cart tracks and she realised it was unlikely Mr Linton would think of pursuing them this way. They had lost him, which was a good thing, she told herself without much conviction.
But what if something happened? What if they got stuck in the mud which, given the state of the lanes, would not at all surprise her? It had happened before on a road much better than this one. Supposing, when they were set down, they could not find their way? She looked at Betty and realised the same thought had crossed her mind.
She turned back to the carrier. ‘How will we go on from Barnby? Is there a coaching inn?’
‘There’s a tavern, but I never saw a coach there. If people want a coach, they get me to take them to Doncaster.’
‘But we have just left there. We do not want to go back.’
‘We could,’ Betty ventured.
‘No. Our way is north.’ She resumed her questioning of the carrier. ‘You said we could get to York this way.’
‘So you can, if’n you walk.’
‘Walk!’ shrieked Betty.
He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘There’s always the river. That do join up with the River Ouse. You can get all the way to York on that.’
Louise had noticed that the lane sometimes ran alongside the river, sometimes veered away from it, and then returned. There were barges and sailing boats on it and she remembered that dreadful criminal talking about using the waterways. ‘Then set us down by the river,’ she said.
‘What do you mean, disappeared?’ Jonathan demanded of Joe. ‘I told you to look after them.’
‘I did, my lord, but I never thought they’d creep away afore anyone was up. I’ve searched high and low for them and not a sign of them anywhere. They didn’t get on a coach neither. I asked at every inn in the town. All the seats were taken on account of the races.’
‘Did they take their bags?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Yes, and paid their dues to the innkeeper.’
Jonathan, still wearing the grubby clothes in which he had arrived, swore roundly and cursed that murdering Black for the trouble he had caused. The man, true to his reputation, had slipped his manacles and made a hole in the floor boards of his prison and when the man on guard went into the tavern to call out his replacement, still fast asleep on the floor, he had slipped through it and was away across the fields. It had taken them all morning to round him up and it was late afternoon when they had rolled into Lincoln and alerted the magistrate, during which he fumed with impatience, but at last the man had been sent on his way in a second heavy wagon with a new set of guards. Now Black was no longer his responsibility, he could rejoin Louise. It had surprised him how joyful that made him feel and though he would have liked to gallop through the night he had more sense than to ride his mount into the ground. He had ridden as long as daylight lasted and then found a haystack in which to sleep and at daybreak set off again, riding across the hills instead of taking the road, which had cut several miles off the journey. But it had not been enough.
He was furious with Joe and made him tell him exactly what had occurred from the time he left until the boy discovered they had gone. ‘When they didn’t come down to breakfast,’ Joe said. ‘I asked the innkeeper’s wife and she told me they had left. I’ve been searching for them ever since.’
‘Well, you had better go and harness the horses while I go and clean myself up and change my coat. And then we must go after them.’
He dashed into the inn, demanded hot water and some food packed to eat on the way. He had to find Louise. If anything happened to her, he did not know what he would do. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere, set upon by thieves, made sport of by any of the careless fellows who followed the races. She might have been kidnapped for real. He was beside himself with anxiety. And knowing that, more often than not, she brought her troubles on herself, did not help one bit. ‘Louise, where are you?’ he muttered as he shrugged himself into a fresh coat. ‘Why, oh, why could you not trust me?’
Chapter Five
The carrier set Louise and Betty down close to a landing stage and there they stood with their bags beside them, waiting for a barge to come along. ‘You’ve got us in a fine pickle now,’ Betty said morosely, staring across the water at some cows in a field. ‘We’ve no idea where we are. We should have stayed and waited for Mr Linton.’
Worry made Louise snap. ‘And be arrested! Be carted off in a closed wagon with no windows and flung into a stinking cell…’
‘Mr Linton would never do that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because he knows you are a foolish woman and he likes you.’
‘Nonsense!’ Louise exclaimed.
‘I reckon you like him too. I reckon tha’s half the trouble. You won’t admit it.’
This was too close to the truth to be borne. ‘We cannot go back. For a start, I have
no idea where we are; secondly, there will be a barge along any minute and we can ask for a ride.’
‘And then he’ll never find us.’
‘I cannot think why you should want him to.’
‘Joe will get into awful trouble for not stopping us and tha’s not fair. An’ I shan’t ever see ’im again.’
Louise managed a smile. So, it was of Joe she was thinking. ‘Haven’t you told him where you live?’
‘Course I have.’
‘Then if he thinks anything of you at all he will find you.’ And me too, she realised with a start, since they both lived at Chipping Barnet. The thought cheered her because when she went home and everything was explained, Mr Linton might come calling and they could get to know each other properly. He was not a nobleman, not someone who would look down at her humble origins. But if she were a bastard, even he would turn his nose up at her. Everyone would. Her cheerfulness lasted exactly thirty seconds.
‘Well?’ Betty demanded. ‘What do we do now?’
Louise pointed to a barge being pulled along the towpath by a plodding horse and it was going in the right direction according to the flow of the current. ‘Sir!’ she called to the man whose hand was on the tiller. ‘Will you take on passengers?’
He steered the craft to the bank and called ‘Whoa, Beauty!’ to the horse. Then he turned towards the girls. He was a powerfully built man dressed in leather breeches and a leather jerkin. His dark hair was pulled back and tied with a cord. ‘What is it you want?’
‘A ride, if you would be so good. We want to go to York.’
‘Aren’t going all that way. I can take you some of the way if you work your passage.’
‘Work?’ queried Louise, almost forgetting to deepen her voice.
‘Yes. Help look after the horse and take the tiller now and again. The little lady can cook our meals and keep the cabin clean.’
Louise looked at Betty. ‘Well, my dear, what do you say?’
‘Hev we got a choice?’ Betty asked morosely.
‘We could stand here until doomsday.’
‘Then let us go aboard. The sooner we get going the sooner we’ll arrive. An’ I don’ suppose we’ll get stuck in the mud like we did on the road.’ For some reason this made the man laugh. He held out his hand to help Betty aboard, ignoring Louise, just as the carrier had done. She looked down at the green water, swirling with weeds; it would be no fun falling into that. She threw their bags on board, took a deep breath and jumped across, landing with a thump.
‘Now, sir,’ she said, relieved to find herself safely on board. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘Go down and stoke up the fire so your missus can cook us dinner. There’s a side of bacon, some eggs and plenty o’ bread. And fish. You like to fish, do you? We can do some of that as we go.’
Louise had fished with her brothers, but most of their catch and had been too small to be eaten and had been thrown back to grow bigger. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Stop calling me “sir”. Makes me feel uncomfortable, it does. I’m Josh Cottle.’
‘Mr Cottle, how do you do?’ Louise extended her hand. ‘I am Lou Smith.’
He ignored the hand and pointed to a superstructure at the stern of the barge. ‘There’s the galley.’
It was reached by a walkway running round the side of the barge; the rest of the vessel, apart from the small amount of decking on which they stood, was loaded with timber. Louise and Betty inched their way tentatively round the narrow planking and went into the cabin. ‘I hope we don’ have to stay on this boat all night,’ Betty said, looking round the tiny room. There was a table and two narrow bunks with rough blankets, a cupboard or two and a pot bellied fire. Wood was piled beside it. ‘There’s nowhere to sleep.’
‘Perhaps Mr Cottle will allow us the bunks and sleep on deck himself.’ She looked with distaste at the bunks and shuddered; she did not doubt they were infested with livestock. ‘Or perhaps he will tie up at a riverside inn.’
‘Well, if he don’ I’m not stoppin’ and I don’ care what you say.’
Louise was inclined to agree with her; the air in the cabin was hot and stale. They set to doing the tasks allotted to them as the horse pulled them gently along. They shared a meal with Mr Cottle and afterwards, while Betty cleaned the cabin, Louise took her hand at the tiller under Mr Cottle’s direction. Although the slowness irked her at first, she had to admit that the scenery was beautiful and the fresh air invigorating. She had left the muddy potholed roads behind her, had left Mr Linton behind too and she was ambivalent about that. For all she was trying to escape from him, she was obliged to admit that if he had been there to share the experience with her, she would have enjoyed the change of scene.
If it were true he knew she was not a man, he had never hinted at it. He had gone on treating her like a man, a somewhat youthful, naïve man, but a man nevertheless. He had shown no interest in her as woman. But why would he? A hoyden dressed in male clothes and one who indulged in duels and played cards and hit men over the head with rocks was hardly likely to appeal to him. Besides, she should not be thinking of him in those terms. She was on a mission to find her mother and until she knew the truth about herself, she should not be thinking of anything else but how to achieve her goal. But, oh, how she missed him! And that was an admission she never thought she would make.
The recent rains had made the river overflow in some places and the poor horse was wading in sticky mud and, because the edge was not clear, was in danger of walking into deeper water. Mr Cottle took the tiller from Louise to guide the barge into the bank and left her and Betty on it while he went to help the horse. Left to use a pole to stop the vessel bumping into the side, Louise felt her lack of muscle. She was soon aching in every joint and Mr Cottle had no patience with her.
‘Useless you are!’ he shouted, when the barge thumped against the bank, sending ripples of water out over his feet. ‘I knew you were too puny to be any good.’
‘Then why take us on?’ she demanded breathlessly.
‘Didn’ have no choice. My mate was took ill with the belly ache and I needed someone. And your missus looked as though she’d be more use than you.’
Louise did not disagree with that. Betty had been working in a cloud of dust and now had the cabin looking spick and span.
As soon as they had passed the floods and the land became visible again, Cottle came back on board. He looked at Betty’s handiwork. ‘Good little housemate you are, m’dear. If you feel like a change, we can send him away.’ He nodded towards Louise. ‘You and me will do very nicely on our own.’
‘No, thank you,’ Betty said.
‘You don’t mean you’d rather have that spider shanks than a fine big man like me?’ He grinned at her. ‘Do he even know what to do with it?’
‘With what?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ He slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. ‘Then I reckon I oughta give you a taste.’ He reached out to grab her. His intention was clear and she backed away. Ignoring Louise, he went after her.
Louise could not stand and watch her friend being assaulted. ‘Let her be!’ She grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to pull him away. ‘She is my wife.’
‘I don’t reckon she is. Even if you have stood up in front o’ the parson, which give me leave to doubt, it takes more than that to make a wife. Go and take the tiller.’
‘No, I will not.’
He went to push her away. She came back at him, clawing at his face in the manner of an irate termagant, not a young man. He laughed and grabbed her upper arms and his eyes widened as he realised what he had hold of. She jerked herself away, lost her footing, tried to regain her balance and the next minute was in the river.
Betty screamed and went for the man, who grabbed her and flung her after Louise. ‘Go and join the bitch.’ He laughed. ‘I ha’ heard of two men being inclined that way, but I’ve never come across two women like it. I hope the cold water cools your ardour.’
&n
bsp; Louise was treading water, which was thick with weeds, but Betty was weighed down by her skirts and in danger of drowning. Louise went to her aid and grabbed her shoulders from behind. ‘Don’t struggle. I’ve got you. Just lie back on me and kick your legs a bit.’
‘I can’t. Me petticoats…’
‘Try, please.’ Louise turned on her back and with both of them kicking out, they managed to reach the bank and haul themselves out. The lay on their backs on the grass, exhausted, cold, wet and humiliated. And what was worse, everything they owned was on the barge, now a hundred yards further down stream.
Having ascertained that Joe was right and the girls were not to be found in Doncaster, Jonathan climbed in the carriage and they set out northwards, assuming that was the direction they would take. They had just crossed the bridge and were heading up the Great North Road, when they passed a carrier’s wagon coming into the town. Jonathan called to Joe to stop and, before the wheels had stopped turning, was out and chasing up the road after the wagon.
‘Have you seen a young couple on the road?’ he asked, when he managed to attract the driver’s attention and he pulled up. ‘A young man in a blue coat and a young lady in a pink striped skirt?’
‘Yes, I reckon I have. Run away, have they?’
‘Yes. They must be found.’ He took his purse from his pocket and extracted a guinea. ‘Where did you see them?’
‘I gave them a ride. Set them down in Barnby.’
‘Barnby?’ he queried in surprise. Had he been wrong—had she lied when she said she was going to York?
‘Yes, when I told her there were no coaches to York from there, she said they would go by the river.’
‘Thank you,’ He offered the man the guinea. ‘And would you be kind enough to give us directions?’
Jonathan returned to Joe and climbed up beside him. He could see better from that vantage point. ‘Take the right fork up here,’ he said. ‘I am told the road is bad, but that is nothing new. Drive carefully and let us pray they have not gone far.’
