Ridiculous

by D. L. Carter

  The chaperone did so, shrieking when the footman seized her ankle to assist her. The resultant wrestling match, the footman trying to hold her and the lady attempting to keep her skirt covering her limbs, nearly had them all falling back inside.

  When the lady was finally assisted to the drenched ground, an exhausted Millicent glanced back down to the trapped gentleman.

  “I hope,” she said with feeling, “that you will be less trouble.”

  He flashed her a grin full of mischief and brilliant white teeth, leapt up, seized the edge of the wood, and hauled himself out all in one motion. The rain moistened his buckskin unmentionables and they clung to the muscles of his thighs and displayed for Millicent's view a superior posterior.

  “May you burn in hell for such strength,” muttered Millicent as color flooded her face.

  The Greek god laughed briefly and offered his hand. Millicent accepted it in her own bare, chilled hand and gasped as heat rushed up her arm and fogged her brain. Never in her life had so simple a touch stirred her blood and mind completely. Her confusion was to such a degree that she nearly missed his next words.

  “Thank you for your timely assistance. Have we totted up the damage?”

  Millicent nodded, swallowed, and tried to work her dry mouth enough to speak.

  “You have lost your driver and one of the footmen,” she said. “It appears they both fell and broke their necks when the carriage went over.”

  “Ah,” an expression of genuine sorrow crossed his face.

  “Your horses are all well. Merely shaken a bit with one or two scratches. However, I fear it will be necessary to shoot your carriage to put it out of its misery.”

  He glanced around at the shattered axle and sprung wheelbraces and nodded his agreement.

  “You there,” cried Millicent, noting that one of the outriders was beginning to unpack the trunk of the damaged vehicle. “Do not put the trunks in the mud. Put them on the roof of my carriage or on the side of this one until a cart arrives. And put the bodies on the wayside. I know you want to wrap them in blankets, to be civilized Christian men, but keep the blankets for yourselves for the moment. Heaven spare us if you all catch cold. Your departed friends will understand.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the grateful answer.

  The gentleman slid on his arse across the wet, polished wood, dropped down with a splash, and stalked off across the mud to where the small girl was leaning out of Millicent's carriage.

  “Mrs. Fleming says she needs brandy, Timothy,” she called.

  “Of course. You there. I am sorry, I do not know your name. There's a picnic basket on the floor. Have the footman fetch it up to you.”

  Millicent pretended to doff the hat that was crushed on the floor of her carriage.

  “Mr. Anthony North of Yorkshire. At your service.” Then she smiled down at the footman. “Can you fetch yourself out of there, my friend?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. North.”

  The picnic basket was located and tossed up. Millicent left the servants to finish the unpacking and slogged through the deep mud across to her rented carriage. Inside both the Greek god and the small girl were dancing attendance upon Mrs. Fleming. Now that she had a better view, Millicent could see what she had thought was a child was actually a young woman, most likely the same age as Maude.

  “There you are,” said Millicent, passing the basket to the young lady. “All the comforts of home.”

  “You must live in a very strange home,” replied the lady.

  “I have been accused of that many times,” murmured Millicent with a smile.

  To her surprise the smile was answered with a giggle and blush. Inside the carriage efforts were in hand for the injured chaperone's comfort. All of Millicent's blankets were tucked tight around her body. Brandy was even now being pressed to her lips and a rain soaked handkerchief lay across her forehead

  Standing out in the rain, with her feet ankle deep in freezing mud, yet more water pouring out of the sky and down the neck of her shirt, Millicent realized that there were advantages to being female.

  “Mr. North, please come in out of the cold,” ordered the gentleman.

  Millicent did not bother to point out the cheek of inviting her into her own carriage.

  “In a moment. I must see to the moving of your carriage off the road and the setting of watchmen in both directions. I do not want anyone else coming round that curve and landing in this pig’s wallow with us.”

  To her surprise the nobleman did not close the door, but climbed out to join her.

  “You are quite correct. I fear my wits are rattled.”

  A flick of his wrist was enough to communicate with his outriders and two men ahorseback headed in opposite directions to look out for other traffic. The remainder of the men gathered around, and with much pushing and swearing, with all the luggage removed, the damaged carriage was pushed the rest of the way into the ditch.

  “’Tis good for nothing more than kindling, now,” he said with a sigh.

  “I'm sure that local families will come out and scavenge what is useful. The squabs at least will make fine chairs.” Millicent halted and glanced across at the gentleman, expecting him to order the removal of his soft leather seating to where the rest of his luggage waited. Instead the man nodded.

  “Well, then, some little good may come of this.” he waved to a footman who leapt up and shut the carriage door the better to preserve the interior.

  “Cart approaching,” shouted one of the watching men.

  Within a few minutes three men on horseback accompanied by a farm cart slid to a stop beside them. The lead rider scanned the men afoot.

  “Mr. North?” cried the florid faced man glancing back and forth between the two well-dressed men standing in the mud.

  “That is I,” said Millicent, stepping forward. “Mr. Prichart, I assume.”

  “Indeed, sir. At your service. Is this your carriage that's come a'cropper?”

  “Not I, ‘tis this gentleman's.”

  “Shoffer,” said the gentleman with a bow. “Thank you for coming to our assistance.”

  “Where were you heading, Mr. Shoffer?” asked Millicent.

  “Merthyr Tydfil and then on to Shropshire. The carriage with my valet and servants travelled ahead of us. It is likely they have not noticed we no longer follow.”

  “With the road this much a slurry it would be difficult to send a messenger to them and fetch them back,” said Millicent. “I suspect it would be best if you came with us to Mr. Prichart's and await a change in weather.”

  A very worried expression crossed Prichart's weathered face.

  “I dunno about that, Mr. North. My wife only prepared one room for a visitor. She will be fit to be tied if I turn up with more than she's expecting.”

  “Do you have outbuildings, Mr. Prichart?” demanded Millicent, her voice deepening with fatigue and cold. “Hayricks? Stables? Buildings with roofs to keep off the rain? Do you have more than one drawing room?”

  “Well, yes. Yes, we do.”

  “Then we shall do very well for a short time and not mind the inconvenience. The ladies within my carriage shall have the room you set aside for my use and Mr. Shoffer and I shall make do with beds on the floor of the second drawing room. As I have no wish to leave any of the servants out in this dreadful weather, may I hope you can accommodate them in the servant hall and outbuildings, with blankets and food?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And some provision needs to be made for my servants who have died,” said Mr. Shoffer. “Can you offer them proper respect until their burial?”

  “Yes, sir.” With a sigh, Mr. Prichart touched his whip to his dripping hat and directed his servants to gather the dead and the luggage and place everything on the cart.

  “In a few days, I will be able to take you to Merthyr Tydfil myself,” offered Millicent. “Will that serve?”

  “That will do very well, Mr. North,” said Shoffer.

  Millice
nt gestured toward her carriage and slogged along behind Mr. Shoffer. Climbing inside last, she sighed and rested her head briefly against the stiff squabs before shaking herself to wakefulness.

  “Well, now, Mr. Shoffer, I must appeal to you for an introduction to these ladies. I fear I have been beforehand as we have shared a lovely waltz and I am yet to know their names.”

  The chaperone gave Millicent what was intended to be a quelling glance as the younger girl blushed and giggled. When the chaperone gave her a sharp jab in the ribs she looked away and shrank down into the shelter of her cloak.

  “This is my sister, the Lady Elizabeth Shoffer and her chaperone, Mrs. Fleming.”

  Lady Elizabeth gave a quick nod of the head, but Mrs. Fleming examined Millicent from her bedraggled hair and mud splattered great coat to her missing gloves and sodden boots and sniffed her disapproval.

  “You are in a significant state of dishabille, Mr. North.”

  “I do apologize, Mrs. Fleming. I was engaged in sea bathing when you happened upon me. I shall repair myself as soon as possible.”

  There was a sound suspiciously like another giggle from within Lady Elizabeth's cloak.

  “Fool,” said Mrs. Fleming and closed her eyes, dismissing Mr. North.

  Millicent only grinned.

  Lady Elizabeth settled her head against the nearest wall, then sat upright again with a small cry.

  “Oh, no, I have broken the brim of my hat.” She snatched the remains of her pretty befrilled bonnet off her head and ran small fingers along to where it was bent at an odd angle. “And it's soaked. I cannot appear in this before strangers. What will I do?”

  There was a groan from her brother at this purely feminine distress. Millicent considered informing the young girl about the dead men outside, but changed her mind. Why add that grief to the stresses of the day? It was likely that no one had mentioned the deaths to her. Instead Millicent sat forward and smiled.

  “But Lady Beth, why do you worry? You look so dazzling in it that I am certain within a week every fashionable lady from London, to Bath and Edinburgh, will be wearing broken brimmed and wilted hats. Why, you have only to appear once in it and all the ladies will run crying to their haberdashers demanding just the same thing.”

  “What nonsense,” sniffed Mrs. Fleming, her eyes still shut.

  “I am surprised to hear you say so,” said Millicent. “Surely, the brilliant and charming Lady Beth is London's leading light of fashion. How can it be otherwise?”

  “I am not, you know,” whispered Lady Elizabeth. “No one pays any attention to me.”

  “But you are a lovely young lady of style and…”

  “Do not foist yourself upon the lady,” interrupted the chaperone. “Just because you happen to have made the acquaintance of…”

  “Mrs. Fleming,” growled Mr. Shoffer.

  “Well.” The woman glanced at the gentleman seated beside Millicent, then reading a message there, flushed and looked away. Speaking in softer tones, she continued. “Because we must accept your assistance does not mean you may make a play for Lady Elizabeth. Mind yourself.”

  Millicent looked first toward the gentleman and seeing no offense, rather an expression of curiosity, she returned her attention to the girl.

  “Lady Beth, you do surprise me. Why, just the slightest of your smiles and my heart beats so hard that I am surprised you cannot hear it.”

  Beth shifted on her bench and lowered her eyes to her gloved hands.

  “You cannot put yourself forward as an arbiter of fashion and style,” said Mrs. Fleming. “Look at you.”

  Millicent glanced down at her sodden, loose fitting woolen trews, caked with mud to the knees, her unbleached linen shirt collar wilted from the rain and hanging over a simply knotted cotton cravat. Fortunately, despite her soaking, there was nothing showing that would hint that under all the wet fabric was a young woman. Millicent pulled her overcoat tighter around her body, just to be safe. The chaperone's disapproval was clear, and frankly, well earned, but that did not mean that Millicent would act ashamed before such a judgmental woman.

  “I see nothing wrong,” said Millicent spreading her hands. “I am myself, most sincerely.”

  “What in the world does that mean?” demanded Mrs. Fleming.

  Inspiration struck Millicent with the force of lightning. She had not considered how she would respond to direct curiosity should she ever be questioned regarding an action or error of her appearance and now she had the most brilliant idea. A piece of nonsense that she had made up to amuse her younger sisters years ago would serve very well.

  “It means, I decided long ago to live as if I were a cat. After all, as the old saying goes, a cat may look at a king.”

  “Fool,” said Mrs. Fleming.

  Lady Beth sat up and for the first time met Millicent's eyes.

  “I do not understand. What does that mean?”

  “It means that of all God's creatures a cat is at all times himself. When in the presence of a king, mere mortal man must bow and lady, curtsy. A dog, well trained, will grovel and beg. Horses wait patiently in the rain upon his pleasure. But a cat cares but for himself. He will walk into any room and stare you in the eye, be you king or clown and he will hold his own opinion of you. He will turn his back on you if you displease him, stand, sit, or walk away as is his will. And a king will tolerate this from a cat, but from no one else, since to protest would be the veriest waste of time.”

  “How very odd,” said Lady Beth with a giggle. “I have never thought of that.”

  “And so I model myself on a cat, disdaining fashion to dress comfortably and pleasing myself with my manners.”

  “Of which you have none,” came the slurred voice of the chaperone.

  “How much brandy did you give her?” whispered Millicent.

  “Just enough,” Lady Beth whispered back and a faint smile turned the corners of her mouth.

  “Excellent,” said Millicent, as a snore arose from the blankets covering Mrs. Fleming. “Lady Beth, pray tell me, what sort of cat would you like to be?”

  “I hardly know,” said the girl uncertainly, glancing toward her brother.

  The man shifted on the seat and his soaking wet thigh came into burning contact with Millicent's leg. She was so shocked by her own body's melting reaction that it took her fully five seconds to pull herself away. She stared at the floor as she tried to bring her breathing back under control. How could it be that such a casual touch could so disconcert her? She had ridden in post carriages with men on both sides, even while dressed as a woman, and felt nothing – except fatigue, but the slightest touch of this man's flesh and she was afire.

  She concentrated on his rumbling voice to try and gather her scattered wits, but it so warmed her flesh she was surprised steam did not rise from her clothing.

  “Now I think on it,” said Shoffer, entirely unaware of her discomfort. “I should like to be the big black bully of a tomcat who, back in my father's time when guests visited, would appear in the front hall to examine them. It really was quite amazing how he would sniff their boots, walking around each and every person and growling deep in his throat if they should move away before he completed his examination. It was as if he thought our house his. In good weather, he would position himself on the very top of the statue of a lion that guards the main steps and gaze out over his domain. I was quite in awe of him as a child. That cat was the only being my father treated as an equal. That tom would seat himself on a bookshelf in my father’s study and my father would greet him with respect each morning.”

  Both Millicent and Beth laughed, Millicent being careful to keep her voice deep and laugh with her mouth open instead of giggling.

  “Now you, my dear Beth,” continued Shoffer.

  “Well, I do remember on a charity visit I saw an old woman sitting beside the fire. The cat in her lap was a tiny golden kitten so curled up that I could not see her ears or her tail, but just a little bundle of fur. When the old woman str
oked her, the purr was so loud the house shook with it.” Lady Beth smiled at her brother. “I should like to be that safe and happy.”

  “And so you shall,” replied her brother.

  “But is that the only cat you wish to be?” pressed Millicent.

  Seeming startled at the thought she could be two, the girl considered.

  “Well, I did see a cat once that I admired riding a horse.”

  “Do you tell me so? I cannot believe it,” cried Millicent. “A cat? Riding a horse?”

  “Oh, yes.” Now animation came to Lady Beth's face and color to her pinched white lips and cheeks. She leaned forward to punctuate her tale with waving hands. “The horses were out in the field when a tiger-striped cat jumped onto the back of the lead stallion and dug in her claws. Well, he was so surprised he reared up and I was most certain that the cat would be tossed off and killed. But no, she dug her claws in and when the stallion took off across the field as fast as he could; she rode him all the way. And when she passed me, I swear, I saw such a grin on the cat's face as I have never seen before.”

  “She was having fun?” inquired Millicent.

  “Oh, yes. I should like to have fun.”

  “I am certain you shall, if you wish it,” said Millicent.

  The animation faded from the girl’s face. “I think not.”

  “Why ever not?” asked Millicent, glancing across at Shoffer. “Is your brother so unkind as not to let you ride?”

  “Oh, no, I am certain Timothy is everything that is kind.”

  That comment caused Millicent to raise her eyebrows and turn her face toward the dark visaged giant at her side.

  “My sister and I have not been much in each other's company,” he said by way of explanation. “Since the death of our parents she has lived with our grandmother. It has been decided it would benefit Beth to spend time at my estate before attending a few summer house parties, in the hope it will give her confidence to face another season.”

  Lady Beth shrank back against the squabs and hid her face in the folds of her cloak's hood.