A Scandalous Journey: The Amberley Chronicles

by May Burnett

  “Very well, if you are willing to escort me after this,” she said to the Captain, “I put myself in your hands.” She dug out her purse from the hidden pocket in her travelling cloak and gave the postilion, the coachman and Bessemer three guineas each, “for expenses to get home. I’ll replace the coach too,” she promised.

  “First you must get to safety,” the coachman said gruffly. “Good luck, Ma’am.”

  She was swung up on Emperor’s back and found her damp back plastered against the broad chest of the Captain. A minute later they were far from the wrecked carriage, underneath dripping leaves, pursuing a meandering course to nowhere in particular.

  What had she done? Would this nightmare never end? The memory of the dead man’s glassy eyes struck Monique with visceral force, and she began to tremble.

  Stop it, she told herself. Her ancestors had lived through worse than this over the centuries. Several had faced the guillotine with outward calm.

  At least she still had one protector. If she was to reach Amberley in one piece, she was going to need Captain Kinninmont. For the moment she let herself relax as much as possible, confident in his experience, his superb horse.

  Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, she did not have the slightest doubt that he would see her safely through, or die trying.

  Chapter 8

  Duncan rode in silence. Why was it so very important that Miss Towers not be found with him, or connected to the shooting of a criminal intent on harming her? Everyone seemed to consider her delicate, to want to protect her. Well, so did he, but he had a shrewd suspicion that for all her lack of inches, she was tougher than anyone realised. Her coolness under attack was admirable, even if it was hardly the fashion these days. A young lady who did not fall into hysterics at the sight of a freshly killed man, who could still reason and take decisions, was quite out of the common way. Were her friends and family aware of these qualities, or did she hide them when among her own class?

  Yet she was not hard. He had not missed the trembling that had shaken her small frame as she leaned back against him. It humbled him that she had entrusted her safety, her very life to him.

  Miss Towers was so slight that Emperor could easily cope with the extra weight for an hour or two, but they ought to seek shelter from the rain before she caught a fever. If she died of exposure, her enemies would triumph as surely as if she had succumbed to a bullet.

  The dead rifleman’s brazenness puzzled him. Were their pursuers no longer trying to make her demise appear an accident? After this latest incident, too many witnesses could testify that Miss Towers was the object of hostile pursuit, and any fatal accident would be less than credible.

  They passed a barn. He slowed Emperor, considering. Night was still several hours away, but the rain did not look like stopping any time soon. They needed warmth, and dry clothes. Under that sturdy cloak the young lady would look bedraggled, like a drowned but pretty mouse. His poor little Miss Towers.

  He turned back to the barn, to give Emperor a well-deserved rest and a feast of stolen hay, and to consult with the lady. She would be ruined if this escapade ever became known, but from the way her servants had acted, just to be travelling in his company would already have ruined her. Escapade, of course, came from the same root as escape. It was strange to be considered the instrument of a lady’s perdition, when his intentions were pure.

  Were they really? That last ride had ended any illusion that she was not a full-grown, mature woman. Her slight but delightfully rounded bottom had been pressed against his lower stomach, and the smell of her in the rain, all feminine and enticing, had given him a few uncomfortable moments. However absurd and ill-advised, he was attracted to this blond little sprite of a girl. Woman, he corrected himself. She was twenty-one. Many of her contemporaries would already be married, and mothers. There was nothing intrinsically reprehensible about his fleeting dreams of exploring that small but exquisite body with his hands and tongue; it was only to be expected when a young man found himself in such unaccustomed proximity to a pretty girl. As long as he did not act upon his desires, did not betray them with the slightest word or gesture or look, it would be all right. Private fantasies were not forbidden.

  He carefully lifted her off Emperor’s back, and she stretched her cramped muscles, like a kitten, before settling into the hay with a sigh of relief. “I am not sure we did the right thing,” she said seriously, before she began to sneeze violently.

  “You are cold, I fear,” he said in alarm. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s merely the hay. Sometimes it makes me sneeze, depending on what flowers it contains. I’m sturdier than I look. When I was born everyone expected I would die soon, and yet here I am.”

  “But you are wet, and though it is not very cold, the night will be uncomfortable. We need better shelter, and warm food. You are a lady, accustomed to her comforts.”

  “So I am, but I’m not going to melt from a few hours of rain. And aren’t you at all worried on your own account? A strong young man may catch cold and succumb to a fever as easily as anyone.”

  “True enough,” he allowed. “In warfare, excepting major battles, more men die of sickness than from actual fighting. I was determined to take good care of my men, if I ever found myself in that position. But I’m not worried for myself. My survival is of no importance to anyone, though my brother would be sad for a few days, I daresay.”

  She shook her head. “Nonsense, Captain. Your life is of importance to me. How am I to reach my friends without your assistance? I could hire someone, I suppose, but I feel safe with you.”

  He chuckled. “Your standard of safety must be very low. I only hope that your lack of proper chaperonage is not going to leak out. I would not have you ostracised or gossiped about.”

  “You could always offer for me,” she said lightly, watching him out of those dark eyes, so at odds with the very fair hair.

  “So I could, and would in a trice if I thought it would do any good to your reputation, but you’d be a fool if you accepted me. It is clear, from everything I have heard and observed, that you are expected to do much better for yourself.”

  She did not deny it. “Whoever marries me will be a rich man.”

  He shrugged. “If I valued wealth I would not have wasted my inheritance on a commission, but gone into business for myself. I can make money if I care to. Your dowry is safe from me.”

  She smiled. “I knew it. But you’d be surprised how many men feel differently. Especially those who must maintain a fashionable front on insufficient incomes.”

  “Officers in her Majesty’s Army know all about that, unless they receive an additional allowance from their families.”

  “Did you? Your Emperor cannot have come cheap.”

  So she had a good eye for horseflesh, did she? He kept discovering new sides to Miss Towers. “He was my greatest indulgence these past few years. I have a little money, but it is invested in my brother’s business, and I rarely draw upon my funds. When I saw Emperor two years ago I simply had to have him. It was love at first sight.” He cast an affectionate glance at the roan. “I must find the farmer and pay for that fodder. Perhaps he also has a dry chamber, and some clothes we could buy.”

  “I still have sufficient funds,” she said. “I was wondering if we should not simply buy seats on the mail coach under assumed names. But you cannot leave Emperor behind.”

  “Not easily,” he agreed, “though I could stable him in some reliable livery, and come back for him later, after delivering you to your friends. But at least one man is still after us. You are so easily recognizable, Miss Towers. Very fair silky curls, dark eyes, small and slight – how many ladies like that does a man come across, on any given day? Not many, even in a crowded city.”

  “I cannot help being short,” she said defensively.

  “Of course not, and it was not meant as criticism, merely to point out that you are unique. Perhaps we should think of a disguise. As a boy, y
ou could hide your hair under a cap.”

  “I dressed as a boy at a costume ball once,” she said to his surprise. “As Cupid, with a bow and arrows. I make a rather effeminate urchin.”

  He could well imagine it, her body clad in skimpy Grecian draperies, bare legs encased in sandals. What were her parents about, to allow it? “With loose, simple clothing and a cap, you could pass. You’d look about twelve years old as a lad, but who looks at children closely? We could buy or hire a second horse, if you would be willing to ride astride. Have you ever done so?”

  “Yes, when I was a child. My father deemed it safer. But in the last few years I have not had occasion.” She looked pensive, and a little doubtful. He could guess why she had been prevented from riding astride. The all-important hymen, proof of a lady’s virtue, could easily break in such exercise.

  She raised her chin. “It is preferable to being stuck in another carriage, and endangering more innocent people, simply because they have the misfortune of travelling in the same conveyance.”

  “One criminal has already paid for that with his life,” he reminded her. “From the way the other fellow was hanging back, I wonder if he has the stomach for murder.”

  “It may have been more than one horse we heard, I could not tell. One of the others may be the mastermind, who sent a minion into the more dangerous position,” she speculated. “I wonder if he stayed back because I would have recognised him?”

  “You did not know the dead man?”

  “I would have said so at the time. No, I am quite certain I have never set eyes on him before today. He looked English to me. One can tell by the cut of the boots and clothes.”

  Duncan agreed with her assessment. How had her French enemy managed to find and hire this local ruffian? “We need to take one of them alive, if we are to have the slightest chance to find out who hired them.”

  “Do such men ever confess? I always heard that professional criminals had a strict rule against betraying each other.”

  How would she know about such matters? “If the order came from someone in your own class, as you suspect, they would have no particular loyalty to him. When it is a question of transportation or the noose, or there is nothing left to lose, even hardened criminals may talk.”

  She still looked sceptical. “I am more furious at whoever gave the order, than at the henchmen. If they kill me after all, promise me that the culprit will receive his punishment.”

  “If it is in my power to achieve,” he said. If her enemy was some effete Frenchman lurking far from the scene, how was he supposed to bring the crime home to him? Or was she thinking of direct vengeance, murdering the fellow in turn? That was hardly Duncan’s style.

  “By telling my parents what happened – they will take care of avenging me,” she clarified. “In case you are slain in my defence and I survive, I shall ensure that the party responsible is hanged by the neck.” Her voice rang with determination. Miss Towers did not appear to harbour any doubts regarding her ability to bring this punishment about.

  “I suppose it is time to find that farmer,” he said. “What shall we tell him?”

  “We could claim to be brother and sister, but we don’t look anything alike,” she said, “and the way we speak is different, too. Whatever we invent, they will think we are lovers, so we might as well claim we are eloping from my tyrannical father’s house. I am already of age, so it is not so very bad. But we are sleeping separately until we can marry respectably, in a church, in your home parish.”

  “In that case, I’ll need a nom de guerre,” he said, “the Kinninmonts may be humble, but they have never yet had to steal away their women.”

  “I suggest you are Captain Preux, then.”

  He had to smile at the veiled compliment. “Not English enough. Mullins is a common English name and will do. Lieutenant Mullins, no need to give the correct rank either. Perhaps it would be better to drop the military title altogether.”

  “No,” she objected, “there is something indefinably military about your whole bearing and manner. I imagine you’ll retain that officer-like air for the rest of your life. And what is more common than an impecunious soldier running away with a girl against her parents’ will?”

  “It does not happen as frequently as you seem to think,” he said a trifle stiffly.

  “I daresay not, but the farmer will easily believe it. Here, you better take the purse. It will look odd if I pay for the hay and whatever else we need.”

  She held out her leather purse to him. He felt reluctant to take it, but her suggestion made sense. “Only until we get away from here,” he said, to ease his pride as he pocketed the purse. “Perhaps we should divide the money.”

  She nodded, and he counted out some coins, about five guineas, selecting mostly smaller denominations. When he handed the purse back to her, there were over thirty guineas left. “Do you always travel with so much gold?”

  “Father told me that one should take at least twice as much as one expects to spend, as there are always additional charges and delays on journeys. And in places where nobody knows you, and your bank is out of reach, nothing talks like ready money.”

  “Very wise of him.”

  “Indeed. Just in case, I always take three times as much as I think it will cost. This journey proves the wisdom of the practice, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He looked deep into her dark eyes, the small face framed with wet blond curls, the bonnet damp and adorned with bits of hay, and had to fight an urge to enfold her in his arms.

  “Indubitably, Miss Towers.”

  Chapter 9

  Monique slept better than she would have expected after going to bed long before her usual time, in a large featherbed she shared with the farmer’s two young daughters.

  The girls were curious and she had to invent a number of details about her family, her love for her young soldier, and the happy future they were planning together as Lieutenant and Mrs. Mullins.

  The farmer and his wife did not share their daughters’ sentimental interest. For them, the clink of silver had been the clinching argument. Just as it would have been at home, in France. From necessity, farmers were pragmatic and hard-headed all over the world.

  “He’s a handsome man, your Lieutenant,” the younger of the girls said as they were all getting up, again far earlier than Monique was wont to, soon after the cock’s strident crow. She remembered with a pang how the Ellsworthy servants had laboured over that other dress, left behind after the attack. She had to make it up to them once she was safe.

  Her damp clothes had been brushed out and dried close to a fire in the kitchen. “Are you a rich lady?” young Bessie asked, tracing the elaborate trimming with her fingertip. “This must have taken a long time to sew.”

  “My family is not poor,” she admitted. “We have breweries.”

  “You make beer?”

  “Not me personally, but my mother’s grandfather owned several breweries, and left them to her. They are managed by her man of affairs.”

  “And what does your father do? The one who forced you to escape?”

  She must be careful not to get fact and fiction too mixed up. “He is a landowner, principally,” she said. “He also dabbles in shipping and other business.”

  “And you eloped with a mere lieutenant?” the fourteen-year-old shook her head with mingled horror and pity. “I cannot imagine ever being that much in love.”

  “Bessie! Don’t mind her, Miss. I hope you’ll be very happy together,” her older sister said with an admonishing glance. “It’s too late to reconsider, anyway. You’ll have to make the best of it.”

  “I suppose I must,” said Monique, bemused. What would it be like to be passionately in love, and elope with an impecunious officer? Lieutenant or Captain, the difference was minimal. Anything below Colonel would be considered a misalliance for her. If she ever was so foolish, and set aside her pragmatic French nature, she could probably do worse than Captain Kinninmont. He was a man of honour, t
he most important consideration.

  There were no trousers her size to buy at the farm, but when she said she would rather ride astride, Bessie recalled a split skirt that had served for that very purpose, when their mother was younger. It was old and a bit wide as well as too long, but the girls good-naturedly helped to hem it shorter, so that she could ride without completely sacrificing her modesty. A blouse that was too tight for Bessie’s burgeoning bosom was added to the costume. Monique’s fashionable friends would rather die than be seen in such an ensemble, but with luck none of them would ever observe her in it.

  As there was no gig or horse for hire, after a hearty breakfast they set off on Emperor once again. With her legs on either side of the animal Monique was more comfortable, but she wanted her own, smaller mount. This constant body contact with the young man was unseemly, and gave rise to less than virtuous daydreams. Good heavens, might the same be true for the Captain? If so, she had to admire his self-control. He behaved with impeccable, almost distant courtesy.

  In a small town the Captain purchased trousers for her after all, a cap and a boy’s jacket, as well as an inexpensive old mare. While he went shopping for these items, Monique kept out of sight inside a church. She prayed for a safe arrival at Amberley, and the discomfiture of her unknown enemies. She also remembered to spare a short but fervent prayer for her wounded brother and her parents.

  Soon afterwards she donned the shocking male clothes among a clump of bushes and trees, while Captain Kinninmont was tactfully standing guard, his back turned. It felt strange not to have even a split skirt, and she had to take her corset off so that her overly small, compressed waist would be less in evidence. Would her organs tumble all over each other without its faithful support? She would just have to risk it.

  “Who are we now?” she asked as they rode on. The little mare stretched her neck to sniff at Emperor.

  “If those boy’s clothes were more fashionable, I could pretend to be your tutor. But it might be more credible that you are my late sister’s orphaned boy, David, whom I’m taking to stay with other relatives. A military man cannot look after a child.”