by Carola Dunn
"I cannot see why I should not have a proper Society wedding in Town,” Henrietta argued. “There will be no scandal when people learn that you have been with me all the time."
"But if you go back to London, I shan't be with you all the time. Whatever you do, I'm going to Gretna Green."
Henrietta pouted, her eyes filling with tears. Fortunately the kitten woke up and stretched. Easily distracted, she began to play with it, leaving Penny to her thoughts.
She contemplated the discovery that Jason, like Angus, had been coerced into heading for the Border. Since he had planned to ask Mr. White for Henrietta's hand in marriage, in accordance with the dictates of propriety and etiquette, perhaps he wasn't a fortune-hunter after all. If he were not in desperate need of Henrietta's dowry, then he must be desperately in love with her to incur the scorn of the Haut Ton by marrying the daughter of a Cit.
And the Cit's daughter only loved him for his title and his handsome face. Penny's heart bled for him. Lost in thought, she didn't notice that the kitten had decided to explore the carriage and was scrambling up the grey velvet seat back beside her.
"Watch out, Miss Penny,” croaked Cora, too late.
Lily pounced on the curling white ostrich plume. Her weight dragged the new bonnet, its ribbons untied, from Penny's head. Cat and hat landed on the seat, the kitten underneath. With a wail of fright, Lily disentangled herself and leaped across the carriage, arriving with extended claws on Mrs. Ratchett's vast, black-clad lap.
Mrs. Ratchett screeched as piercingly as if all the fiends of hell had attacked her with their pitchforks. Her little eyes disappeared, her little mouth was a perfeet O, and her little, plump, black-gloved hands batted at the kitten much as the kitten had batted at the handkerchief. Already recovered from her shock, Lily assumed she wanted to play. She pounced on one hand, which promptly rose in the air, carrying her with it. The screeching redoubled.
Penny, Cora, and Henrietta converged on the swinging kitten. Cora dropped out in a fit of sneezing; Penny grabbed Mrs. Ratchett's arm and held it still, while ineffectually trying to hush the woman; Henrietta, with the greatest aplomb, extricated claws from glove and skin and sat down, cradling her pet and cooing soothingly.
After all, she was the only one not yet victimized by her ferocious pet.
Mrs. Ratchett fell silent at last, breathing heavily. Penny turned to retrieve her bonnet and realized that at some point during the fracas the carriage had come to a halt and the drama had played to an audience consisting of Lord Kilmore, Angus, and several fascinated ostlers.
"My dear Doctor,” said his lordship. “I fear we have missed all the fun.” Angus grunted. “Henrietta, my dear, I trust you are unhurt?"
"Oh yes, Jason. Lily would never harm me. She was frightened."
"That cat,” Mrs. Ratchet wheezed, her voice full of venom, “I'll—"
"'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” Penny put in hastily.
"'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,'” added Jason. Penny wasn't sure whether he was referring to Mrs. Ratchett or Lily. “Perhaps you had best take a look, Doctor,” he went on.
Angus stepped forward, moving awkwardly, and examined the pudgy, white hand held out for his inspection. “Nary a mark,” he declared, then backed out in a hurry as Mrs. Ratchett began to raise her skirts. “If there's aught else troubling you, I'll take a look when we stop at Doncaster."
Mrs. Ratchett protested. “I ain't about to wait—"
"It's only nine miles,” Jason assured her. “I daresay you ladies will be ready for a cup of tea by then."
"And something to eat,” Penny promised, in a blatant—and effective—appeal to her chaperon's greed. Brightening, Mrs. Ratchett subsided. “Where are we now, my lord?” Penny asked.
"This is the Crown at Bawtry. We could spend the night in Doncaster,” he continued in a low voice, “but I thought you'd prefer to go on as far as Ferrybridge before we stop."
"Yes, please, if it will not inconvenience you."
"I rely on you, Miss Bryant, to persuade Henrietta that it's what she wants. Doctor, are you quite sure you won't rejoin the ladies?"
"Do, Angus,” Penny invited, realizing the cause of his clumsy movements. “You are not accustomed to riding so far."
"I s'll thank ye tae believe I ken ma ane abilities, Penelope,” he said crossly.
Watching him mount with painful caution, Penny wished she had found some other reason to request his return to the carriage. Of course he didn't wish to admit to his ineptitude before Lord Kilmore, who looked perfectly at ease in the saddle, as if he had ridden a mile or two, not eighteen.
She seemed fated to say the wrong thing to Angus, she thought gloomily. Doubtless a few years of marriage would teach her how to deal comfortably with him.
She sighed.
CHAPTER TEN
At Doncaster, Dr. Knox had to be helped down from his mount. Legs astraddle and wearing a look of grim determination, he escorted the ladies into the Salutation Inn. Jason, pausing to give Mullins his instructions, watched the doctor sardonically. He sympathized with the man's unwillingness to be put to the blush before his beloved, but he looked more the fool now than if he had admitted he was unused to long hours on horseback.
"I suppose we cannot expect to get away in less than half an hour,” he said to the coachman. “You'll see to the team, and one saddle horse."
Mullins grinned. “Right, m'lord."
"Get yourself a heavy-wet.” Jason dropped a sixpence into the expectant palm and went into the inn.
Penny was lingering by the door to the coffee room, under pretext of studying an atrocious print of a horse-race. He was sure she was waiting for him.
"Miss Bryant, you have missed your history lesson,” he teased. “Races have been held on the Town Moor, just south of Doncaster, for at least a century, but the famous St. Leger was first run in 1776, at which time the grandstand was also built. Perhaps you noticed it as we drove past?"
"Yes, but that's not what I wished to talk to you about, my lord. Angus cannot possibly ride any farther. He is in the greatest discomfort. Fortunately the prospect of food has made Mrs. Ratchett forget her injuries, so he will not be called upon to examine her. Why, he dare not even sit down!” She smothered a giggle. “It is cruel to laugh at him."
"You are the one laughing, not I,” he pointed out, trying not to grin but knowing she was aware that he shared her amusement. He was puzzled, too. She laughed at the Scotsman, yet she must love him greatly or she would not be so afraid of the pursuit which might stop her wedding him. “Perhaps we should stay here after all?” he suggested.
"Oh, no. I have just succeeded in persuading Henrietta to go on."
"And how did you manage that, Miss Bryant?"
"I explained to her the difficult concept that the farther we go today, the less the distance to Gretna and the sooner we shall arrive there."
"The poor child is tired of travelling, I fear,” he said wryly.
"But it was her choice."
"She told you that?"
"Yes—a romantic dash to the Border with a dashingly romantic nobleman.” Her voice was ironic, but then she added with apparent concern, “You must not think that she is regretting it, sir. She's only eager to reach Gretna and be married."
"As are we all.” He studied her face, but her long, fair lashes were lowered now, veiling the expression in those grey-green eyes.
"Of course.” She avoided his implicit question. “Shall we join the others?"
He followed her across the room. Though she must be as weary as any of them, especially after the morning's mishaps, she moved with graceful dignity, her head held high. Her figure really was admirable.
Her betrothed, on the other hand, presented a sorry figure as he stood by the table in his drab, ill-fitting coat, leaning unobtrusively on the back of a chair. Seating Penny, he said to Jason, “I have ordered tea and ale, my lord, and cakes for the ladies."
"Excellent. Plenty of cakes, I trust.” He
sat down and the doctor, unable to delay the moment any longer, gingerly lowered himself with a suspicion of a groan onto one of the hard wooden chairs.
The waiter arrived balancing two trays, one piled high with Yorkshire teacakes and Yorkshire parkin.
Mrs. Ratchett's eyes gleamed.
"Cousin Bartholomew would be aux anges,” said Penny tartly. “Local specialties excite him even more than food in general. Shall I pour the tea, Henrietta?"
"If you please. Pray give Cora a saucer of milk for Lily. Jason, I should like a macaroon."
The obliging waiter went off to see if he could procure some macaroons. When he returned with almond cakes instead, Henrietta pouted, then took a slice of parkin, abandoned it on discovering that it was too spicy, and finally settled on a buttered teacake.
Mrs. Ratchett had no objection to either almond cakes or parkin. “'Bring hither the fatted calf,'” she said with evident satisfaction.
Half an hour later, Jason wished he had limited the supply of refreshments. Mullins sent a message that the horses were ready, but Mrs. Ratchett still showed no sign of satiety. Penny glanced at her chaperon and gave a despairing shrug.
"Wrap everything that's left in a napkin,” Jason ruthlessly ordered the waiter. “We shall take it with us."
Riding ahead of the carriage, he imagined with a shudder the scene within. On one seat, Penny was squashed between Henrietta and the solidly built Scot. Facing her sat Cora, sniffing and sneezing, and Mrs. Ratchett who, no doubt, after munching cakes for a while would begin to snore again.
He had escaped for now, but Henrietta would naturally be offended if he chose to ride all day tomorrow rather than squeezing in at her side. Almost he regretted having taken up Miss Penelope Bryant and her followers—almost, but not quite. Only Penny's presence enlivened an otherwise unutterably dreary journey.
He should have guessed that Henrietta didn't understand the distance they had to travel. Had he run mad to agree to elope with her when he could quite well have married her respectably in Town?
It was too late now to change his mind. As the old saw had it, he had made his bed and now he must lie in it.
The carriage was far behind when Jason reached the Golden Lion at Ferrybridge, an attractive inn on the bank of the River Aire, close by the new bridge. Dismounting, he went in and ordered dinner, a private parlour, and five bedchambers. The place was large enough that Penny and Henrietta could each have a room to herself, and he had no intention of sharing with the Scotsman.
He went up to his chamber, a spacious apartment with the huge bed common to inns dating from a period when travellers not infrequently shared a bed with strangers. While he washed the road dirt from his face and hands, the bootboy brushed the worst of the mud from his top-boots. Going back downstairs, he stepped out of the front door just in time to see the maroon carriage round a bend and pull into the yard.
The worthy doctor was the first to step out, if “step” was the correct word. He moved with the crabbed caution of an eighty-year-old, having obviously stiffened during the drive.
Jason was wickedly tempted to offer his arm to help the man into the inn, but nobly he forbore, merely saying, “I ordered a hot bath for you, Knox. No doubt it will be ready soon, now that you are arrived."
He turned to hand the ladies down. Penny's face was stormy. Henrietta looked pale and fragile, and he realized with a rush of remorseful compassion that her tiredness was not simply the boredom of an empty mind. She really was a delicate child.
"We are well past half-way to Gretna, my dear,” he said. “Come, you will feel better after a meal and a good night's sleep.” He put his arm about her waist to support her and followed Penny and Angus, leaving Mullins to assist Mrs. Ratchett and Cora, who seemed to have developed a racking cough.
The landlord ushered them into the private parlour, promising that all the chambers would be ready and supplied with hot water in five minutes. Regardless of etiquette, the doctor creaked into a chair at the table, and Henrietta drooped into another opposite him. Penny dropped her reticule on the table and stripped off her gloves.
"This is intolerable!” she exclaimed.
"Admittedly, five minutes is a long time to wait,” said Jason, quizzing her, “but I fear this is the only inn in Ferrybridge."
She glared at him. “That dreadful woman only stops chewing or snoring to depress us with the Lamentations of Jeremiah. Poor Cora cannot help her coughs and sneezes but she is in no condition to travel. We cannot continue like this."
"Whisht noo, Penelope."
She transferred her glare to the doctor. “Don't whisht me! You are in no condition to ride, so that we are crammed in to the carriage like peas in a pod. If we were to send Cora and Mrs. Ratchett home there would be plenty of room for you."
"And for me,” Jason agreed. “An excellent notion, ma'am."
"Oot o’ the question. The baith o’ ye maun needs hae your chaperons."
"We can chaperon each other, can we not, Henrietta?"
"Perfectly adequate, in the circumstances.” Jason was enjoying the battle.
"But I cannot possibly manage without an abigail,” said Herrietta in a petulant voice.
"0’ course ye canna, Miss White. Naebody expects ye tae gang wi'oot."
"I can perfectly well help you with everything the chambermaids cannot do, Henrietta. Cora ought to be in bed, anyway."
A series of damply explosive sneezes at once underlined Penny's words and announced the arrival of Cora and Mrs. Ratchett.
"She certainly ought to retire immediately.” Jason regarded with pitying distaste the red-nosed, red-eyed maid, clutching her sodden handkerchief in one hand and the kitten's basket in the other. “Cora, you shall stay here a day or two, until you are somewhat recovered, and then go home to London on the mail coach."
"Oh, by lord, do't bake be go alode od the bail! Atchoo! Add what if the baster won't take be id, after I rud off with Biss Hedrietta?"
"'The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the—’”
"Mr. White will take you in,” Jason interrupted. He was thoroughly in sympathy with Penny's eagerness to be rid of her chaperon. “I promise you he won't hold it against you that you accompanied your mistress. I'll give you a letter for him.” Noting Penny's surprise at his certainty, he hurried on, “As for travelling alone, Mrs. Ratchett will stay with you here to take care of you, and go with you back to Town."
"That I will, and what's more I'll take you home with me if there's trouble with your master. I don't rightly hold with all this here travelling. ‘The eyes of a fool are in the ends of the earth.’”
"I canna gi’ ma consent. ‘Tis no proper for Penelope to be waiting on Miss White. Nay, they maun gang wi’ us.” With an air of finality Angus rose to his feet, unable to repress a moan as he did so.
"'Physician, heal thyself,'” observed Mrs. Ratchett maliciously.
The afflicted doctor scowled at her and changed his mind. “Verra weel, Penelope, if ye hae set your mind on it, I'll no stand in your way.” He stumped towards the door, where the innkeeper appeared to announce that all was now ready above stairs to receive the ladies and gentlemen.
"Your trick,” Jason murmured as Penny passed him. She flashed him a smile.
Alone in the parlour, he called for a bottle of claret, poured himself a glass of the ruby-rich wine, and emptied it. Refilled glass in hand, he strolled out to the front door to watch the sun sink between fiery wisps of cloud in a blaze which reminded him of Penny's hair.
The sound of a Scottish voice raised in exasperated protest floated from an open window above him, but he could not make out the words. A moment later the landlord hurried up to him.
"My lord! I beg your lordship's pardon, I'm sure, but the Scotch gentleman insists that the young ladies must share a chamber, and only your lordship's chamber is large enough without I turn out my other guests, being as I naturally gave your lordship the biggest available."
"Have them jo
in me, by all means,” he said affably.
The innkeeper produced a nervous smirk. “Your lordship is pleased to jest, but..."
"Come, man, of course you must give the ladies my room, with my compliments. You may put me where you will."
"The chamber directly opposite, my lord. ‘Tis a trifle on the small side, but I trust your lordship will be comfortable none the less."
"No doubt.” He waved dismissal and the man hurried off.
Returning to his contemplation of the sunset, Jason reflected that at least Angus Knox was no toad-eater. He never thought twice before contradicting the orders of his noble travelling companion, nor did he strive to humour his prospective bride. So perhaps Penny was not an heiress after all. The house in Russell Square could well belong to the uncle she feared so, and she herself might be no more than a poor relation.
She had brought only two gowns with her, he recalled, and she did not scruple to act as abigail to Henrietta. Yet he was sure she was paying for the journey. Could she have stolen the money from her uncle?
Jason had attempted an abduction, but in his worst moments he had never stooped to cheating or thievery. The suspicion that Penny was a thief ought to help him fight the attraction he felt for her. Even the possibility that she was poor ought to be enough to counteract her charms. But when he heard her voice behind him, he swung round with a glad heart and a smile of welcome on his lips.
"I have taken another trick, sir. I've persuaded Henrietta to lie down for half an hour before dinner. I am sadly in need of exercise. There can be no objection—do you think?—if I walk a short way along the river-bank before it grows dark."
"If you will accept my escort, ma'am, no objection at all."
The last streaks of red and gold faded from the western sky as they turned away from the bridge and strolled through deepening dusk along the flat, grassy bank. Mysterious plops and squeaks and scurryings suggested the presence of water-rats and other denizens of the river.. On the far side a duck flapped its wings, a flurry of quacks echoing across the water as it settled for the night. Somewhere an owl hooted.
