The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  Anne was slightly better the next morning and insisted on continuing the journey. As soon as they had breakfasted, more hot bricks and warm blankets were acquired and they set off in glorious sunshine, though the roads were full of puddles and the trees dripped water.

  Aunt Lane was her usual talkative self and did not seem to notice the silence of the other three. Lucy, of course, would not speak unless addressed, Anne was feeling too ill to bother and Jane was thinking of Donald. He had sent her home in the sure knowledge that she would eventually accept his proposal. And why should she not? Surely not because of the man who was sitting on the box of the coach in which they travelled, talking to Hoskins as if they had always been lifelong friends. She could hear his voice, though not what he said, and the occasional laugh. Harry was easily moved to laughter and just as easily roused to anger, unlike Donald, who was always calm and courteous; Mr Allworthy would never dream of raising his voice, either in anger or merriment. He was always so reasonable. And he had said he loved her.

  Then why was she not happy? Why was she prevaricating? She refused to entertain the idea it had anything to do with Captain Harry Hemingford, who had come back from the wars an embittered man. He might deny it, but she knew it was true. The past still haunted him. It was why he had all but ignored her at breakfast and wished himself anywhere but sharing a journey with her. Well, she did not wish it any more than he did!

  They stopped for the usual changes of horses, though the arrangements that had been so carefully made no longer worked because of their change of schedule, but Harry, who had become used to being obeyed, soon had the innkeepers and ostlers running about after him. ‘I am on my way to see the Regent; if I am detained he will want to know the reason why,’ he said in an imperious voice. ‘Find fresh horses at once. I don’t care where you get them from, just get them.’ And thus it was a gentleman going north who was obliged to wait for his horses so that Aunt Lane’s carriage could continue its journey.

  ‘What did he mean about the Regent?’ Aunt Lane mused, voicing the question that had been in Jane’s mind too.

  Anne smiled wanly. ‘We were supposed to be going to the banquet at Carlton House.’

  ‘Good heavens! Do you mean to say you have been invited?’

  ‘We would hardly go without an invitation.’

  ‘But that must mean the Regent has forgiven your brother.’

  ‘Why should he not? He has forgiven his own brother, so why not mine? I know which of the two was most at fault.’

  ‘And you were looking forward to it,’ Jane put in, when she realised her aunt was so thunderstruck she had flopped back in her seat and was applying her fan vigorously to her hot face.

  ‘Yes, of course. It is not every day one is invited to dine with royalty.’

  Jane did not think Anne would be well enough to go, but she was not given the chance to say so. Everything happened at once. They had been travelling through woods and had arrived at a very dense part where the trees almost met overhead, when they heard the sound of riders coming up behind them. Their driver slowed and pulled in to allow them to pass on the narrow road, but instead of passing, they rode alongside, their black riding cloaks flying out behind them and eyes covered by masks. ‘Highwaymen,’ Lucy shrieked. ‘We’ll all be murdered!’

  One of them men, apparently their leader, waved a pistol at Hoskins and commanded him to stop. The four women in the coach stared at each other when, instead of obeying, he whipped the horses into a gallop that flung them about like rag dolls and had them clinging to each other in terror. But a laden coach could not outrun galloping horsemen and a pistol shot and the yelled command, ‘Pull up, if you want to live!’ brought the coach to a shuddering halt.

  Jane risked a look out of the window. There were three robbers; one was reloading his pistol, the second was training his gun on Hoskins and the third was pointing his gun at Harry. ‘Get down,’ he commanded.

  The coachman hurriedly obeyed, but Harry hesitated; it was not in his nature to give way to threats and his mind was working fast. He was no match for three men, two of whom had loaded pistols, and he had to consider the women. He risked a glance down at the coach. Jane had her head out of the door and that cursed necklace was dangling from her neck like an open invitation!

  The robber noticed the direction of Harry’s glance and his eyes gleamed with avarice. Still training his gun on Harry, he moved forward to rip the pendant from Jane’s neck. His inattention, though only momentary, was long enough for Harry to launch himself on top of him and bring him down. They rolled together on the ground, trading blows, first one on top and then the other. The man who had fired his pistol was busy reloading it, while the other dare not shoot for fear of hitting the wrong man. Aunt Lane was screaming fit to burst out of her stays, Lucy was hugging herself and moaning and Anne’s already pale face had lost the last vestige of its colour.

  Only Jane retained her wits and she could see the man’s gun had been knocked from his grasp and was lying just under the carriage. Making sure the other two would-be robbers were busy watching the scuffle, she opened the door, sprang down and seized the weapon. But having picked it up, she did not know what to do with it. She stood pointing it at one of the men, her hand shaking visibly. She hadn’t intended to fire it, but there was a flash and a bang that sent her reeling and the man yelled and fell from his horse. His own gun went flying from his hand and was grabbed by Hoskins, who had obeyed instructions to sit on the ground with his hands on his head.

  Horrified at what she had done, Jane dropped the smoking pistol and stood transfixed. The man with the half-loaded gun, seeing the tables had been turned, put spurs to his horse and disappeared into the trees.

  Harry finally overcame the leader of the gang with a blow to his chin, which would have felled an ox, and stood up, ‘Tie them up,’ he commanded Hoskins before going over to Jane, dabbing at a cut on his cheek with his handkerchief. There was a bruise on his mouth and another on his forehead, his jacket was torn and there were more red marks on his hands and arms where he had parried blows. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ She was shaking violently. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘That was a fool thing to do,’ he said, shocked by the enormity of what she had done. ‘You could have been shot yourself.’

  ‘So could you. You threw yourself at that man and I could not sit by and do nothing to help.’ She wanted to fling herself into his arms and sob her heart out. She had injured another human being and she felt overwhelmed with guilt. ‘I did not mean to hit anyone.’

  ‘Then let us be thankful your aim was poor; if you had not floored the rogue and if the other had not run away…’ He wished he dare take her in his arms, cradle her head against his chest until she stopped trembling, but he knew she would rebuff him. ‘Now, we must decide what to do about those two,’ he added, indicating the robbers. The leader was trussed up with a rope that was kept in the boot to tie luggage on the roof and Hoskins was about to start on the other one.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ she asked, indicating the wounded man.

  ‘Right enough to stand trial. It is only a flesh wound in his leg.’ He could hear Lucy sobbing and Mrs Lane’s sharp voice telling the girl to pull herself together, just as if she had not been shrieking herself not five minutes before. ‘I assume everyone else is all right?’

  ‘Frightened.’

  He grinned. ‘And you were not?’

  ‘I was terrified. But I think I had better see what I can do to help that poor man.’

  ‘That poor man, as you call him, was bent on robbing you and he would not have hesitated to shoot anyone who got in his way.’

  ‘All the same, I must see to him.’

  ‘Then for goodness’ sake take that necklace off and put it somewhere safe. If you had not been flaunting it—’

  ‘I was not flaunting it,’ she retorted. ‘Mr Allworthy asked me to wear it in remembrance of him.’

  ‘Then he is a fool!’

&nb
sp; ‘I won’t have you speaking of him like that. He is a kind and generous man.’

  ‘Who nearly got us all killed.’

  ‘Oh, there is no talking to you,’ she snapped. Taking off the necklace, she took it to the coach and handed it silently to Aunt Lane before going to bend over the wounded man to see what she could do to help him. He had pulled off his mask and was revealed as a young man of about twenty, with a mop of fair hair and pale blue eyes clouded with pain. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, bending to examine his leg. The bullet appeared to have gone clean through the flesh of his calf and torn the muscle, but it did not look as though it had touched bone, although there was a great deal of blood and it was obviously painful. ‘I did not mean to hurt you.’

  He grinned. ‘Then I should hate to be in your sights if you did mean it.’

  ‘You should not have tried to rob us, you know. The ladies in the coach are in great distress. But I will do what I can to make you more comfortable’ She went back to Harry, who was reassuring himself that Anne and the others were not hurt. ‘Captain, will you be so good as to fetch my portmanteau from the boot? I have a cambric petticoat in there which I can use for bandages and there are scissors in my workbox.’

  ‘You are never going to doctor him?’ Aunt Lane was horrified at the idea.

  ‘I must help him. I wounded him and he’ll bleed to death if something is not done. I could not bear to have his death on my conscience.’

  ‘He would have killed you and thought nothing of it.’

  ‘I do not think so. He was as frightened as I was. No doubt he was coerced by that other ruffian.’ She left them and went round to the back of the coach where Harry had her portmanteau on the ground. ‘I have seen the older man before,’ she told him. ‘It was in King’s Lynn. On the docks near the Fair Trader. But if he was, what is he doing here?’

  ‘Jumped ship, perhaps,’ he said laconically.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She picked a petticoat out of her case, tore a large strip off it and took the rest of it and the scissors to Lucy and instructed her to cut it into bandages. Then she went back to her patient and made a pad of the cloth to staunch the flow of blood.

  The man submitted stoically as she pressed the pad on the wound. ‘You are more than a pretty little thing, ain’t you?’ he grunted. ‘It is almost worth being shot to have such an angel of mercy to tend my wounds.’

  ‘That’s enough of your impertinence,’ Harry growled, watching her at work. ‘Think yourself fortunate you are being looked after, for if I had my way I’d leave you where you fell.’

  Jane took the bandages from Lucy and finished binding up the wounded leg. ‘There,’ she said. ‘That will do until you can be seen by a doctor.’

  She looked up at Harry to find him grinning broadly. ‘Oh, Jane, my sweet girl, you are too good to be true. The man is a criminal. He does not deserve your compassion.’

  She stood up beside him. ‘He is a human being and he has been hurt. I hurt him.’

  ‘I am a human being and I was hurt,’ he said softly. ‘I do not remember you being so gentle with me.’

  She turned to look at him and was unable to make up her mind whether he was roasting her or making a serious point. Whichever it was, it reminded her of something she had tried hard to forget and had failed miserably in doing. She did not answer him, but put her head in the air and climbed back into the coach. Now the danger was past, the hysterics forgotten, they were all telling each other how exciting it had been and how brave Captain Hemingford was. Mrs Lane, in particular, was inclined to amend her previous poor opinion of him. ‘We would have been robbed of everything we possessed if it had not been for your brother,’ she told Anne, who was sitting quietly in the corner wishing for her bed. ‘He was brave as a lion.’

  ‘Naturally he was,’ Anne said. ‘I never expected anything else from him.’

  Harry and the coachman had caught the robbers’ horses, but though the older one was able to ride, even with his hands tied, it was plainly too much for the wounded man and the climb on to the driving seat of the coach was impossible. ‘We might squeeze five into the carriage if everyone was fit and healthy,’ Jane said. ‘But Anne is ill and the young man’s leg needs to be kept up or he will bleed again.’

  Harry realised the truth of this. ‘If you would consent to ride up beside Hoskins,’ he said. ‘I will ride the other horse.’

  ‘Oh, then he shall teach me to tool a coach,’ she said irrepressibly.

  A few minutes later, everyone was organised. The wounded man sat beside Lucy with Mrs Lane opposite him, determined not to take her eyes off him for a single second, while Anne was bundled in rugs in the opposite corner. Jane climbed up beside Hoskins.

  Their coachman was a thickset man in his early forties, but he was happy as a lark to have a pretty girl beside him and, as soon as they left the forest behind, gave way to her entreaties to be allowed to take the ribbons. She had driven her father’s gig in the country and once Harry had allowed her to drive his curricle on the estate roads, but neither experience was anything like driving a coach and four. She listened to his instructions carefully and allowed him to put a gnarled hand over hers to guide her, but she loved the sensation of being in control. It allowed her to put to the back of her mind her lack of control where Harry Hemingford was concerned. She was sorry when Hoskins took over again to take them into Epping.

  The leader of the robbers, who could not guide his horse with his hands tied behind his back, was being led by Harry who questioned him as they rode. He learned the man was not a seaman but a docker, and had been engaged on loading the Fair Trader and its cargo. ‘Wine and tea and precious jewels,’ he told Harry. ‘Not all of it on the manifest.’

  So, it was a smuggler’s ship. ‘What do they take out?’

  He shrugged. ‘Manufactured goods: woollen cloth, ornaments, mirrors, umbrellas and walking sticks.’

  ‘Umbrellas and walking sticks?’

  ‘That’s what we were told. The nabobs and Indians like them.’

  ‘You’re a long way from port. What made you change your lay?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Had a disagreement with the ship’s owner. We took the risks and he reaped the benefit. That ain’t right, now, is it?’

  This was very interesting information and Harry studied the man for several seconds before speaking again. ‘Supposing I let you go, would you do something for me?’

  ‘Depends what it is. And what about my mate? Can’t leave ’im to go to rumbo on ’is own, now, can I?’

  ‘He can go too. All I want is information.’

  ‘Then let’s ’ear it.’

  Harry explained what he wanted and how much he would pay for it, at the end of which the man, who said his name was Jerry Thoms, nodded agreement. ‘Smugglin’s one thing,’ he said. ‘A keg or two of brandy and a few cases o’ tea comin’ in is one thing, but we don’t hold with sendin’ no guns to the Frenchies, not nohow. I’m your man and Dick will be too when I tells ’im.’

  ‘Do you have anywhere you can stay while his wound mends?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a certain wench at the Hungry Horse, if you would be so good as to take us there.’

  Instead of going to the town gaol, Harry directed Hoskins to take the coach to the Hungry Horse, where the two men were left. ‘They did not manage to steal anything,’ he explained to the ladies. ‘I had not the heart to send them to gaol and almost certain hanging.’

  Jane was glad; she did not like the idea of the young man going to prison, especially after she had wounded him. Aunt Lane was not so sure, but she knew if they handed the men over to the law, they would probably have to give evidence to a magistrate and that would delay them even further. And she was anxious to call on the Countess as arranged.

  They changed the horses and set off again, this time with Jane in the carriage and Harry tooling the coach. He was a good whipster and the miles passed pleasantly. At the last change of horses before London, Harry returned to the ladies in the coach. �
�If you do not object,’ he said, speaking to Mrs Lane, ‘we will go to Bostock House first and leave Anne with Miss Parker and then see you safely home.’

  ‘Oh, no, Anne is coming home with me,’ Jane said. ‘She needs someone to look after her and, admirable as Miss Parker is, I do not think she can manage on her own. Ask Hoskins to take us straight home. You can send Miss Parker to us later.’

  ‘Jane, please do not put yourself to the trouble…’ Anne began, but was quickly silenced.

  ‘It is no trouble, and if I cannot help a friend then I am a poor thing.’

  ‘Mrs Lane?’ Harry queried.

  ‘Of course your sister must come to us, I never thought otherwise,’ the good lady said.

  ‘But, Harry, what about the banquet?’ Anne asked, though it was evident to everyone she was not fit to be out at all, let alone at a banquet. Her nose was blocked and her eyes were streaming.

  ‘To hell with the banquet,’ he said, not even bothering to apologise for his language. ‘Come on, the sooner we get you to bed and a doctor called, the better.’

  As soon as they arrived, Anne was put to bed in Jane’s room, while another was prepared for her; the footman was dispatched to bring a doctor; Lucy supervised the unloading of the luggage and Mr Hemingford, emerging from his study, demanded to know why they were a whole day late and what was that rakeshame doing in his house and in no fit state to be seen in civilised society?

  ‘I shall be out of it directly,’ Harry said. ‘As soon as a doctor has seen my sister.’