Something tugged at Charlie’s heart. Just imagine: not being able to walk, especially at a time like this, when the air was filled with the sweet smell of spring! Charlie leaned forward to lightly touch the other girl’s hand. “I’m so very sorry.”
Lady Isabella’s head swung around. “You mustn’t pity me, Miss Stanton,” she said quickly. “You see, I have thought about this quite often and I have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, rather lucky.”
“Lucky?” Charlie’s brows rose.
“Certainly.” Lady Isabella nodded. “My family is rich. They can afford a wheeling chair, a carriage and a companion—all for me. But just think of those poor veterans you sometimes see in the streets. Many of them have lost limbs in the war, and many of them don’t have families who could support them, and thus they have ended up as beggars. So yes, I consider myself very lucky indeed,” she said firmly.
Charlie stared. “Well…” She cleared her throat, at a loss what to say.
Lady Isabella gave an embarrassed little laugh. “How strange it is to talk to you like this.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “As I said, I have thought about this quite often, but I have never talked to anybody about it.” A frown appeared between her brows. “Nobody has ever asked, you know.”
Charlie cleared her throat and self-consciously pushed her spectacles up her nose. “You must think me impertinent.”
“Oh no! Never that!” Now it was Lady Isabella’s turn to touch Charlie’s hand. “I find it—” She cocked her head to the side. “—refreshing. Yes, refreshing.”
Relief spread through Charlie, making her grin. Comparing the other girl to the Grail King hadn’t been so very stupid after all!
“You seem to be genuinely interested,” Lady Isabella continued. “Most people are only interested in the gory details, so they have something to prattle about—and to tell my brother how irresponsible he is.” She grimaced. “I hate that!”
“Your brother?” In front of Charlie’s inner eye rose the image of that stern-faced gentleman. Well, he hadn’t been quite so stern-faced when they had been dancing, had he? He had smelled very nice, too, and the touch of his hands… Merely thinking about his large hands made her stomach all aflutter.
Pea-goose! Charlie scolded herself, and aloud, she asked, “Was he involved in the accident, then?”
“Not at all. But it was his phaeton. One of those impossibly high things you see the young gentlemen drive around Town. My other brother, my eldest brother, that is, wished to prove—goodness knows what exactly he wanted to prove to George. And to me. He invited me to drive with him, you know.”
“It sounds like a complicated situation,” Charlie said.
“Oh, in my experience male pride always complicates things.” Lady Isabella rolled her eyes. “And William had more than his fair share of it. I believe he resented the fact that George was the more athletic of the two. A better fencer, better with horses, and a better driver, too. William didn’t like it. After all, he was the elder. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
For a moment, the two girls sat in silence, shaking their heads at the general strangeness of men.
“In the village back at home, there was a young man—I don’t think you would call him a gentleman—there was a young man who believed he was more apt at dealing with wild boars,” Charlie offered. “He sprouted things like how God had created Man to deal with dangerous beasts and protect the women and children. I mean, really, have you read anywhere in the Bible that God ever said to Moses or Abraham or to any of the prophets, ‘Only thou shalt fight against the wild animals of the forest’? He was lucky the only part of his that the boar managed to rip open when he climbed up on that tree was his—” Charlie frowned and searched for a polite euphemism. “Well, that part of his body he usually sits upon. Not that he sat upon it much after that particular episode. Oh no, not for a long time!”
She became aware that Lady Isabella was staring at her in a most peculiar fashion, which made her wonder whether she had committed another faux pas and whether wild boars were deemed an unsuitable topic in London society. She hadn’t seen any wild boars since her arrival, so perhaps they were considered unworthy of being talked about. Which was entirely unfair when they presented such a problem in other parts of the country.
Nevertheless, Charlie decided it was wiser to turn the conversation back to the original topic. “So, your brother—George?—is a good driver?”
Lady Isabella blinked. “One of the best,” she said slowly and not without pride. “Have you heard of the Four-in-Hand club?—No? It is one of the dashier gentlemen’s clubs. George should have been a member; perhaps he would have become a member if…” Lady Isabella swallowed. “If it had not been for the accident.”
Lines of strain bracketed her mouth, and impulsively, Charlie once again reached out to touch her hand. “What happened?” she asked.
The other girl sniffed inelegantly. “One day George came to a family dinner—sometimes he does, even though he lives at the Albany…”
Charlie nodded, even though she had never heard of this Albany before. Was it a foreign country? But surely Lady Isabella couldn’t mean that her brother lived in a foreign country! Casually coming to dinner would be a rather awkward affair in that case!
“So he came to dinner that evening and couldn’t stop talking about that new phaeton he had bought. My father and William did not approve, of course,” Lady Isabella added with a sigh. “They thought George nothing but an idle buck around Town.”
What a mean-spirited thing, to take one’s father’s against one’s brother! Charlie didn’t think she liked the sound of this brother William.
“So George said that driving such a carriage was an art. At which William said that everybody could do it. I…” Lady Isabella frowned. “I think I must have giggled or have made some such other sound of amusement. In any case, it made William furious. He rounded on me, told me how disappointed he was that his only sister’s head could be turned by such trivial nonsense.”
That clinched the matter: Brother William, Charlie decided, had been a mean, knavish churl. Not just siding against his own brother, but being nasty to his sister, too! And a sweeter girl Charlie had rarely met.
“I believe it was at this point that he got up from the table and ordered a footman to have George’s phaeton brought around to the front entrance,” Lady Isabella said with a small shudder. “He and George exchanged words; my father tried to intervene and told William not to be a bigger fool than his brother. And William said the earl couldn’t expect his eldest-born to behave in a cowardly fashion. ‘Just think of Nelson,’ he said.”
The two girls exchanged glances.
Lady Isabella’s face looked white and peakish, which made Charlie’s heart clench in sympathy. Maybe she should send for a bottle of Mr Brown’s Fantasticular Formula. According to rumour, the apothecary of Ardochlan had invented the formula especially for Miss Pinkerton. Some of the girls at St. Cuthbert’s even believed that many, many years ago Mr Brown had had a tendre for Miss Pinkerton and that his Fantasticular Formula was his token of affection for her. It was given to girls whom Miss Pinkerton deemed too thin or too pale, and within a month it usually worked its magic and let roses bloom on pale cheeks. And if anybody could do with some roses on her cheeks, it was poor Lady Isabella.
Charlie raised her brows. “What has Nelson got to do with it? He steered ships, not horses.” Much to the delight of the St. Cuthbertians. Though eventually they had—en masse—decided that the study of navy lists provided much less entertainment than the re-enactment of the Battle of Trafalgar on the village pond. And in their version, Lord Nelson had won the battle and survived it!
If possible, Lady Isabella’s face had turned even paler and more anxious. “I believe my brother referred to duty and honour and… such things.” Her lips trembled. “He told me to come with him and to bear witness as I so obviously d-doubted…” Her voice broke, and tears shimmered in her eyes.
A wave of anger welled up in Charlie. No, she wouldn’t have liked Brother William had she ever met him. Once more, she reached out and covered Lady Isabella’s hand with hers. “Please, you needn’t go on with this. I can see how greatly it disturbs you to talk about these events. It was very wrong of me to ask you—”
“Oh no!” Vehemently, the other girl shook her head and started to rummage in her reticule. “I have never… I feel that you… I… Drat, where did I put my handkerchief?” she burst out, then shot a sheepish glance at Charlie. “Oh, you must think me demented!”
“Not at all,” Charlie quickly reassured her. She had meanwhile located her own handkerchief and offered it to Lady Isabella.
“You are very kind,” the girl said, dabbing the corner of her eyes, and sniffed.
Charlie eyed her critically. “You ought to give your nose a good blow. Miss Pinkerton always says that blowing your nose well and good gives your airways a nice airing and unblocks your brain. Apparently that is why gentlemen are so fond of snuff.”
From the box seat came a wheezing noise, followed by an apologetic murmur.
Lady Isabella seemed sceptical as to Miss Pinkerton’s remedies for unblocking noses and brains all at once, but finally gave it a try.
“Very good,” Charlie praised her. “See if you don’t feel better in a trice. And you mustn’t go on with the story if you feel you can’t.”
But the use of the handkerchief seemed to have restored Lady Isabella’s equanimity. “There isn’t much left to tell. As I said, William insisted on me accompanying him—despite George’s protests, I might add. It soon became clear that driving such a high phaeton was indeed a delicate business and that William wasn’t up to it. He handled the horses too roughly, too. It was a pretty pair of greys, but very highstrung, I believe.” She sighed. “Apparently we took a corner too fast and the whole carriage overbalanced. You must understand that I have no memory of the actual accident, which is a blessing, perhaps.” She lifted her shoulders as if she were suddenly cold. “Poor William died, whereas I remained alive. But the carriage landed on me, hence…” She pointed at her legs. “I have no memory of that either. Only of the weeks and months that followed.”
How ghastly! Charlie would have liked nothing more than to dash to Lady Isabella’s side and give her a big, hearty hug. But as this surely would be considered most unseemly here in London, she forced herself to say evenly, “Those weeks must have been… unpleasant.”
“Yes. Yes, they were.” Lady Isabella stared at the trees that slowly rolled by, as they entered a part of the Park where the trees and bushes stood more densely.
For a moment the two girls remained silent.
“Naturally, my parents blamed George,” Lady Isabella finally continued, her voice brisk. “It is beastly unfair; he tried to keep William from taking the phaeton. Still, they can’t forgive him for having become the heir. For some reason, they pretend he did it on purpose when nothing could be further from the truth!”
Too shocked to speak, Charlie stared at her. This was truly monstrous! The poor man! She remembered the lines of strain in his face that evening in those moments when his polite mask had slipped. No wonder he looked like three days of rain! In his situation anybody could be excused if they suffered from an attack of the blue devils. Merely thinking about the cross injustice done to him made her feel sick.
Lady Isabella leaned forward. “I hate it!” she whispered fiercely. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate how they treat my brother!”
Charlie took her hand and pressed her fingers in sympathy.
“It wasn’t his fault,” the girl continued, her voice rising with agitation.
“Of course it wasn’t,” Charlie tried to soothe her. “I am sure—”
Something rustled in the bushes in front of them and their horses whinnied as another equine stepped out of the greenery to block their path. On it sat a shabbily dressed man whose lower face was hidden behind a grimy neckcloth and who was holding a gun in his hand.
“Oh dear,” Charlie said. “Not again.”
~*~
Naturally, Randolf Butling had heard all about the accident that had befallen Long John and Short Jimmy up in the north. The two men had become the table-sport in all the dingy taverns up and down the country. Randy But had been among those who had laughed the loudest. Just imagine: two strapping lads, tanned and towelled up by two titters! Yes, he had laughed and laughed until his belly hurt. Those two, Long John and Short Jimmy, must be such damned weaklings that every crook in England ought to be ashamed for them!
Obviously, Randy But had never heard of any such wisdoms that pertained to Tempting Fate and Pride cometh before the fall.
So this morning Fate decided to teach Randy But a lesson.
When he nudged his horse to step out of the bushes, he didn’t yet know that Lady Fortuna was turning her wheel (smiling) and that he was bound on a downspin. But he was soon to find out. His fall would be steep. And it would hurt.
A lot.
For now, he pointed his pistol at the lad on the box seat. “No funny stuff, eh?”
One of the chits, a tall, bony gal, stood up. “And what do you think you are doing?” she asked loudly. She had a nerve! But her lofty, nobbish ways wouldn’t help her now. The Park was deserted, as he well knew, and if she thought she could call for help, she was mistaken, oh yes, missy, she was!
He sneered behind his mask. “Your money and jewels, tutt-switt.”
“You want to rob us?” The bony chit’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “You want to rob us?”
The other chit tugged at the sleeve of her dainty jacket thing. “Miss Stanton, I beg you–”
Yet apparently, the stupid bony chit was bent on her destruction.
Randy But nudged his horse and steered it to the side of the carriage so he could level the pistol directly at her. “Don’t make me repeat meself,” he growled.
“You cannot rob us!” Her arms moved through the air. “This is outrageous!” She bent to retrieve something from the bottom of the carriage.
“Eh!” Randy shouted. “No funny stuff, I said!”
She must be hard of hearing because she straightened and held up what looked like a crutch. “See? My friend is an invalid. So you simply cannot rob us!”
The chit thought…? The mind boggled.
“Oh Miss Stanton,” the other one whispered. Beet-red she was.
The cork-brained chit turned to her. “Was it wrong of me to have said that? I am so sorry. I didn’t want to embarrass you, but he simply cannot–”
At that point Randy had had enough. Clearly, the stupid girl was a lunatic. “Your money!” he yelled, loud enough to startled the horses. “Now!”
She turned to him. “Didn’t you hear a word of what I said?” She waved the crutch. “Poor Lady Isabella is an invalid and you want to rob her?”
“What do I care ‘bout a damned nob?” he snarled—menacingly enough to shut the stupid chit up, he saw with satisfaction. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for long.
“That’s… that’s…” she spluttered. With her free hand she righted her spectacles. “You pig!”
At first sight a wooden crutch might look like no match for a dangerous firearm. Indeed, in most cases it is no match for a dangerous firearm. But thrown with a degree of force and a measure of accuracy, it can do a certain amount of damage, alright.
Especially if it hits a person right between the eyes.
Even more so if the person in question is sitting on a horse at the moment of impact.
With a dull thud, Randy But hit the ground.
His poor, confused horse took a nervous step to the side—and stepped on his hand. The pain of a myriad of small bones breaking was enough to rip Randy out of blessed semi-unconsciousness.
He howled.
Not for long, though.
“That will teach you!” somebody said. It was the dreadful, bony chit. No, two of them. They had doubled… tripled, even… ‘Arpi
es, all of them.
Gritting his teeth, Randy fumbled for his pistol. “You bloody…” he panted. “…damned…”
“Oh no, you don’t!” And with these words the ‘arpy kicked his privates.
The world went dark around Randy.
~*~
The comfortable sound of crunching gravel in her ear, Charlie used a corner of her blanket to rub a smudge of dirt off the pistol. “It’s a pretty little thing.” She glanced up at Lady Isabella, who still wore an alarmingly stunned look. “I haven’t damaged the crutch, have I? I would hate if that had happened. You see,” she said earnestly, “I acted instinctively. It’s because of the song.”
“The song,” Lady Isabella echoed faintly.
“Our school song. It’s very uplifting. And instructive. See?” And she began to sing in a loud, lusty voice as became a student of Miss Pinkerton’s Academy for Young Ladies. “Maidens of St. Cuthbert’s” was a most uplifting song and contained much useful advice in regard to Grabbing the Nearest Weapon as well as a detailed elaboration on The Importance of Getting One’s Blow in First. The song ended triumphantly on “St. Cuthbert’s, St. Cuthbert’s, will live forever ever more!"—in forte fortissimo, of course.
Lost in reminiscences, Charlie gave a happy sigh. “Miss Pinkerton was always so careful that we should learn for life. That is so important, don’t you think so?”
“You saved our lives,” Lady Isabella said, her voice still trembling.
Charlie felt a blush rise in her face. “Nonsense,” she said briskly in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. “It was all a matter of getting one’s blow in first. It wouldn’t have been necessary, of course, if that pig-person had had better manners. Or at least, if he hadn’t been so stubborn. A most unpleasant man, I have to say. How unfortunate that such unsavoury characters seem to abound in England. I trust it is advisable to be armed when going out and about in these regions.”
Springtime Pleasures Page 6
