by Mary Nichols
‘Captain Alexander Carstairs, at your service, ma’am,’ he said, sweeping her a leg, a very elegant leg, she noticed.
‘I thank you for your assistance, Captain. It was lucky you were passing.’
‘I was not passing, I was heading here and just entering when the young man fell. It is surely dangerous to have stairs with no handrail?’
Henry started to explain the need for it, which made the Captain turn towards him and that gave Charlotte an opportunity to study him more closely. He was wearing a dark blue kerseymere suit of clothes, very plain but superbly tailored, a long pale blue waistcoat with large pockets and silver buttons, a white shirt and a neatly tied white muslin cravat. His stockings were white and his shoes had silver buckles. Besides being very tall, he was broad of shoulder and slim of hip. His hands were strong and capable. Her gaze travelled upwards. His dark hair was his own, worn long and tied back with a narrow black ribbon. He was most certainly not a fop. He turned back to her again and her breath caught in her throat. He had the most penetrating eyes, neither green nor brown but something in between, and they seemed to be looking right inside her, as if her skin and flesh were transparent and he could see secrets about her she had never even been aware of.
‘My daughter, Miss Gilpin,’ Henry said, waving a hand in her direction. ‘She likes to come and see her old father at work sometimes.’
Alex bowed to her again. ‘Miss Gilpin, how do you do?’
‘Well, thank you, Captain,’ she answered, resolving to have words with her father about the condescending way he had presented her. Likes to visit her old father, indeed! ‘How can we help you?’
‘I need to drive into the country and came to hire a carriage for the purpose.’
‘I am sure we can accommodate you.’ She held his eyes with her own, letting him know she was not the insignificant daughter her father would have him believe and that she was part of the workforce, but it took all her self-control. Being businesslike when one’s heart was definitely not behaving in a businesslike manner, but skipping and jumping about, was difficult. ‘What had you in mind?’
The doctor arrived before he could answer and as the room was not large enough for everyone, Charlotte led the Captain back into the main workshop so that her father could deal with the doctor. He hesitated, taking a look at Henry who was watching the doctor examine Joe, before deciding to follow her.
‘Now,’ she said, turning to face him, once more in command of herself. ‘Tell me, what do you have in mind?’
‘Do you not think we should wait for your father to join us?’
‘No. Do you suppose I am not capable of conducting the simple business of hiring out a coach?’ It was said with some asperity and served to disperse her last lingering discomposure.
‘Well...’ he began and then hesitated as her eyes challenged him.
‘I am a female and therefore useless, is that what you were about to point out to me?’
‘Oh, most definitely you are female—as to being useless, that I could not say.’ Now there was a teasing look in his eyes and it was most disconcerting. Was he laughing at her? She did not care for that at all.
‘Nevertheless,’ she told him. ‘I have been running about these workshops ever since I learned to walk and I also keep the books, so you can trust me to know what I am about. Tell me about the journey you wish to make. How far? Are you in some haste? What will the roads be like, smooth or rough? Do you go alone or will you have passengers and much luggage?’
‘You need to know a great deal considering all I came to do is hire a coach to take me to Norfolk.’
‘Ah, that has answered one of my questions,’ she said with a smile meant to disarm him, which it very nearly did. ‘And probably a second. I believe the roads to that part of the country are devilishly bad.’
‘Touché.’ He returned her smile with one of his own. It softened his features and she realised suddenly that the lines on his face had not all been made by wind and weather, some were laughter lines. The erratic heartbeats began all over again. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
‘Do you need a large conveyance for passengers and luggage, which will be slower, or something lighter to carry you swiftly?’
‘I might have a passenger for part of the way,’ he said. ‘And little luggage, but as you so rightly pointed out, the roads to Norfolk, once away from the capital, are dreadful, so the vehicle will need to be sturdy enough to withstand the jolting if we are to travel at speed.’
‘And do you intend to make just one journey or will you be coming backwards and forwards to the capital?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘If you hire a coach, you will need to return it by the arranged time and hiring over a long period will be more costly than buying an equipage. We have several second-hand coaches for sale, which I can show you or, if you are not in a hurry, we can construct one to your own specification. We can also supply you with horses.’
‘Do not tell me you are an expert on horseflesh as well,’ he said, laughing.
‘I know a good horse when I see one.’
‘And no doubt you are a bruising rider, to boot.’
She let that pass without comment. ‘There is a very good chaise in the yard, taken in part exchange for a newer model, which might very well suit you. Shall you take a look?’
‘Yes, I might as well see what you have to offer while we are waiting for Mr Gilpin to join us.’
She was annoyed by his attitude, but it was not the first time and she did not suppose it would be the last when customers treated her with condescension as if she were just out of the schoolroom and needed humouring. She was twenty-two years old; many ladies of her acquaintance had been married for years at that age and already had a brood of children. It was the only thing she regretted about her single state, she could not be a mother.
She conducted him outside, crossed the yard which had standing for a least a dozen coaches, and into another building, a vast barn-like area which contained a host of vehicles: town coaches, travelling coaches,
phaetons, landaus and landaulets, gigs and tilburys. There was even a magnificent berline. Some were plain, some highly decorated, but all bore the hallmark of the Gilpin works, meticulously finished and polished.
‘This chaise is a sturdy vehicle,’ she said, indicating a travelling coach in forest green, its only decoration lines of pale green about the body work and round the rims of the wheels. It was highly varnished, elegant but not ostentatious.
He walked all round it, rocked it on its springs, jumped on the coachman’s box with its red-and-green-striped hammercloth and sat there for a few moments before jumping down and climbing inside. The interior was upholstered in green velvet and there were light green curtains at the windows. He sat a moment and stretched out his legs. There was little leg room for one so tall, but that was not unexpected; he had yet to ride in a coach which allowed him the luxury of stretching out.
Charlotte watched him without speaking. He was undoubtedly athletic, climbing up and down with consummate ease, and the way he had climbed on the box suggested he was no stranger to driving a coach. He was self-assured and would not be easy to gull. Not that she intended to deceive him; that was not the way Gilpins did business. Their reputation for honesty and fine workmanship had been well earned over the years and she would do nothing to jeopardise it.
He emerged from the coach and rejoined her. ‘I think it will do me very well,’ he said.
‘Would you like to look at others before you make up your mind?’
He agreed and she showed him several more, some more sumptuous, others well used with scuffed paint which she told him would be remedied before the coaches were sold on. Some were extra large and cumbersome, needing at least six horses to pull them, some too lightweight for any but town roads.
‘
No,’ he said, at last. ‘You have chosen well, Miss Gilpin. I will negotiate a price with Mr Gilpin.’
‘The price to buy is one hundred and nineteen pounds sixteen shillings,’ she said firmly. ‘We give value for money, Captain, and do not enter into negotiation. If that is too much...?’ Her voice faded on a question.
‘No, I did not mean I would beat him down,’ he said hastily. ‘The price seems fair enough. I meant that I would need to arrange for horses and harness and for the coach to be fetched.’
‘Let us return to the office and conclude the transaction,’ she said. ‘The doctor will have gone by now.’
They crossed the yard again and entered the main workshop where several men were using ropes to lower a coach body down the stairs. Joe, supporting himself on two sticks, was standing directing operations.
‘What did the doctor say?’ Charlotte asked him.
‘’Tis but a sprain,’ he answered. ‘I must rest it for a week or two and then all will be well.’
‘You will not rest it by standing there. The men can manage without you for a week. Ask Giles to take you home in the gig, and do not come back until you are recovered. You will lose no pay.’
‘Yes, Miss Charlotte. Thank you, miss.’
Charlotte moved on, followed by Alex. ‘Do the men usually obey you so promptly, Miss Gilpin?’ he queried. He had noticed the adoring look in Joe’s eyes as he answered her. The poor fellow was evidently in love with his employer’s daughter. He wondered if she knew it.
‘Yes, why not? One day the business will be mine and I will have the full running of it, but please God, not for a very long time.’
‘Really?’ he queried in surprise. ‘I had thought a brother or a husband would take over.’
‘I have neither brother nor husband.’ She was used to people making assumptions like that, but it never failed to raise her hackles and she spoke sharply.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I can see you are a very determined woman.’
A woman, she noted, not a lady. There was a world of difference in the use of the words and reminded her of her conversations with her father on the subject. It simply stiffened her resolve to prove she was as good as any man when it came to business. It was far more important than being a so-called lady. Or a wife, come to that.
They entered the office where her father was standing looking out of the window on to the busy street, watching the doctor’s gig disappearing up the road. ‘It’s time he changed that vehicle,’ he said aloud. ‘He’s had it three years now and it is beginning to look the worse for wear. I must persuade him to turn it in for a phaeton, much more befitting his status as a physician of the first rank.’ He turned from the window to face them. ‘Captain Carstairs, did you find something to suit?’
‘The captain is going to buy Lord Pymore’s travelling chaise,’ Charlotte told him, fetching papers from a cupboard and taking her seat at her desk. ‘He has agreed our price.’
‘Good.’ Henry said. ‘Captain, do you need embellishments? Heraldry? Additional lines, scrolls perhaps?’
‘No, thank you, I cannot wait for such things to be done. It will do me very well as it is, but I do need harness and cattle. Miss Gilpin tells me you can also supply those.’
‘Indeed we can. I pride myself on dealing in animals sound in wind and limb. You may safely leave those to me. Do you have a coachman?’
‘Yes,’ Alex said, thinking of Davy Locke, who had been his servant on board ship and now went by the grand title of valet, though anyone less like a valet was hard to imagine. He was an untidy giant of a man, but a good man to have beside you in a tussle, whether it be confronting law-breakers or struggling to get into a tight-fitting coat. He was, surprisingly for an ex-seaman, very good with horses. He put it down to working on a farm before he was pressed into service with the navy. A man of many talents was Davy Locke.
‘I shall have the paperwork drawn up in a few minutes, Captain,’ Charlotte put in. ‘You are welcome to inspect the premises while you wait.’ She gave him what she considered to be a condescending smile. ‘You may learn something of coachmaking.’
Alex, recognising the put-down for what it was, smiled, bowed and left the room, followed by Henry Gilpin, who went immediately to inspect the coach body which had been safely brought down to the ground floor and was being set upon a wooden cradle waiting to receive it. It had yet to be set on its undercarriage, painted and decorated and the interior finished, but even so Alex could appreciate the skilful work of the woodworkers.
Henry began explaining some of the processes to him, but Alex was hardly listening. He was thinking about Miss Gilpin. She was certainly very touchy about her gender. Perhaps she wished she had been born a boy. She was undoubtedly handsome with fine eyebrows, a straight nose and a well-defined, determined chin, but he would not describe her as feminine, not in the way he would have used the word. Her gown was decidedly practical, in a heavy grey taffeta, having only the slightest of false hips, and her quilted stomacher was made to match the gown and had no decoration beyond a satin bow on the square neckline. There wasn’t an ounce of lace on it anywhere. It was certainly not the height of fashion. She wore her own rich brown hair pulled back into a thick roll on top of her head and fastened with combs. She wore no gloves and her fingers were ink-stained.
And yet...and yet, she had the most expressive grey eyes. There was intelligence behind them, and humour, too, something he could admire. Was she really as competent as she appeared or was there, underneath that façade, a woman as weak and fickle as all her gender? Would she collapse in a flood of tears as soon as her self-sufficiency was put to the test? Did she really know the ins and outs of a coach-building business or was her father simply humouring a spoiled daughter? He found himself wanting to know the answers, to engage her in conversation, to find out what she was really like under that severe exterior. He felt sure such discourse would not be shallow and meaningless. It was a pity he was leaving town so soon, but then, on reflection, perhaps it was not. She was clearly not the sort for mere dalliance and he certainly did not wish for anything deeper, not after what had happened with Letitia. She had soured him for all women.
Why on earth had he suddenly thought of Letitia? He had buried that experience deep inside him where it could not surface, or so he had thought, but standing looking at half-a-dozen workmen manhandling the body of a coach with the aid of pulleys, he was suddenly back in his salad days.
He had met Letitia Cornish on a voyage out to India. Her father was a wealthy nabob and he the mere second lieutenant of an East Indiaman, plying back and forth between England and Calcutta, carrying European wines, furniture, glassware and even carriages on the outward journey, returning with spices, precious stones, ornaments, carpets and tigerskin rugs. She had been patrolling the deck and had stopped to gaze out over the stern at the wake, as if wishing she were back where she had come from. Hearing his footstep behind her, she had turned to speak to him. ‘Lieutenant, I am not in your way, am I?’
‘Not at all, Miss Cornish, but there is blow coming up and I advise you to go below. The sea is like to become very rough. Allow me to escort you.’ It was couched as a request, but she was expected to obey, which she did reluctantly. ‘It is so stuffy in the cabin,’ she said. ‘I prefer the fresh air.’
‘I fear it will become a little more than fresh,’ he had said, smiling as he accompanied her to the companionway. ‘When the storm is over, I will come and fetch you and you may take the air again.’
He had kept his word and escorted her back on deck as soon as the havoc caused by the storm had been cleared away and they were once more sailing on an even keel. She was looking white-faced, but assured him she had not been sick and would be right as rain as soon as she was up in the fresh air again. Her father had not emerged from his cabin. In spite of being a frequent traveller between England and India, he wa
s not a good sailor and neither was Letitia’s maid and she was often left to her own devices. Thus they often met when he was on watch and she was patrolling the deck and they would stop and talk. In his eyes she was perfection with her shining golden hair and clear blue eyes.
He learned she was eighteen, a year younger than he was. Her mother had died years before; she could hardly remember her and Letitia had been brought up by her father with the help of an elderly aunt. Now she was grown up, her father was taking her to India where they expected to stay for several months while Mr Cornish assembled a new cargo to take back to England and after that she was to be brought out in London society. He told her about his life at sea, how he hoped to follow in his father’s and uncle’s footsteps and become a master mariner for the East India Company. By the time they reached Calcutta they were in love.
Her father would have none of it when Alex had approached him for permission to propose. ‘A penniless lieutenant—I should think not!’ he had said. ‘Whatever gave you the notion I would entertain a scapegrace like you for a son-in-law? After her money, are you? Think to make yourself wealthy at my expense?’
‘No, sir, certainly not, sir. I love your daughter and she loves me.’
‘Love, bah! What is that but a weak indulgence? Letitia will marry one of the young gentlemen I pick out for her when we return to London. And every one of them will have a title and some standing in society. She is wealthy enough and comely enough to take her pick. You, sir, are beneath her notice.’
Alex had been furious and had to use all his self-control not to lash out at the man, but young though he was, he knew alienating her father would not endear him to Letitia. Instead he turned on his heel and left with the man’s derisive laughter echoing in his ears. But he was not yet ready to give up. He knew Letitia liked to ride out very early in the morning before the heat became too intense and so he contrived to be out on horseback at the same time and prevailed upon her to dismount and talk to him. He had been hoping to persuade her to defy her father and run away with him. How foolish that notion was he had not realised at the time. She had tearfully refused to do any such thing. Her dear papa was always right and she would obey him as she always had.
