The Dream Chasers

by Melinda Hammond

  'Why do you look thus at me, sir?'

  'I was thinking how few women of my acquaintance would be so unconcerned, dining alone with me, and wearing a man's clothing, no less!'

  Miss Marchant flushed and a slight frown clouded her eyes. 'You must think I am very forward, but when one is in love it makes one act rashly.'

  'Imprudently, at all events,' he murmured.

  She hung her head, saying in a small voice, 'I suppose it was imprudent of me.'

  'I was not thinking of you, child.' He rose and held out his hand to her. 'Come, Stacey. Let us take our coffee by the fire.'

  * * *

  After supper, Mr Lagallan escorted his young charge to her room. He urged her to lock her door, hinting at pickpockets and night thieves, and waited in the corridor until he had heard the reassuring click of the lock before making his way to his own bedchamber.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next morning they made an early start, for Mr Lagallan hoped to reach London without a second overnight stop. A flock of geese on the road at Froxfield held them up for a while, but after that they picked up speed and Vivyan remarked to his companion that they should be in Town by the evening. He received no reply and looked down at his companion: Miss Marchant was staring silently out of the window.

  This is not like you, Miss Marchant, to be so quiet.'

  'No, I am sorry. It is just that I have been wondering what to do when I get to London. I can hardly arrive at Rupert's door dressed this way.'

  Mr Lagallan's lips twitched. 'You think Mr Alleyne would not approve of your apparel?'

  'Oh, I am sure he would understand, once it was explained to him, but it would be very difficult to keep it from the servants, and just think of the scandal—and I am sorry if you consider that a cause for laughter!'

  'No, of course it isn't.' Mr Lagallan made a heroic attempt to look serious. 'I quite see your dilemma. Let us think what we can do. Is there no one else you know in Town who would help you, no aunts or cousins?'

  'No one. Except my godmother, Lady Bilderston.'

  'A godmother? Well, that is excellent news.'

  'Oh no it isn't,' came the damping reply. I have never seen her—at least, I suppose she saw me, as a baby, when Mama was alive, but all I know of her is that she sends me little gifts on my birthday. She has never made the least push to enquire after me.'

  'But you know she lives in Town?'

  'Yes, for I am obliged to write to thank her for her gifts, and her direction has never changed—Fanshawe Gardens.'

  'A fashionable area, certainly. I feel sure she will not fail to help you.' He found himself subjected to a glance that held more than a hint of doubt and he flicked her cheek with one finger. 'Don't look so anxious, nymph! I'll tell you what we will do: my brother and his wife are in town, in Bruton Street. We will go there first. My sister-in-law will be delighted to help us.'

  Eustacia brightened. 'Truly? She will not think it odd that I—that you and I—' She trailed off, colouring.

  Vivyan considered how he would explain to Caroline that he had carried out his intention of proposing to one young lady, but had brought another back to London with him. His eyes danced.

  'Lord, no,' he said cheerfully. 'Caroline knows me too well to think there is anything odd in this caper!'

  Her mind set at rest, Miss Marchant could continue her journey in comfort and she was soon asking Vivyan if they would stop for lunch.

  'I quite understand that you do not want me to leave the coach when we change horses, but I am very hungry'

  'Poor nymph, it is unkind of me to keep you cooped up for so long! But I am planning to stop at Reading, at The Star. They keep a very good table, as well as some excellent brandy!' Eustacia noted the twinkle in his dark eyes, but he merely continued: 'We will take an early lunch there, but we must not tarry: I want to reach London before dark.'

  * * *

  Miss Marchant surveyed the remains of their substantial lunch—boiled fowl, roast partridge and potted char had been provided, together with tarts, cheese and pickles.

  'That was delicious!' she declared, when she had tried every dish. 'How much do I owe you, sir?'

  Mr Lagallan waved a hand. 'It is my treat, Stacey, as long as you will pour the coffee.'

  Miss Marchant thanked him prettily and picked up the coffee-pot. She was determined that he should not pay for her accommodation on the road, but she reasoned that there could be no objection to accepting lunch from him. Hers was a sunny nature, and she had quickly responded to Vivyan's natural charm: she considered him now as a good friend and stood upon the easiest of terms with him. She was well aware that his dark good looks and rakish air might make him a dangerous companion for a young woman, but she knew herself to be in love with Mr Alleyne. Mr Lagallan treated her with a friendly camaraderie that she was able to respond to in the friendliest way, knowing herself to be in no danger of succumbing to his obvious charms. She looked up to find him watching her.

  'Why do you look at me, sir?' she said, her head on one side.

  'Merely that you seem to be enjoying yourself.'

  'Oh, I am! This is my first adventure, and I am enjoying myself immensely.' She added shyly, 'I do not think I should have found it half so entertaining if I had not met you, sir. I have to thank you for taking such good care of me.'

  'I cannot think of many who would agree with you! Your relatives would say that I should have returned you to your home immediately.'

  The landlord scratched upon the door. 'Beggin' your pardon, sir. Your coachman asked me to tell you that the carriage is ready.'

  Mr Lagallan nodded. 'Tell him we will be with him directly.' He looked at his companion. 'Come, it is time to be on our way.'

  Eustacia went before him into the passage, where she almost collided with a gentleman in an open boxcoat, entering the inn. With a word of apology she stepped aside, but the gentleman had stopped and was staring at Mr Lagallan. He pushed his curly-brimmed beaver hat back on his fair head and grinned.

  'Viv! Viv Lagallan! As I live and breathe, how do you do, sir?'

  'How do you do, Nathan?'

  'Well, well—are you here on business?'

  'On my way to London, as a matter of fact— escorting my young cousin,' he added, as the gentleman's grey eyes rested thoughtfully upon Stacey.

  'Cousin, eh? Pleased to meet you, young sir. Nathan MacCauley's the name, and I'm a friend of your cousin—a very old friend, eh, Viv?' He turned his wide smile back upon Vivyan. And this is very well met, Lagallan! A word with you, before you go, sir.'

  Vivyan nodded at Miss Marchant.

  'Pray get in the coach, Stacey. Check that the luggage is loaded, and tell my man to walk the horses.' He watched her move away before turning again to the gentleman beside him.

  'Well, MacCauley? As you can see, my team is waiting. I can give you but a moment.'

  'Yes, yes, I understand. Let us step into the parlour . . . Ah, you did not finish the coffee. May I?'

  As you wish.' Vivyan perched himself on the edge of the table, one booted leg swinging gently. 'What are you doing in England? The last time we met you were running a snug little gaming hell in Rome.'

  And so I was, Vivyan, my friend, but the dibs weren't quite in tune, and things became a trifle . . . uncomfortable.'

  'Ran out of money, did you? That doesn't surprise me—I remember that high-flyer you had living under your protection.'

  Mr MacCauley looked hurt.

  'Ah, yes. Celestine. I admit to you, my friend, I was taken in there. Damned disappointing, I must say. She was not at all grateful, and when I think of all the money I spent on her! But let's not dwell on that. Do you remember how we travelled through France together, living on our wits? Those were happy days, Viv.'

  'Happy? Plunging from one scrape to another?' exclaimed Mr Lagallan. He gave a reluctant grin. 'There was no time for boredom, certainly! But that don't explain why you have returned to England.'

  MacCauley refilled his cof
fee-cup.

  'An uncle of mine has died and left me a little money, so I thought I might set myself up in London. Turn respectable, like yourself.'

  Vivyan laughed. 'Heaven help us!'

  MacCauley grinned. T know, the world's turned on its head, ain't it? But it's true. I've a mind to give up this adventuring, but first there's a few matters of—ah—business to tidy up.'

  'Such as supplying a little smuggled brandy to this inn?'

  Nathan MacCauley looked affronted. 'I gave up that line of business when you did, my friend! No, the rooms are very reasonable here, and most suited to a gentleman like myself. And it's convenient for what I have to do. Once I've concluded my business here, I shall go to Town and live like a gentleman, mayhap even find me a rich little wife.'

  Mr Lagallan's lip curled. 'I'd like to see it!'

  'That's why I'm so glad I ran into you. You could help me, my friend: introduce me to your circle.'

  T hardly think so!' laughed Vivyan, rising. 'My friends are no pigeons for your plucking, Nathan.'

  'But I am a reformed man!'

  'Give me proof of your—ah—reformation for the next twelve months and we'll talk again. Until then, goodbye, MacCauley.'

  * * *

  Miss Marchant was almost bursting with curiosity when Vivyan finally climbed into the coach.

  'Who was that man?' she demanded as the carriage clattered out of the yard. 'You did not seem very pleased to meet him.'

  T was not. I wanted to get you safely to London without meeting anyone I know.'

  'Oh yes, of course. But is he a good friend?'

  'Let us say that I knew him in my less reputable days.' He glanced down to find Eustacia regarding him with wide eyes, and he laughed. 'Many years ago I fell in with a group of free-traders—smugglers, my dear! Nathan MacCauley was one of them.'

  'Really? He does not look like a villain.'

  'Oh, he was born the son of a gentleman, but he's a rogue. He's not above a little thieving and smuggling, but he's a gambler, too: lives on his wits.'

  But Stacey had lost interest in Mr MacCauley.

  'You were a smuggler?' she breathed, eyes sparkling.

  'Not really. I helped them with a couple of runs, but that is all.'

  'But how? How did you meet them?'

  'It is an unedifying story, nymph.'

  He felt a small hand slip into his own.

  'Of course I will not press you, but if you would like to tell me . . .'

  Vivyan found he was not proof against her wistful tone. He settled back in the corner of the coach.

  'It was some . . . eight years ago. I was driving on the beach at Sandburrows—do you know it? A little village not a day's ride from Radstock. The beach there is long and smooth, ideal for carriages. I was racing the tide. A foolhardy sport, and it almost cost me my life—and that of a very dear friend. We were cut off by the spring tide. I managed to set the horses free, and they escaped, but I was washed out to sea, clinging to the wreckage of my carriage. I managed to swim to the island of Steep Holm, where I was discovered by a group of free-traders, sheltering in one of the coves. Doubtless I would have died of the cold if they had not stripped me of my wet clothes and given me food and shelter. After that it seemed only courteous to help them with their—er—activities.'

  'But what of your family? Surely they were anxious for you? Did you contact them, let them know that you were safe?'

  'No, I am ashamed to say that I did not— not immediately. I was young, and reckless, and there were another four years to run until I could claim my inheritance. I was not prepared to sit back quietly and wait for time to pass.'

  'Now that I do understand!' declared Stacey. 'I believe if one has a dream one should follow it. Aunt Jayne says young ladies should remain quietly at home until a suitable husband comes along, but I think that is quite nonsensical, and especially now, when Rupert has been summoned to London and is being urged to marry another! How can I sit back and do nothing?'

  'Exactly so, brat. My uncle had been given charge of my property until I reached five-and-twenty, and I could not bear to watch him living at my expense. I plied the coast with my new friends for the next several months, then MacCauley had the idea of travelling across France.'

  'France! But that was . . . we were at war!'

  Vivyan grinned.

  'That made it all the more exciting! MacCauley and I were of an age, both with a love of adventure. We lived on our wits, making a little money at cards, changing our identity to suit the company. We parted in Paris. MacCauley went on to Italy and I lived as best I could until the time came to return to England.'

  Eustacia was about to ask Vivyan how he had lived during those years in France, when the coach ran over a particularly rough patch of road, jolting so badly that its occupants were thrown out of their seats and found themselves in a tangled heap on the floor of the coach as it lurched to a stop.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Are you hurt?' Vivyan helped Miss Marchant back on to he seat, and as soon as he had ascertained that she was not injured he climbed out, bidding her to remain in the coach. After a few minutes Eustacia succumbed to curiosity and climbed out on to the road, where she found Mr Lagallan and the coachman inspecting the timbers beneath the box seat.

  The coachman was shaking his head.

  'One o' the futchels is gone, sir. Snapped.'

  'Hell and damnation!' muttered Vivyan. 'Can we go on?'

  'No, sir. T'wouldn't be safe—it supports the fore-carriage, you see, and the sway bar. The whole thing could tip over as easy as winking.'

  Vivyan looked thoughtful, tapping the ground as he considered the situation.

  'There will be a carriage-maker in Reading, sir,' suggested the coachman. 'He should be able to fix it in a couple of hours.'

  'You had best take the coach there.' Mr Lagallan took out a purse and handed it to the coachman. 'That should be enough, and to spare. There is a sizeable village a mile or so down the road with a decent little inn. We will walk there now. If the carriage cannot be ready by first thing tomorrow, you must hire a vehicle to fetch us, do you understand?'

  The coachman tugged at his forelock and the footman unstrapped Eustacia's portmanteau and his master's overnight bag and put them on the road before helping the coachman to turn the broken carriage back towards Reading.

  Mr Lagallan picked up the two bags and set off down the road.

  'Why do we not walk back to The Star and put up there?' asked Eustacia, skipping along beside him.

  'I am too well known there, and I want to expose you as little as possible to the public gaze in your disguise.'

  'You mean, if I was not with you, you would be able to spend the night in comfort!' she muttered, conscience-stricken. 'As it is we must take pot-luck at a little inn, where the food could be terrible and the sheets might not be aired! Vivyan, I am so sorry to put you to all this trouble.'

  His frown lifted. 'I doubt it will be as bad as that! Besides, you wanted adventure, did you not?'

  'Yes, but I do not want you to be uncomfortable.'

  He laughed at that. 'My dear child, adventures are always uncomfortable—and frequently dangerous!'

  'Oh. I expect this seems a little tame to you.'

  'It is certainly inconvenient.' He saw she was looking downcast and added, 'The broken carriage is not your fault, Stacey, and I have frequently stayed in places far less comfortable than a village inn.'

  'When you were in France?'

  'Yes, although I also spent some weeks as a guest in a most luxurious chateau.'

  Laughing at her eager questions, Mr Lagallan told Eustacia something of his travels, but despite his carefully worded descriptions, she was shrewd enough to guess that he had not always lived as a gentleman.

  'And have you come home to settle down?'

  'That was my intention. I have spent the past year putting my estates in order.'

  'And is that why you have offered for Miss Pensford?'

  'Ye
s. I have to marry someone.' He glanced at her. 'You do not approve?'

  'I think one should marry for love.'

  'That is not always possible.'

  'But surely you have no need of a fortune. Why should you not marry someone you like?'

  'I cannot recall having said I do not like Miss Pensford.'

  'Now I have offended you.'

  'Not at all.'

  'Yes, I have. You have become very polite, and—and distant, so I know you are offended! Pray forgive me.'

  Vivyan felt his anger evaporating.

  'Do you mean to say I have been discourteous to you until now? Abhorrent brat!'

  She chuckled. 'That is much better! Look, we are approaching the village. You had best let me carry my own bag now, or people may think you far too kind and grow suspicious.'

  * * *

  They reached the inn, a small tavern at the roadside with the ambitious name of The Golden Cockerel. The landlord was able to furnish them with two bedrooms, and showed them into a small, sparsely furnished room that he proudly described as a private parlour. The landlady came in presently with a tray and promised there would be hot water in their bedchambers in a twinkling. Miss Marchant looked about the room and said cheerfully, 'Well, this is very comfortable.'

  'A damned nuisance,' muttered Vivyan, closely inspecting one less than perfect boot. 'Not only are my Hessians covered in mud, but I fear there may be a scratch on the leather.'

  'Oh. Are you not enjoying yourself?'

  'Not at all!'

  'Well, I think that is very poor-spirited of you! Just think how fortunate we are. Your carriage stopped just outside Reading, within easy reach of repair, and it is a very fine day for a walk. Imagine how uncomfortable it would have been to trudge here in the rain! And we have come upon a most delightful inn, with a good fire and the most delicious cake!'