by Mary Nichols
‘No, my dear, there is no call on you personally,’ the lawyer assured her when he visited her a few days later. There was no real need to see her, he had no news to convey, but he realised she must be feeling very isolated in that huge house, with only the maid for company, and he wanted her to know she still had a friend, though there was little he could do to help her. ‘Your private possessions, clothes, books, jewels are your own. If you choose to sell them, then that is your affair, nothing to do with your father’s estate.’
‘I have been thinking that it would be foolish to clutter myself up with clothes and jewels I am never likely to wear again,’ she said. ‘I must dress according to my status.’
‘Your status has not altered, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘You are still the same person, a single young lady, properly brought up. That hasn’t changed.’
He was just being kind to her, she knew that. How could she not change? She was going to have to learn to conserve her resources, to watch every penny, to be subservient to those who provided her bread and butter, to be grateful for every morsel. And how she was going to hate it! If she had accepted one of the young men who buzzed around her in her come-out year she might now be married and this whole sorry mess would not be happening, but she had made her choice and now she had to stop thinking of what might have been. ‘Have you heard from the Earl?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. It is a long way to Scotland and back and the mail is not always reliable.’
‘Supposing we never hear? Your letter might never reach him. He might have left and returned to India. He might have gone back to his regiment and be serving abroad. He might have died. He might not wish to be associated with me, after what has happened.’
‘It is no good meeting trouble halfway, Miss Sanghurst,’ he said. ‘Let us wait and see, shall we?’
It was a month before he heard, and by that time the new owners of the house were anxious to move in. They pestered him every day, wanting to know when Miss Sanghurst would be vacating the premises. Now he would be able to tell them she would be leaving immediately. The Earl had agreed to take her in, though his letter, if you could call it that, had hardly been welcoming. ‘Send her up’, was all it said.
Benstead could not tell her that, it would break her heart all over again; he would simply say his lordship was pleased to comply with his old friend’s request and hope she did not ask to see the missive. If he had been anything but a staid old bachelor, he would have taken her in himself rather than let her go where she wasn’t welcome. But perhaps he was maligning the Earl; he might simply be a poor letter-writer or had delegated the task to a secretary who did not understand the need for tact. But that didn’t account for the fact that he had not even sent the fare, let alone provided an escort, which she might have expected.
‘How am I to get there?’ she asked, when he told her. ‘The carriage and horses have already gone. And I couldn’t have afforded to go post chaise even if they had not. I shall have to go by public coach.’
‘The mail is by far the most comfortable,’ he said. ‘They limit the number of passengers, you know, and it’s faster than the stage.’
‘I am in no hurry, Mr Benstead,’ she said, a faint smile on her lips. ‘And comfort is not a consideration, but my purse is. I shall travel by stage.’
‘Then I shall see if I can find a couple or a matronly lady to chaperone you…’
‘Mr Benstead, at four-and-twenty I need no chaperone. The pampered daughter of Lord Sanghurst is no more. Hard though it may be, I have to learn to live in the world outside the narrow sphere I was raised in and be self-reliant.’
‘You can have no idea of the risks.’
‘Then I shall learn by my mistakes. Please do not give me a second thought, Mr Benstead.’
‘It is my duty to see that all steps are taken to deliver you safely to your destination.’
‘Like a parcel.’ For the first time in weeks, she laughed. ‘Mr Benstead, you have discharged your duty, more than was called for, considering the circumstances. I imagine you have not been able to pay yourself.’
He neither confirmed nor denied it, but smiled cheerfully; he did not want her to go, thinking he had misgivings. ‘Then all I can do now is wish you a pleasant journey. Please write and inform me of your safe arrival.’ Oh, how formal he sounded, but he had to remain dignified or he would give way to the urge to take her in his arms as one would a child, and reassure her that she had not been abandoned. He would watch over her somehow. He offered her his hand and she took it firmly.
The following day, he sent round her coach ticket as far as Glasgow, begging to be allowed to pay for it. It was very kind of him and would enable her to spend a little more on accommodation and board on the journey. Looking down at the slip of paper, she felt as if she held her fate in her hand, and she supposed it was true; her destiny was many miles away to the north. But now was no time to mope, now was the time to be positive. She enjoyed good health and, though she was small, she was strong; the journey itself held no terrors for her.
There was consolation in the thought that being so far from the capital, she would not hear the gossip being spread about her and her father and they would soon be forgotten. Besides, the tattle-mongers had more than enough to keep their tongues busy with the antics of the Prince of Wales who, on the death of his mad father, had now become king and was trying to divorce his wife.
Only four months before, Caroline had returned to the capital and demanded to be recognised as queen, and there were many who supported her. The conjecture about what would happen next was likely to go on and on. With such juicy tit-bits, who would be interested in a penniless nobody?
She went up to the attic and pulled out a trunk, bumping it down the stairs to her room, where she packed it, considering each item on the grounds of its necessity before including it, but a miniature portrait of her mother in a silver frame, two or three of her favourite books and writing materials went in along with her clothes.
She had sold all her jewellery with the exception of a diamond clip and her mother’s betrothal ring. The brooch she would wear, while the ring in its velvet lined box went into the very bottom of the trunk. Then she and Daisy manhandled it down the stairs to the hall, after which they ate a frugal, and largely silent, supper in the kitchen before going to bed.
The night seemed long and the old house creaked and groaned as if adding its own protests to the blow fate had dealt it. The wind rose too and a branch of a tree kept banging at her window, so that, even if her mind had not been full of the morrow, sleep would have been impossible.
She rose and sat at the window until the grey light of dawn lightened the roofs and chimney pots and the tops of the trees in the park began to show their branches. Almost overnight they had been stripped of their leaves and she realised that autumn was here and winter not far off. What was winter like in Scotland? Was it true they were often snowed in for weeks on end? Soon she might know.
She dressed in a neat black merino wool gown with a pointed waist and high neck which had a narrow white frill. It was buttoned at the front so that she would not need help with dressing; all her clothes had been chosen with that in mind. Under it she wore two layers of underwear, one flannel and one fine lawn, not only because she expected to be cold but because it had left more room in the trunk for other things. The bonnet she chose was of plain black straw and quite small.
She had never travelled in a public coach before, but she imagined it might be a crush; wide brims and voluminous skirts would hardly endear her to her fellow passengers. Then, feeling decidedly dumpy, she went down to breakfast.
Daisy, who had found a new position with a large family, mostly girls, left immediately afterwards. It was an emotional parting and it took all Helen’s resolve to stay dry-eyed, particularly as the maid was making no effort to stem her tears. ‘You’ll write, won’t you, Miss Helen? I shan’t rest easy until I know you’ve arrived safe and well and met your guardian. I pray he is kind to you.’
‘Why should he not be kind to me?’ she demanded, though the same thought had crossed her mind. ‘My father would not have wanted me to live with someone who did not care for me.’
Daisy decided not to say what was in her mind regarding the late Lord Sanghurst. Instead she mopped up her tears and smiled. ‘No, course not, Miss Helen, but you know what I mean.’
‘Yes. Now off you go and don’t worry about me. You mustn’t be late on your first day.’
Helen spent the next two hours going round the all the rooms, making sure the dust sheets were in place on the furniture and the curtains were closed to stop the sun fading the carpets. She had lived in this house ever since her parents had returned from India when she was a baby. She had been brought up here knowing nothing of poverty or insecurity or evil, until a month ago when her whole life had been overset. Now it was up to her to make the best of it and not brood.
She went into her mother’s boudoir, remembering how it always smelled so fragrant and how her mama’s smile lit it, making it seem as though the sun shone even on the dullest day. As a small girl she would be taken onto her lap and would sink her head onto a bosom that was designed for comfort and listen to her telling stories. Story-time before bed was the best part of the day.
She remembered one about a poor little girl who was treated cruelly at the orphanage she was sent to when her mother died, but never gave up hope that one day she would find a loving home and live happily ever after. And she had, of course, when her long-lost uncle turned up. Would the Earl of Strathrowan be her happy ending?
She wondered what he was like to look at. She imagined he must be about the same age as her father if they had served together, but was he tall or short, fat or thin, handsome or plain? And did it matter what he looked like, so long as he genuinely welcomed her? And if he didn’t? Then she would leave, her mind was set on that. She would find work and lodgings and be independent.
She heard the doorbell jangle and for a moment forgot she was the only person in the house to answer it, but when it rang a second time, she hurried downstairs to open the door. A hackney cab stood outside and its driver had his whip raised to bang on the door. ‘Thought there weren’t no one at ‘ome,’ he said. ‘You ready?’
She had never been spoken to like that before, but she supposed he had taken her for a servant and she could hardly blame him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If you would be so good as to carry my trunk. I can manage the bag.’
She had left a warm cloak on a chair and now she picked it up and put it on, while he half-lifted, half-dragged the heavy trunk down the steps to the cab. ‘What you got in ‘ere?’ he asked. ‘The crown jewels?’
She smiled. ‘No, only my clothes and one or two books.’
‘Books, eh? What d’you want books for? Nothin’ good ever come out o’ books, tha’s wot I allus says.’
Not wanting an argument, she did not reply, but locked the front door, put the key in her bag along with all the others belonging to the house, and waited until the trunk was safely strapped on to the back of the cab before climbing in and directing him to take her to Mr Benstead’s office. She had to give him the keys but did not want to stop and talk to him; everything had been said that needed saying.
She had left very little time to get to the Blue Boar at Holborn where she would board the stage for the first part of her journey north. The lawyer was out on business and she left the keys with a clerk and returned to the cab. The past was behind her, all her tears had been shed and the future, whatever it held, was before her; it was up to her to grasp whatever opportunities were offered.
The Blue Boar was one of the busiest coaching inns in London. Stage coaches came and went all day, clattering into the yard and disgorging passengers and their baggage and taking on others going to all points of the compass. It was noisy with shouting and laughter, people saying farewell, others being greeted, horses neighing and chickens squawking.
The air was filled with smells, horse droppings, leather harness, cooking, sweat and perfume, all intermingled. Helen was almost overwhelmed as the cab drew up and the driver jumped down and deposited her and her luggage on the cobbles in front of the inn.
‘Carry your bags, missie?’
She looked down to see a little urchin peering up at her with mischievous blue eyes, though his face was filthy and his feet bare. She smiled. ‘I think the trunk will be a little too heavy for you, don’t you?’
‘I’m strong, miss.’ He flexed his muscles, making her laugh. ‘I can drag it along.’
‘I think it would be better if you found me a porter. Would you do that, please?’
He made no move to comply but stood looking up at her and holding out his hand.
‘I’m afraid he will not budge until you have put a coin in his palm,’ a male voice said.
She swung round and found herself facing a broad blue jacket covered with gold braid and silver lace. Its wearer was so tall she had to tilt her head up to see his face. It was a handsome face, topped by short brown hair which curled over his ears beneath his shako. His clean-shaven chin was as firm as her own, but a great deal larger. But what set her against him was the twinkle of amusement in his brown eyes, as if she should have known the boy would not do as he was asked without being paid for it.
‘Where I come from, children do as they are bid without inducement,’ she said, noticing, without meaning to, that his wide epaulettes emphasised his broad shoulders, and the cut of his blue pantaloons, tucked into highly polished hessians, enhanced his slim hips and muscular thighs. It was the sort of figure the uniform was designed for.
‘How fortunate for you,’ he said, smiling openly and throwing the boy a coin which he caught deftly before dashing off towards another traveller; now the soldier had arrived, there was no point in hanging around. ‘But I wouldn’t class this lad as a child, I’ll wager he has been earning a living in like manner for years, ever since he could walk and speak.’
‘How dreadful!’
‘Dreadful to earn his keep in honest toil, Miss…?’
‘No,’ she said, ignoring his obvious hint that she should tell him her name. ‘I meant dreadful it should be necessary.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He stopped to look at her properly. She was in mourning, which didn’t suit her somewhat pale colouring, but her features were good: an oval face, little turned-up nose, a firm mouth, pursed in perplexity, and large green eyes framed by dark lashes. She was obviously a well-nurtured young lady, too young to be travelling alone and he wondered how it had come about.
If she had run away from home, she must have been very resourceful to have crept out with that great trunk. Was she eloping? She was certainly pretty enough and, he imagined, guileless enough to be the target of some unscrupulous young blade and her mourning would preclude a wedding, even if the young man were acceptable. But if so, where was he? She was looking about her in bewilderment as if asking herself the same question. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll turn up,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘The man. You are expecting to meet a man, are you not? I hesitate to call him a gentleman, since no gentleman worth his salt would allow a lady to struggle alone with a box like that.’ He nodded at the trunk standing at her feet.
‘It is none of your business.’
‘No more it is,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I bid you good day.’
‘Wait!’ It was almost a cry of desperation.
He turned back to her, one eyebrow raised and a tiny smile lurking about his lips. ‘I can be of service, after all?’
‘I need a porter to take my trunk to the coach, but I cannot leave it here while I go and look for one.’
He smiled. ‘Tell me, where do you wish your baggage to be taken?’
‘I am booked on the coach to Glasgow.’
He had been right. She was off to Gretna Green. No wonder she looked scared to death. ‘You can always go back home,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sure no one will blame you.’
‘There is no go
ing back and no question of blame.’
‘You will be disappointed, I guarantee it.’
She looked up at him with startled green eyes; could he really see into her heart? ‘What do you know about it? Who are you?’
‘Captain Duncan Blair, at your service.’ He swept her an exaggerated bow. ‘I was simply pointing out that it is not too late to change your mind about this undertaking.’
‘Oh, yes, it is, Captain, much too late.’
‘Then let us find the coach.’ He hoisted her trunk onto his shoulders as if it weighed nothing at all and strode into the throng of people. She had perforce to follow.
In no time at all he had located the Glasgow coach, which was emblazoned with the name The Flying Prince and its destination along with a great deal more information which made it look like a travelling bill board. He supervised the loading of the trunk, handed her in and climbed in beside her, taking off his shako and sitting with it in his lap.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked in alarm.
‘Waiting patiently for the off,’ he said. ‘You are not the only one setting off for Scotland today. I fancy there will be six of us inside and many more on top. I wish they’d get a move on, I am in the deuce of a hurry.’
They were joined inside by an elderly man in a dark suit, a farmer who, though obviously prosperous enough to afford an inside seat, smelled of cattle and spirits, and a woman of more than middle years, who wore a great deal of face paint and had her hair done up in a style that had been fashionable many years before. The sixth seat remained empty.
Duncan concluded that the unknown lover had lost his nerve, and he was curious to know what the young lady would do. That she was a gentlewoman he did not doubt; her whole demeanour proclaimed it, but she was going to have a rude awakening before many miles had passed, unless her lover was going to board the coach when they changed horses.
He excused himself to lean across her and shout to the guard, who was shepherding the outside passengers up the steps to the roof. ‘How much longer are we going to sit here? This coach is due to leave at noon and it is already five minutes past by my watch.’
