The Last Gamble

by Mary Nichols

  It was often the case that young women servants learned uppish manners from their employers. But was that true of Miss Sadler? He was more than ever convinced there was something havey-cavey going on and it intrigued him.

  The coach rattled through Redbourn and Dunstable, where it stopped for a change of horses and where the man with the cough left them, saying his destination was Cambridge. Then they were off again with only five inside passengers now, but it did not seem to make any difference; Helen felt the Captain was as close as he had been before.

  They ran straight through Hockliffe and, six miles further on, stopped at the Swan at Little Brickhill. It was a busy little place where several coaching routes converged and the yard was full of horses and people, and at least two carriages being changed.

  The mother stepped down as soon as they stopped and reached up to take her sleeping baby from Helen. ‘Thank you, Miss Sadler. My parents live nearby and my father is meeting me. I wish you a safe journey.’

  Helen was sorry to see her go and, as it was nearly supper time, wondered if this might be a good place to break her journey. She left the coach, knowing that the Captain was watching her, though he made no move to leave himself, and made her way into the inn. She had never stayed at an inn before, not even with her parents. After returning from India they rarely went far from their London home; it was as if they had had their fill of travelling.

  Until her mother’s death they always spent some time each year at their country seat in Huntingdonshire, but that could be reached in a day. On the other hand, the prospect of travelling all night in that swaying, jolting coach was more than she could stomach and stiffened her resolve. ‘Is it possible to stay here tonight?’ she asked the man who was washing down the tables in the tiny parlour. ‘I require a private room.’

  He looked her up and down. There was no mistaking the tone; she was Quality and travelling alone too. He decided he didn’t want to have any dealings with someone so unconventional. ‘No private rooms, miss.’ He grinned. ‘Shared, if you like…’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Aware of his amusement, she turned and went out.

  The guard was looking for her. ‘Come along, miss, we can’t have you holding up proceedings again, can we? Up you go.’ And suiting action to words, he put both hands under her bottom and hoisted her into the coach beside the grinning Captain. She was furious but before she could protest, they were on their way again.

  She settled herself in her seat to find herself facing a young fop in a buff greatcoat with enormous brass buttons. It was very long and came down over his calf half-boots, which were almost hidden by the length of his cossacks. He wore a green and white striped waistcoat and a tall crowned hat with a buckle on the band from which swept a long feather. Every time they were jolted, the feather touched the roof and threatened to take his hat off. The other two seats were taken up by a couple of middle years who were both exceedingly plump.

  ‘Late again,’ the woman said. ‘Stages are supposed to work to time but they never do.’

  ‘It is only five minutes late, my love,’ her husband said. ‘We shall soon make it up.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Helen said, realising she was being blamed for the delay. ‘I had hoped to stay here overnight, but there are no private rooms.’

  ‘There will be rooms at Northampton,’ the lawyer said. ‘It is the usual stopping place for passengers on this coach.’

  ‘I hope we won’t be late,’ the young man said. ‘I shall have to hire a carriage to take me on to my home and at that time of night…’ He stopped and smiled at Helen. ‘You are not going to be met at Northampton, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pity. I could have begged a ride.’

  ‘Are you not expected?’ Duncan asked, unaccountably glad that the lovely Miss Sadler would not be sharing a vehicle with this young popinjay if he were getting off at Northampton.

  ‘No.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘My father does not know I am returning home. I am at Cambridge, you know.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Duncan said. ‘Then I’ll wager you have been rusticated.’

  ‘Only a prank, sir, only a prank. Went out on the town, got a little foxed, climbed back into the wrong window. Out for the rest of the term.’

  ‘Irresponsible coxcomb,’ the woman put in. ‘Is that how you squander the opportunities you are given?’

  ‘Ma’am, it was not my idea to go to university,’ he told her. ‘Papa insisted. I am not a bookish person at all…’

  ‘Evidently not,’ she said, pursing her lips.

  The young man was about to protest again but thought better of it and stared out of the window, but it was already dark and there was nothing to see. Nothing to see inside the carriage either and they all fell silent. Helen leaned back and shut her eyes. She had hardly begun her journey but already she was wishing it were over. Although it was cold outside, the air inside the coach was very stuffy and she was hot and cramped and all she longed for was a comfortable bed.

  Captain Duncan Blair, sitting beside her, mile after mile, was reluctant to let go of his theory that she was going to Gretna to marry and was unaccountably relieved to find that neither the man with the bad cough nor the young student were the object of her affections. What she needed, he decided, was a real man to curb her impulsiveness, a mature man of the world like himself. The thought brought him up short.

  He was the last person, the very last person, to say whom she should or should not choose for a husband. What did he know about women? He had avoided having anything to do with them for years, except in a very superficial way, though he supposed that he would soon have to give way to his father’s constant demand that he should find a nice young lady with a decent dowry and settle down into marriage and fatherhood. But he was not ready to do that yet.

  They passed a house whose upstairs lights shone out across the carriageway and he took advantage of the meagre illumination to look down at the girl at his side. She had closed her eyes and he wondered if she might have gone to sleep, but they were soon in the dark again and he couldn’t be sure. He sat very still so as not to disturb her.

  Several minutes later he became aware of a weight on his arm and realised she had dropped asleep with her head lolling against him. Slowly he eased his arm out and put it round her shoulders. With a contented sigh, she snuggled her head into his chest. He smiled, savouring the slight scent of her hair beneath his nostrils, content to let her sleep, even though he soon had pins and needles in his arm; it was a small price to pay.

  It was late in the evening when they reached the Angel at Northampton, sixty-six miles from London, where not only the horses, but the coachman and guard were due to be changed. Helen stirred as they drove into the inn yard and came to a stop. She sat up sleepily and pulled her bonnet straight and then gave a gasp of horror when she realised she had fallen asleep and the Captain had his arm around her. She almost fell over her own feet in her anxiety to get down from the coach and escape from him.

  The other passengers followed her and she lost sight of him, to her intense relief. He had declared his intention of riding on through the night, and she would be well rid of him. Officer or no, he was no gentleman if he could take advantage of her while she slept.

  She started towards the door of the inn and then realised that the coachman and guard were standing between the coach and the inn door, touching their hat brims and bidding their passengers a safe journey. Taking her cue from her fellow travellers, Helen handed the coachman a shilling and a sixpence and the guard a shilling, thinking as she did so, that being coachmen must be a highly remunerative calling if they received a like amount from every traveller every day.

  ‘Thank you, miss,’ the guard said. ‘The coach leaves again in an hour.’

  ‘Oh, but I think I shall stay here tonight and go on in the morning.’

  ‘But you are booked through.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘And now I suppose you are going to ask me for a refund
on your ticket.’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  Her expression had suddenly lightened with hope and he found himself smiling. Poor little thing, having to go all that way alone and her so innocent. He found himself returning her smile. ‘Yes, miss, at my discretion.’ He delved into a leather bag he carried over his shoulder and counted seven pounds into her hand. ‘There you are, miss, but if you are going to stop overnight again, I suggest you buy your tickets in stages, though it will cost you more in the long run.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Good luck to you, miss.’ And then with a twinkle in his eye, ‘Don’t let the Captain bully you, miss. You stand up for yourself.’

  It was too much. She fled to the door of the inn and then stopped. What would she do if the only rooms available were shared ones, stay or go? But the prospect of continuing in the coach for another minute knowing what had happened and what might happen again if she could not keep her eyes open, was abhorrent. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE inn was already very crowded and the waiters were hurrying about with loaded trays, so that it was some minutes before Helen could attract the attention of one of them and ask for a room for the night, stipulating it must be a private room. Having at last been told that one would be prepared for her, she ordered onion soup, bread and apple pie to be brought to her and then looked round for a seat. She realised at once that finding somewhere to sit should have been her first step and ordering a bed and food next; there didn’t seem vacant chair in the whole establishment.

  ‘There’s a table in the corner, miss,’ one of the waiters said, passing her with a tray loaded with roast beef and game pie, potatoes and pickles. ‘Over there.’ He jerked his head in the direction of a small table and two chairs almost concealed behind a potted palm. She thanked him and hurried to sit down before anyone else could claim it.

  She felt quite strange, as if she were still in the coach; the floor seemed to be moving and her chair swaying. It was as if she had just stepped on shore after a long sea voyage and it was several minutes before her head stopped feeling giddy and her stomach settled and by that time her food had been put in front of her. ‘What would you like to drink, miss?’ the waiter asked.

  ‘A glass of ratafia, please.’

  ‘Don’t have such refinements as that, miss. There’s wine.’

  ‘Wine will do very well,’ a familiar voice said. ‘The best you have and a carafe of water.’

  Helen could not bring herself to look up into his face, though she resented his interference. As if she could not take wine without water! Did he think she was a child? Perhaps he would go away if she pretended she had not noticed he was there. But it was difficult not to notice him, he was so big he towered over her.

  ‘Miss Sadler,’ he said. ‘I took the liberty of having your trunk taken to your room. You seemed to have forgotten it.’

  How could he seem so calm where her heart was thumping with embarrassment? But she could hardly ignore him. ‘Thank you, Captain. I was in haste to secure a room for the night. I had not forgotten it.’ Liar, she accused herself; the need to escape from him had driven all other thoughts from her head.

  ‘May I share your table?’ he asked.

  She looked up at him then, to find him regarding her with his head on one side as if unsure of her reaction to the request, though he showed no sign of leaving if it should prove unfavourable. ‘Why, Captain, I thought you were determined on travelling on through the night.’

  ‘I still need sustenance, Miss Sadler. The coach does not leave for an hour.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So may I sit down? I fear there are no other seats and if you refuse me, you may find yourself sharing with some less savoury character.

  She was about to retort that she could think of no one less savoury but then remembered the farmer and the student and Ned’s half-naked brother, and fell silent. He was preferable to all of those. And if she were truly honest with herself, she had felt safe and comforted in his arms, and that was not a feeling she had enjoyed of late. She managed a tight little smile. ‘Please be seated, Captain, or I shall get a crick in the neck looking up at you.’

  He flicked up the skirt of his uniform jacket and sat down. A waiter appeared immediately, making Helen resentful that she, an unaccompanied woman, had had to wait so long for service. ‘A capon,’ he ordered. ‘Some turbot, potatoes, a dish of vegetables and a slice of your excellent game pie.’ Then to Helen, pointing at her bowl of soup. ‘Is that all you are going to eat?’

  ‘Yes, I am not hungry.’

  ‘You have eaten nothing all day.’

  ‘I expect it is the rocking of the coach; it has made me feel a little unsteady and quite taken my appetite.’

  The Captain’s food arrived, filling her nostrils with its succulent smell. He served himself and smiled at her. His tanned, almost weather-beaten, face creased attractively when he smiled, she noted, and the scar on his forehead almost disappeared. ‘Come, let me tempt you to a morsel. There is more here than I can eat.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘You are angry with me.’ He poured wine for himself and one for her, pushing it towards her.

  ‘Not at all.’ She bent to her soup spoon.

  ‘Yes, you are. Tell me why.’

  ‘Captain, I am unaccustomed to being called a liar, or to being treated with such familiarity, even by people I know well, and we have not even been introduced.’

  He laughed. ‘There is no call to be top-lofty with me, you know. I can give as good as I get in that department, so why not be easy with me. Not half an hour ago…’

  ‘Just because I was so foolish as to fall asleep, does not give you the right to take liberties,’ she said, glad the light was not good enough for him to see the colour she knew was spreading from her cheeks right down her neck. She took a gulp of wine in an effort to cool herself.

  ‘Good God! Who do you think I am? Bluebeard?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it. I am not so in want of female company I have to wait until a young lady is unconscious before forcing myself upon her. You were the one who fell asleep and if I had not supported you, you would have toppled over face first into the lap of that young dandy. He might have taken far more advantage than I.’

  The picture his words created brought a tiny smile to her lips in spite of her determination to retain her hauteur.

  So, she had a sense of humour and could laugh at herself; that was good. ‘You should smile more often, Miss Sadler.’

  ‘I have had little to smile about lately, Captain.’

  ‘Do you wish to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’ She drank a little more wine and was surprised to find her glass was empty. He refilled it.

  ‘Then what shall we talk of? What interests you? The doings of our fat monarch and his outrageous wife?’

  ‘Not particularly. They are as distant from real life as the man on the moon.’

  ‘You are right, that farce is hardly the stuff of intelligent conversation.’

  She smiled then; a genuine smile which lit her piquant face and made her eyes sparkle. ‘You do not subscribe to the maxim that young ladies should not converse intelligently, then?’

  ‘Most of those I have met in Society would be hard put to even pretend to having a mind. Empty-headed little flirts.’

  ‘Oh, dear, you do have a poor opinion of the fair sex.’

  ‘I said “most”, not all, Miss Sadler. I’ll allow there are exceptions.’

  ‘You would like me to prove myself one of the exceptions?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I am not empty-headed, Captain, but I am not so vain as to claim a superior intelligence. I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a good education.’

  ‘Good enough to teach?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ She answered his question with another.

  ‘I noticed how
you handled that little urchin. There was nothing lily-livered about it.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘But did you really not know the difference between a cow and a bull?’

  She laughed. ‘Of course I did, but I did not want to offend the others in the coach if he quizzed me about it.’

  ‘What subjects interest you most, Miss Sadler? Languages, poetry, antiquities…?’

  ‘All of those. I read a little Greek and Latin, and I have enough French to converse…’

  ‘Gaelic?’

  ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I collect you saying you were going to Scotland and it is the native tongue of the Scots.’

  She did not rise to the bait, but turned the question on him. ‘Is it yours, Captain?’

  ‘My father’s, Miss Sadler, but being so much from home, I am afraid I have acquired no more than a few phrases.’

  ‘I assume you have spent a considerable time with your regiment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I imagine it is not all flags flying and bands playing. There must be times when you wish yourself anywhere but where you are. War cannot be a pleasant experience, whether you are victor or vanquished. The sight of all those poor men coming home after Waterloo was heart-rending. I found it difficult to join in the general rejoicing.’

  Was that what the mourning was for, a soldier lover who had not returned? But she was too young for that; he did not think she could be more than eighteen now and would have been a mere child at the time. ‘Did you know someone who was there?’

  ‘Several young men of my acquaintance served on that battlefield, no one in particular,’ she answered evasively. ‘Please, tell me something of it.’

  She had managed, with consummate skill, to turn the conversation away from herself towards him. So be it; if she did not want to tell him about herself, he would enjoy her company for an hour, bid her farewell and never see her again.

  He smiled and talked about the dispositions of the opposing forces and which regiments had distinguished themselves. She ate some of his food, when he pressed her, and drank some more wine and finally relaxed. He was good company and very knowledgeable on a great many subjects, so that she became absorbed by what he was saying and did not notice the other passengers leaving the room to rejoin the coach.