The Last Gamble

by Mary Nichols

  They went downstairs to find Tom and the Captain already at the table with food enough for four in front of them, though Tom had evidently only just arrived and was grumbling about his accommodation. ‘I had to share a room with half a dozen others all of whom snored in a different key,’ he was saying. ‘I hardly shut my eyes all night. If it had not been for Miss Sadler, Dorothy and I could have booked a room to ourselves…’

  ‘Mr Thurborn!’ Helen exclaimed, realising he had not noticed them arrive. ‘I do hope I have misunderstood your meaning.’

  He looked up and had the grace to look ashamed. ‘We would not have shared a bed, I promise you.’

  ‘As the opportunity did not arise, there is no point in wasting conjecture on it,’ Duncan said.

  ‘I’ll wager you managed a room to yourself,’ Tom went on, addressing Duncan. ‘You seem to be able to command the best without putting yourself out at all.’

  ‘On the contrary, I chose the stables. Horses do not snore and they are infinitely preferable to sharing with assorted other livestock.’

  Helen shuddered, wondering about the bed she and Dorothy had shared, but the sheets had been newly laundered and the blankets clean. She suspected the Captain had made sure of that when ordering the room to be made ready. ‘And were you able to sleep?’

  ‘As a soldier I have learned to sleep anywhere whenever I can. Do not give it another thought. Please have some breakfast, we must leave soon.’

  The girls had hardly begun to eat when a guard came in and announced that the Independent was about to leave. ‘All aboard as is coming aboard,’ he called. Reluctantly they prepared to abandon their breakfast and follow the other passengers outside.

  ‘Sit down,’ Duncan said. ‘Finish your breakfast.’ Then, to Helen’s amazement, he looked about him to make sure no one was watching, gathered up the cutlery on an adjoining table which was littered with the remains of a half eaten breakfast, and put it into the empty teapot.

  The innkeeper, following in the wake of his departing guests, began to clear the tables and suddenly missing the cutlery, set up a hue and cry. ‘I’ve been robbed! Someone has gone off with the silver.’ Then to one of the waiters, ‘Stop the coach! Stop everyone! No one leaves until I have my belongings back. It’s bad enough people walking off without paying, but to take the knives and forks… How is a body to make an honest living? You, sir.’ He pointed to a burly countryman in a huge topcoat. ‘What have you got in your pockets?’

  ‘A kerchief and a purse,’ the man said, turning to go, but his way was blocked by the waiter, who required him to turn out his pockets.

  ‘Eat up,’ Duncan told the girls, who were so interested in what was happening they were forgetting to eat. ‘The coachman will not let him hold us for long.’ Suiting action to words, he calmly resumed his own breakfast, while the furore went on all around them, with the innkeeper accusing and the passengers angrily maintaining their innocence. ‘Time to put an end to it,’ Duncan said at last, picking up the teapot and shaking it, making a great play of finding something inside it. ‘Landlord, is this what you are looking for?’ he asked, producing the missing cutlery.

  The innkeeper dashed over to him and grabbed the knives and forks, while everyone in the room was convulsed with laughter. ‘Someone hid them,’ he said, glaring at Duncan. ‘Some people never grow up, do they?’

  ‘And some are too quick to accuse,’ Duncan said, though how he kept his face straight Helen had no idea. ‘Now, if you would be so good as to stand aside, we have a coach waiting for us. Come, Miss Sadler, Miss Carstairs, it is time to go.’

  Helen’s eyes were so filled with tears of laughter she could hardly see where she was going and they began the next stage of their journey in high good spirits. As there were only the four of them travelling inside, they were far less cramped.

  Miss Sadler, so beautiful in repose, was equally attractive when animated, Duncan mused, as they took their seats. She ought to laugh more often. He would make it his business to make her laugh. She should not be grieving for an old lady who doubtless treated her with disdain.

  ‘Mr Gathercole told me some extraordinary tales about his life as a coachman,’ he said, deciding to amuse her with a few anecdotes and see if he could make her green eyes sparkle again.

  ‘If the incidents we have met with are any measure, I imagine his life is never dull,’ Helen said. ‘But he brings his troubles on himself if he allows widgeons to take over the ribbons.’

  ‘Oh, I am inclined to forgive him,’ Dorothy put in. ‘It brought us together, did it not? Instead of sitting here stiff and silent, we are the best of friends. I would be happy were it not for the thought of confronting Aunt Sophia. I wish… No, I could not ask it of you.’

  ‘We are both in haste to reach Scotland,’ Duncan said quickly, before Helen could offer to accompany the young lady to her aunt’s. ‘There has already been too much delay.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I understand how impatient you must be.’

  ‘Captain, you were speaking of Mr Gathercole,’ Helen put in quickly to prevent Dorothy explaining how she thought Captain Blair was eloping with her; the young lady evidently preferred to believe her own theory than the truth she had been told. ‘Do tell us some of his tales.’

  ‘He told me that a coach was left unattended outside an inn while the coachman and guard went in to lubricate their throats, but the horses apparently knew the importance of keeping to schedule better than their crew. They set off without them at a smart trot. The only outside passenger was a fishwife, who waved her arms at everyone they passed, pointing to the empty box but to no avail, no one could stop them. Thankfully she had the sense not to scream and upset the horses. The inside passengers assumed the coachman was in his usual place on the box and were completely unconcerned.’

  ‘How far did they go?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Seven miles. Apparently they negotiated all the hazards on their route, including oncoming traffic, a bridge and a tollgate before coming to a halt outside the next stage dead on time.’

  ‘I do believe you are gammoning us,’ Dorothy said. ‘The horses must have known there was no one on the box.’

  ‘If they did, they thought nothing of it,’ he said. ‘When horses cover the same ground day after day, they learn the way blindfold. Some are quite blind, you know, especially those on night runs, where sight is of little significance. There was a one-eyed coachman who boasted that he and his four horses had only one eye between them.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Ah, but it was the coachman who had the eye.’

  ‘Yes, but horses can be as unpredictable as people, you know. There is another story of a horse dealer who was offered a horse for ten pounds, a price which made him immediately suspicious because it looked as though the animal was worth five and thirty pounds at least. He was promised it was sound in wind and limb and would never kick and so, in spite of his misgivings, he decided to buy it. It was only when the beast was put into harness he discovered he would not budge and nothing would make him do so. Even setting light to straw beneath him did no more than make him jump and throw himself to the ground.’

  ‘I assume your friend turned his whip on the vendor,’ Tom said.

  ‘No, for he had been given no warranty. He took the horse down to the canal and persuaded a bargeman to hitch him up with his two horses, but the animal was as recalcitrant as ever. He bucked and reared and threw himself down on his haunches, but the other two simply plodded forward as they had always done, taking no notice of him at all. He tried his tantrums again, but all that happened was that he rolled right off the towpath and into the river. After his wetting he decided to surrender and became a model of a good coach horse.’

  ‘I do believe you are every bit as bad as the coachmen with their Canterbury tales,’ Helen said. ‘I have heard they like to embroider their stories when they have a gullible audience.’

  ‘Why not, if it helps to enliven a dull journey? It is for the listener to decide whether to be
lieve them or not.’

  ‘Do tell us more, Captain,’ Dorothy begged.

  ‘Mr Gathercole is the master, not I,’ Duncan said. ‘But he did tell me a tale last night about a gentleman who boarded a night coach and wiled away the hours talking to a fur-coated gentleman beside him, only to discover, when dawn came, that his travelling companion was a performing bear.’

  ‘Now I know you are teasing us,’ Helen said, though she was laughing. ‘He must surely have wondered why his fellow passenger never offered a comment of his own.’

  ‘Some people like the sound of their own voices,’ he said, pleased that he had succeeded in making her smile again.

  ‘I heard of a coach being attacked by a lioness,’ Tom put in, not to be outdone.

  ‘Fustian!’ Dorothy said. ‘There are no lions in England.’

  ‘Yes, there are! It had escaped from a circus. And there’s another tale of two ladies who joined a coach where the only other inside passenger was another lady, but she had unfortunately died on the road an hour or so before. Rather than walk, they shared the coach with the stiffening corpse all the way from Chelmsford to Norwich.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Dorothy said. ‘I do not wish to hear another word on the subject.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Helen said, as they stopped for a change of horses. ‘I have had enough adventures these past two days to last me a lifetime.’

  ‘Then I hope the remainder of your journey is uneventful,’ Dorothy said.

  ‘From here to Manchester is plain sailing,’ Duncan said. ‘After that, who knows? We could have tempests and floods, roads washed away, bridges down.’

  ‘Captain Blair,’ Helen said. ‘Are you determined on frightening me?’

  ‘I doubt that is possible. Such a staunch and valiant traveller I never met before. I am simply saying we must not be complacent; delay could be serious.’

  ‘I recollect you are in haste,’ she said. ‘You may rest assured I am entirely in agreement with that.’

  ‘I should think so too,’ Dorothy said, almost wistfully. ‘I almost wish we were coming too. I am not at all sure of my aunt’s reception.’

  ‘I am persuaded she will be perfectly content when you tell her everything,’ Helen said. ‘How could she be otherwise when she realises how much you love each other?’ She heard Duncan give what sounded like a grunt of derision but chose to ignore it. ‘And your papa too, when he realises how determined you are. That is the secret, being determined.’

  ‘And you are an authority on the subject?’ Duncan interposed. ‘You can tell how a father is going to behave over his daughter’s disobedience without even meeting him? You know how he will react to determination which he will view as nothing but wilfulness?’

  ‘Oh, you think he will be dreadfully angry, don’t you?’ Dorothy countered, tears welling in her eyes again. ‘Why did you tell Tom to face up to Papa if you believe that?’

  He controlled his exasperation with an effort; after all, she was little more than a spoiled child. In some ways she reminded him of Arabella and that was perhaps why he had so little patience with her. He softened his tone. ‘Not at all, I was simply pointing out to Miss Sadler she can have no knowledge of how your father will react and she should not pretend she has.’

  ‘And you, sir, are so cynical, it is a wonder you have survived at all,’ Helen said. ‘You must allow people to have hope…’

  ‘Even misplaced hope?’

  His quirky smile belied the harshness of his words. His apparent arrogance was at odds with the hurt she could see in his eyes. Helen felt as if she wanted to hit him for his stupidity and hold him to her breast to heal his wounds at one and the same time. Not for the first time she wondered whether there was a woman in his past who had caused the contradictions in his character. Perhaps she was still there, still plaguing him. It was extraordinary how annoyed that thought made her. ‘Why not?’ she countered. ‘Wasn’t hope the only thing left in Pandora’s box after all the evils of the world had flown out to plague us?’

  He smiled and his eyes softened. ‘Touché, Miss Sadler. You must forgive an old grouch who has seen too much of the evil and too little of the good.’

  Two minutes later they heard the guard’s horn and in another minute drew up at an inn in Derby where the horses were due to be changed and where Tom and Dorothy got down, a little despondent at parting from their new friends and anxious about the future.

  ‘Have no fear,’ Helen said, smiling. ‘Whatever faces you, it cannot be any worse than what is ahead of me if half the Captain’s Banbury tales are true.’

  Dorothy laughed, putting a hand up to where Helen’s rested on the door. ‘In that case, perhaps I am glad I am going no further, but I shall miss you dreadfully. Do write when you are settled, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She moved aside to allow two new inside passengers to board and then stood beside Tom, waving until they were out of sight. Helen turned in her seat and leaned back against the squabs, sorry to part from the young couple. They had acted as a buffer between her and the Captain and now she was bound to be thrown more in his company than ever. And if he started quizzing her again, she would give herself away.

  There were ony two other inside passengers, an army sergeant with a curly moustache and a thin little man who looked as though he had not eaten in several days, both of whom were dirty, unshaven and malodorous. They ought to be travelling outside, she mused, but then if they were, she and Captain Blair would be alone in the coach and the thought of that sent her heart racing and the colour flaring in her cheeks.

  ‘I never met such poor beasts,’ the sergeant said, nodding towards the horses. Stretching across the little man, he put his head out and shouted up at the coachman, ‘Spring ’em, driver. Let’s see what they can do.’

  Helen felt, rather than saw, the Captain stiffen, but fortunately the driver paid not the least attention and continued at the regulation canter wherever it was possible to do so, but the terrain, though beautiful with gorse-covered moorland and craggy outcrops of rock, did not lend itself to a steady pace. They found themselves dashing down the hills in order to give themselves a good start up the next, with the sergeant shouting encouragement and the little man sitting in the corner with his chin on his chest in brooding silence. He did not seem to be aware of his surroundings but he must have been carefully watching for an opportunity because at one spot when they were reduced to a crawl by the steepness of the gradient, he opened the door and would have flung himself out if the sergeant had not grabbed his coat tail and hauled him back inside, beating him about the head with his fists. ‘Oh, no you don’t, you little runt,’ he said.

  ‘Really, sir, there is no call to attack the poor man like that,’ Helen protested, shrugging off the Captain’s restraining hand on her arm. ‘What has he done to deserve such violent treatment?’

  ‘No one escapes Sergeant Hollocks and lives to tell the tale.’ He gave him one or two more blows for good measure and then turned to Duncan. ‘Be so good as to hold on to him, sir, while I tie him up. Seems he can’t be trusted to behave himself. Promised me he wouldn’t cut and run and I was fool enough to take his word.’

  The Captain leaned forward and grasped the man’s shoulders while the sergeant fetched a rope from his belt and tied the man’s hands together and secured them to the door handle. ‘That should fix him.’

  ‘What has he done?’ Helen asked, feeling sorry for the poor man whose lip and nose were pouring with blood. ‘You can’t sit there and let him bleed.’

  ‘Beg pardon, ma’am, you ain’t about to swoon, are you?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Look the other way, you’ll soon come about.’

  ‘Of course I am not going to faint. I am concerned about your companion.’

  ‘Companion! I would rather have a snake for company.’

  ‘Here, wipe his face,’ Duncan said, pulling his cravat from his neck and handing it to the sergeant.

  The man complied, none to gently, after whi
ch he offered the neckcloth back to its owner. Duncan shook his head, whereupon the blood-soaked muslin was pocketed.

  ‘What do you suppose he has done?’ Helen whispered to Duncan, disinclined to risk speaking to the sergeant again.

  ‘He’s a deserter,’ the sergeant said, before Duncan could venture an answer. ‘A runaway, a lily-livered coward, what’s disgraced the King’s uniform. I’m taking him back to the regiment.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘We’re barracked near Manchester.’

  ‘Is that where he deserted?’

  ‘No, sir, he left the field of battle, “deserting in the face of the enemy” it’s called.’

  ‘I know what it’s called,’ Duncan said. ‘Which battle?’

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, am I to assume you are a military gentleman?’

  ‘Yes. Captain Blair of the Prince of Wales’s Own Hussars. I am presently on leave.’

  ‘Then you, sir, will know the battle. He ran from the field at Waterloo.’

  ‘But goodness, that was over five years ago,’ Helen said. ‘Surely…’

  ‘The army never gives up on deserters, ma’am.’

  ‘What will happen to him?’

  ‘He will be tried and hanged.’

  ‘Hanged! Oh, no, that’s too barbaric.’

  ‘You think he should be shot? That’s only for officers, not for the likes of this thatchgallows.’

  ‘No, I did not mean that. I do not see why he should die at all. I expect he was afraid and who can blame him for that?’

  ‘Deserting in the middle of a battle is the worst crime a soldier can commit, ma’am. Isn’t that so, Captain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But surely you do not hound a man for five years…’

  ‘Please do not argue, my dear,’ Duncan said. ‘You really do not understand.’

  ‘I understand cruelty and injustic.’ She turned to the little man who had been looking from one to the other, saying nothing on his own behalf. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘My dear, I really do not think you want to know about it,’ Duncan said.