by Mary Nichols
‘Oh, but I know a great deal about you,’ he murmured to her departing back. ‘You have shown me yourself with everyone we have met, everybody you have spoken to, fellow travellers, coachmen, innkeepers. You have demonstrated a huge concern for your fellow human beings and sympathy for their sufferings. You have shown a generous spirit and great courage, pride and humility in equal measure, a wide knowledge and wider intelligence, and a refusal to be beaten which is little short of obstinacy, traits far away and above what is necessary for a little schoolma’am or a lady’s companion, though they could be the attributes of a loving wife.’
Love. She would not marry where that was lacking. But he had enough for both of them and he should have told her so instead of making it sound like a coldblooded contract to get her out of a hobble. Sighing, he followed her and discovered there was a coach about to leave for Glasgow and little Miss Sadler was issuing orders about the stowing of her luggage. He smiled and went to her aid. Once that was done, he handed her in and took his place beside her in silence.
The coach was full both inside and out and everyone was talking about the prospects of severe weather and expressing their hope that they would reach their destinations before the roads became impassable, telling each other tales of blizzards and people getting lost and houses being covered, of horses floundering and coaches getting stuck fast, each story more improbable than the last.
But Helen hardly heard them. Captain Blair had made her immune to tall stories and she was more concerned with what lay in wait at the end of her journey. Now the Captain had put the idea in her head that no good employer would allow a young lady to travel alone, she could not shift it. The Earl was not her employer but her guardian; surely that should have made him more caring, not less? Had he been reluctant to take responsibility for her and hoped she would not attempt the journey at all?
She might, after all, have been better off accepting Captain Blair’s offer. But what did she know of him, apart from the fact that he was a soldier and a second son? She did not think he was without funds and she knew he could be kind and generous, that on many issues they agreed, that he could be a staunch ally and probably a fearsome enemy. He could be domineering too, and he was a card-player, but she knew nothing of his family, nor of his home. Did he live at home or in the saddle on some campaign or other? If she married him, would she be a camp follower? She shivered suddenly.
‘You are cold?’ His soft voice right against her ear startled her.
‘No.’
‘But you shivered.’
‘Thoughts, Captain Blair, only thoughts.’
‘A penny for them.’
‘They are worthless, sir, still quite worthless.’ She turned away from him and looked out of the window. The steady rain had turned to sleet, melting as it touched the road, but it was enough to make visibility poor and they slowed to a walk.
‘I think not.’ His voice was insistent. ‘I’ll wager you were thinking about the future, about what lies ahead of you, and wondering which is worse, a position you don’t know about with a family you have never met, or being a soldier’s wife. Am I correct?’
He was right, dreadfully right but she would never admit it. ‘No. You would lose your bet, Captain, and serve you right too. And you know how much I loathe gambling.’
‘That was not gambling, it was a certainty, and saying “I’ll wager” is merely a figure of speech.’
‘I know that, but you do play cards, you admitted it, and you said you always win.’
‘Surely a game of cards to pass the time and a small bet on the outcome to enliven the interest, does not make me an out and out villain?’
‘No. But it is a beginning, the start of the dreadful slide downhill to penury…’
‘You have perhaps some experience of that? Is that why…?’
‘No, it is not,’ she snapped.
‘Then why this aversion?’
‘I could not marry a gambler and that is all there is to it.’
He laughed suddenly. ‘No wonder you have never married if your requirements are so particular. I enjoy a hand of cards but I am not what you call a gambling man and I would not mind if I never had another wager, but I’ll be blowed if I’d allow a woman to dictate to me on the matter.’
‘Then it is just as well I refused you, isn’t it?’
‘It is indeed,’ he said, with a grim smile. Which was not at all what he had meant to say.
They remained silent throughout the remainder of the journey, though there were a thousand questions she wanted to ask him, a thousand thoughts buzzing in her head, none of them coherent. Her fear of the perils of the road was nothing compared with her apprehension at what lay ahead of her.
They stopped frequently for a change of horses, sometimes being allowed down to take some refreshment, sometimes having food and drink brought out for them to consume on the way. No one wanted to be delayed a second longer than was necessary and they all gazed at the sky, gloomily expecting the worst or optimistically forecasting a change for the better, depending on their temperaments.
They passed through Sanquar at a brisk trot, then on to the Elvanfoot Inn and up across the moors to Douglas Dale, where they stopped at what the coachman proudly told them was the biggest and busiest hostelry in Scotland. Here the horses were changed and they were allowed half an hour for a meal. Then on again to Knowknock and Hamilton where the horses were changed for the last time and, with the smell of home in their nostrils, made a final burst of speed through wooded countryside and clattered into a town which could only be Glasgow itself.
It was late at night, but the place was still busy, with lights showing in many of the shops and people on the cobbled streets, some wrapped up well against the bitter weather, others poorly clad and shivering. For once, Helen was too absorbed in her own concerns to worry about them.
The guard gave a blast on his horn as they turned into Gallowgate and two minutes later they pulled up in the yard of the Old Saracen’s Head.
‘Here we are, safe and sound,’ Helen heard someone say and they all tumbled out, one after the other, clapping their hands to their sides and stamping their feet while their baggage was taken down, and then hurrying into the inn for warmth, food and possibly a bed.
Helen, conscious that the Captain was still with her, hurried in ahead of him, anxious to make enquiries about being met before he could overhear.
‘Someone from the Earl,’ the innkeeper repeated when she cornered him in the back parlour. ‘No, there’s been no one.’
‘Are you sure? It might have been any time in the last three days.’
‘Nay, I’d know if there had, lass, the Earl is well known to us and we’d have been told if he was expecting anyone. Besides, he’s been ill, not entertaining visitors, you see.’
‘Ill? How ill?’ This was something she had not considered.
‘Bad, I think, but he pulled through, though he’s no been out since.’
‘But he is expecting me. Is there a coach to Killearn?’
‘Not this side of Saturday, miss, and only if the weather improves.’
‘I shall have to stay here then and hope someone comes for me. Have you a room? A single room?’
‘I think I can find ye one, miss, but are ye sure ye’ve not made a mistake? It is the Earl who’s expecting ye?’
‘Yes. And please, could you show me up to my room at once? I am very cold and tired.’
‘Yes, miss. If someone were to come from the Earl, who shall I say is waiting? Not that I think they will, there’ll be nothin’ moving’ on the roads taenight.’
‘Miss Sanghurst. Miss Helen Sanghurst. My trunk is in the hall; it is engraved with the letters H and S intertwined. Would you have it brought up?’
‘Of course, miss. Follow me.’
He led her through a door on the far side of the room, so that when Duncan came in two minutes later she was nowhere to be seen. And neither was the innkeeper, who knew Captain Duncan Blair very well indeed an
d would have wondered why she was looking for a messenger from the Earl when his son had come in on the same coach.
Having discovered from one of the servants that the young lady had retired to her room, Duncan ordered a room for himself and went to bed. There was nothing to be done until the morning. Now he was almost home he began to wonder what might be in store for him. He prayed he would find his father well and in good spirits. After India, the damp climate of Scotland got into his bones, he said, and the mists which gathered on the hills filled him with aches and pains. Perhaps it had been no more than a chill and he would find him hale and hearty.
Duncan was up, dressed and out before dawn. The snow and sleet had stopped but the wind was whipping up slate-grey clouds from the north and he knew there was more to come. The sooner they were on their way the better; he had no intention of waiting until Saturday for a coach. They had come so far and he was not going to be baulked at the last hurdle. Miss Sadler wanted to go to Killearn and to Killearn they would both go.
He wrapped his cloak around him and pulled his hat firmly on his head as he set off into the centre of the town, where he knew there was a coachbuilder. An hour later he returned to the Old Saracen’s Head with a stout box-like carriage pulled by two small but sturdy ponies, one of which was ridden by a postboy, who was not a boy at all, but an ancient Highlander, as tough as they came.
Leaving the equipage in the care of an ostler, he strode into the inn just as Helen came down the stairs, muffled in a cloak and with her bonnet tied on with a scarf. Seeing him she hesitated with her hand on the rail and then lifted her chin and came down the last few steps. ‘Good morning, Captain Blair.’
‘Ma’am.’ He made a perfunctory leg. ‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Yes, in my room.’
‘Good, we have no time to waste.’ He stepped forward to take her elbow. ‘Come along.’
She pulled herself away just as the innkeeper came through from the back regions of the house. He looked up at them and smiled. ‘So you found each other then?’
‘Yes,’ they answered in unison, each thinking that the other had been making enquiries.
‘Ye’ll be leaving at once, then?’
‘Yes, at once,’ Duncan said. ‘Please have the lady’s trunk brought down and put in the chaise in the yard.’
‘Verra good, Captain.’
‘And make up a hamper of food and a bottle of wine.’
‘Aye, sir, and shall I be fetchin’ a hot brick for the lady’s feet?’
‘Good idea. Yes, please.’
The man disappeared and Helen turned on Duncan. ‘Just what are you about, Captain?’
‘We are going the rest of the way by chaise.’
‘The rest of the way?’
‘To Killearn. That is where you want to go, is it not?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘No buts. Unless you want to be stuck in a strange town for the rest of the winter?’
‘No, I do not, but I am told there is a coach on Saturday.’
‘Three days away. I, for one, am not prepared to wait that long.’
‘And I would rather do that than spend another minute in your company.’ Oh, why was she snapping at him? The reason she did not want his company had nothing to do with his behaviour, not if she were honest with herself. It was all to do with being Helen Sanghurst, not Helen Sadler, and the shame she felt.
‘And what if it snows so hard nothing can move? You could be here for weeks.’
She craned her neck to look past him into the street as someone opened the door. ‘It has stopped snowing.’
‘That is just the lull before the storm. Ask anyone. Ask that waiter over there.’ He saw her hesitation and his voice softened. ‘Please let bygones be bygones, Miss Sadler. I would not, for the world, have upset you. I apologise most humbly and I promise you that I will deliver you safely to wherever you have to go and nothing more.’ He smiled crookedly and encompassed the inn with his hand. ‘Better the devil you know…’
She could not risk being stuck; even if she sold her pin again and her mother’s ring, she would not be paid their true worth and whatever they fetched would not last long. And a busy inn with all kinds of people coming and going, and where several virile men were employed who would not see her as a gentlewoman, was not a pleasing prospect. He was right; she would be better to trust herself to the devil she knew.
‘Very well,’ she said.
In no time at all, she was tucked into the corner of the coach all wrapped round with rugs and a hot brick at her feet. The Captain climbed in beside her and the ancient postboy mounted the nearside horse and they were away.
Out of the town they went at a steady trot, then along the north bank of the Clyde where Helen could see the spars and rigging of a myriad of ships lying at anchor there. A short rest at Dumbarton, more for the benefit of the ponies than the humans, then on again northwards in blinding snow, so that there was nothing to see of the distant mountains and even trees and cottages a few yards from the track were blurred.
‘Can the old man see the road?’ Helen asked.
‘He knows it blindfold.’
‘He might just as well be blindfold,’ Helen said. ‘I never realised that Scotland could be so bleak.’
‘Anywhere would be bleak in a blizzard,’ he said. ‘You should see it in summer when the mountains are clothed in green and purple and the burns are tumbling crystal clear over the rocks; with deep, deep lochs reflecting the clouds, heather and coltsfoot and dog daisies carpeting the slopes and the yellow of gorse stark against a sky, blue as forget-me-nots. Sheep are scattered over the hillsides, grouse and woodcock nest in the grass and the rivers are full of fish. If anywhere on earth is heaven it is here, in summer.’
‘You must love it very much.’
‘I do.’
‘How could you bear to leave it to go into the army?’
‘I had little choice. I was sent by my papa.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, he had his reasons.’
‘Tell me.’
He grinned, half shame-faced. ‘I fell in love.’
‘You?’ She resisted the impulse to laugh.
‘It was what you might call puppy love,’ he said, smiling a little at himself. ‘It was considered unsuitable and I was sent away to get over it.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes,’ he said and meant it. ‘I recovered.’
‘But you never married?’
‘I never found anyone else to engage my heart. There was a war on too, you remember.’
‘And now are you going home for good?’
‘I might be. It depends. I heard my father was ill.’
‘And you were hurrying to his side! Oh, dear, all those delays and most of them caused by me. Oh, why did you stay with me, you could have gone on?’
‘No, I could not. Something told me I had to look after you, an inner voice, my conscience, if you like…’
‘Your conscience?’
‘Conscience or heart, I am not sure which.’
They had been going slower and slower while they talked and now had come to a stop. He put his head out of the window. ‘Hamish, what’s amiss?’
It was no more than a short step for the man to get off the pony because the poor beast was up to its belly in snow. The rider struggled in driving snow to the door of the coach. ‘I’ve lost the road, Captain. And the poor brutes is all but done for.’
‘How far are we from home?’
‘Six or seven miles, mebbe a wee bit more.’
‘We could try and walk,’ Helen said.
‘Or ride.’ Duncan stroked his chin. ‘Hamish on one and you and I on the other.’
‘Ye’d never mek it,’ Hamish said bluntly. ‘The pony’ll niver carry the both of ye and the lass will freeze. Ye ride and I’ll walk.’ He floundered back to the ponies, only to find one of them had caught its foot in a hidden pothole and was so lame, it could not be ridden and indeed could not be ex
pected to pull the carriage any further.
‘How long d’you think it will take you to fetch help?’
‘I canna say, Captain. There’s auld Bailey’s place nearby, if I c’n find it.’
‘Then take the good pony. We will wait here.’
He was out of sight in a few yards. Helen was very afraid for him. How could he possibly find his way when there was nothing to see but a few trees and white and more white?
‘If the snow eases, he’ll be able to see the mountains,’ Duncan said, returning to sit beside her. ‘He knows their shapes and the shapes of all the rocks, and every twist and turn of every burn. He’ll find his way.’ But he was less confident than he sounded.
The waiting stretched from minutes to hours and there seemed no let-up in the snow. Everywhere was blanketed and as silent as the grave. Helen’s feet and fingers soon became so numb that she could not feel them, and when Duncan fetched out the food and wine and encouraged her to eat she shook so much that could hardly put the food to her mouth and spilt the drink.
‘This is what comes of giving that old lady your cloak,’ he said. ‘As if we did not have enough to contend with, you have caught a chill.’
‘She needed it more than I did. I am not ill, just sleepy, so very, very sleepy…’
‘No!’ he commanded, shaking her. ‘You must not go to sleep. Whatever happens, you must stay awake.’
‘Sleep,’ she mumbled. ‘Let me sleep.’
‘No! Talk to me. Say whatever comes into your head.’
‘How long will we be stuck here, do you think?’ Her voice was hardly more than a sigh and he had to bend his head to hear her.
‘I do not know.’
‘Shall we die here, do you think? Will they find us frozen in each other’s arms?’ Her lips flickered into a tiny smile. ‘Oh, that will give the tabbies something to talk about, won’t it?’ Her voice faded to almost nothing and her head lolled. ‘On top of everything else…’
