by Mary Nichols
‘Oh, I never would!’
‘I will tell you that my uncle is ill and wishes to see me. Once I have satisfied myself as to his return to good health, I shall go home.’
‘Not back to the London Season?’
‘No, I do not think so, I find it not to my taste.’ The evening before he had returned with his aunt from Lady Melbourne’s to find a message from his mother telling him his uncle, Admiral Lord Bourne, was very ill and wanted to see him. He had always been close to his Uncle Henry, closer than to his father, and had corresponded with him throughout his years in the army and so he had made preparations to take the early morning coach north. He had sent a message to his new steward to go at once to Buregreen to make a start on the work of the estate and written a letter to his mother telling her he was leaving for the north at once and would write again as soon as he arrived. Joe was told to pack and make sure he was awake in good time to catch the stage.
He did not need his own carriage while he was in London and staying with his aunt, so the family carriage had been left at Buregreen for his mother’s use and was not available. Besides, the stage, with its facility for the frequent changing of horses, would have him there all the quicker. He hadn’t bargained for riding outside, but he could hardly let two young women sit on the roof while he sat in comfort inside.
Both girls had finished eating, so he beckoned the waiter to pay the bill.
‘Oh, my lord, we cannot allow you to buy our breakfast, can we, Rose?’
Rose didn’t see why not, but she dutifully answered, ‘No, my—’ She stopped herself just in time and quickly added, ‘—Goodness, no.’
‘If you think I am such a pinchpenny as to invite two ladies to eat with me and then expect them to pay, you are mistaken, madam.’
‘And if you think I am to be bought, then you are the one in error, my lord.’
Instead of being affronted, he laughed. She was no plain everyday companion. She had been brought up a gentlewoman, or something very near it. He was on the point of taxing her with it, but changed his mind. It would provide a little entertainment on a long, tedious journey to watch how she went on and how long she could keep it up. ‘I do not want to buy you, Miss Draper. To be sure, I have no use for a lady’s companion. Now let us call a truce.’ He handed the waiter a handful of coins, telling him to keep the change, which pleased the fellow no end and he went off smiling.
Emma, seeing how much it was, turned pale. If all meals on the way were as expensive as that, her money would never last the distance and her pearls would have to go. It would break her heart to part with them, the last reminder of her father. She had loved him dearly and she knew her mother had too. Oh, why did he have to go and die? And why did her mother have to go and marry that horrible Sir George Tasker? Was that why she was so sharp with Viscount Malvers, when it certainly was not his fault?
‘My lord, I beg your pardon. A truce it is and my gratitude with it.’
‘Then let us go back to the coach. I heard them calling for passengers two minutes ago.’ He stood up and was about to pull out her chair for her and offer his arm, but stopped himself. A lady’s companion would not expect such a courtesy and he ought to maintain the pretence until such time as she admitted it was a pretence.
They trooped out to the coach, he saw the ladies safely in and then resumed his seat on the roof beside his man. Joe Bland had been his batman almost the whole of his army career and on being discharged was happy to continue to serve him. They had been through so much together, he was more friend than servant. Now he was grinning.
‘Pray share the jest,’ Alex commanded him.
‘The Long Meg,’ Joe said. ‘If she’s a lady’s maid, I’ll eat my hat.’
‘She said companion, not maid.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘A companion is something above a maid. Not exactly a servant, but not family either. She is what the name implies, a companion. Such a position usually falls to the lot of spinsters who are gentlewomen but have to earn a living, for one reason or another. The death of the family breadwinner, perhaps, and no likelihood of finding a husband. Their duties are to run errands, fetch and carry, and stay meekly in the background. I doubt they are allowed much time to themselves.’
‘Hmm. Can’t see that one running errands for anyone. I’ll wager half a crown she’s a runaway and, if she is, you could find yourself in a coil for aiding and abetting, my lord.’
‘What you really mean is that you begrudge your inside seat.’
‘No, Major. I’ve travelled in many worse ways, as you very well know. But she’s not what she seems, though I think she is in the way of winding you round her thumb.’
‘Never! No woman will ever do that to me. But I’ll wager you are as curious as I am.’
‘Mayhap. I could try and find out from the other one. Now, she is a servant, I’ll lay odds.’
‘You are probably right, unless the pair of them are putting on a little entertainment for our benefit. I propose to go along with it and see where it leads. We have nothing else to do but enjoy the ride.’
‘If it doesn’t rain,’ Joe muttered gloomily. ‘I begin to wonder if we will ever get a summer. It’s enough to make you wish yourself back in Spain.’
‘I will endeavour to see if we can travel inside when and if the other occupants of the seats leave the coach. To be sure, it will give us time to get to know more of those two.’
Why he was so curious, he did not know. There was something about the tall girl that seized his attention. He had never, to his knowledge, met her before, but he felt as if he knew her, had always known her, and in that knowledge was also mystery, which he found compelling. She was not afraid of him, had met his eyes unashamedly, had conversed intelligently, was self-assured, more than any gentlewoman fallen on hard times ought to be, and yet at the back of those enormous violet eyes was a profound sadness. There was a story there and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
The coach rattled on through the Hertfordshire countryside, making Emma wish she dare stop and go to Pinehill, but that would be the first place Sir George would look once he had ascertained she was no longer in London. She leaned back and refused to look out of the window at the familiar countryside where her childhood had been so happy, in case the sight should make her weep. How was her mother faring? Would her stepfather be bullying her into revealing where her daughter had gone? Mama was dreadfully afraid of her husband, but she would hold out as long as she could. If she could convince Sir George she was as mystified and concerned as he was, she might not suffer too much at his hands. She could even take to her bed with the worry of it all. Yes, that’s what she would do.
‘It’s raining again,’ Rose commented.
Emma opened her eyes and peered through the window. She could see nothing and rubbed the window to clear it of condensation and then all she could see was water beating against the other side and running down the glass in torrents. ‘Oh, dear, those poor men. I’ll wager they wish they had never given us their seats.’
The horses’ swift canter slowed to a trot, as the road became awash and the potholes disappeared, so that the wheels frequently ran into them and everyone on the coach was thrown from side to side. A flash of lightning and a roll of thunder so startled the horses they set off at a mad gallop. Emma reached for the strap and hung on grimly and the young bride opposite her flung herself into her husband’s arms and cried out in terror. They could hear the outside passengers shouting, which included some words not fit for ladies’ ears and then a thumping on the roof above their heads as if all twelve of them were trying to shift their positions. And still the horses galloped on, dragging their cargo with them.
At last the driver regained control and they resumed their steady pace, but the young lady opposite Emma would not be consoled, even though her husband soothed her over and over again. ‘It’s all right, dearest, you are quite safe. And I do believe the rain is easing. We shall soon be in Dun
stable. There, there, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.’ He smiled nervously at Emma as he spoke.
She leaned forward. ‘Pray, do not distress yourself, madam. I admit I was a little nervous myself, but the worst is over. Do dry your eyes and look out of the window. I believe the sun is trying to come out.’
The young lady lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder and smiled weakly. ‘I am s…sorry to be s…such a watering pot. I have never travelled in a public coach before and never without Mama.’
Emma leaned forward, smiling. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. Neither have I.’
‘Then you are very brave.’
‘Not brave, stubborn and too proud to admit to being fearful.’ That, she supposed was true, especially with regard to her present situation, otherwise she would never have set out on this adventure.
They stopped for a change of horses, but did not leave the coach, though Alex climbed down and put his head in the door. Water was dripping off his hat and his shoulders were soaked. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘No, we are all in plump currant,’ Emma said. ‘But you are very wet.’
‘Oh, I have been a great deal wetter in my time, ma’am. I shall soon dry when we stop for something to eat.’
‘When will that be?’
‘At Dunstable. We should have been there by now, but it would have been unwise to hurry the horses when you couldn’t see where you were going.’
Emma smiled. ‘They certainly hurried themselves when it thundered.’
‘Yes, and a devil of a job it was to bring them to order. Horses that shy at a rumble of thunder should not be allowed to draw a public coach. I mean to have a word with the proprietor and hope the next set are more reliable.’ With that he disappeared and Emma saw him cross the yard and enter the inn. He came back just as they were ready to set off again.
The remainder of the stretch to Dunstable, through rolling countryside between the Chiltern Hills and Dunstable Downs, was uneventful and they clattered up the High Street and turned under the archway of the White Horse at half past one in the afternoon. Thankfully they stretched their stiff limbs and made a dash for the inn where they were joined by the bedraggled occupants of the outside seats.
The end of May it might have been, but the spring had been so cold and wet, the proprietor had lit a fire in the parlour and soon steaming coats and cloaks were draped around it. Emma looked about for Lord Malvers, but he was nowhere to be seen, though his man, his dark hair plastered to his scalp, had made himself comfortable in the corner nearest the fire and was tucking in to a plate full of chicken, potatoes and gravy. The young man and his bride were in earnest conversation with the innkeeper and were soon conducted upstairs. No doubt they had bespoke themselves a private room.
Emma found a table and they sat down to wait to be served. They had just handed in an order for ham pie and potatoes, the cheapest thing on the menu according to the man who took the order, when the Viscount returned. He had changed his coat and brushed out his hair, though the rain had made it curl even more. He approached Emma. ‘May I join you?’
She could hardly refuse. ‘Please do. We have already ordered our meal.’
‘Ah, I see, that means I am not to be allowed to pay for it.’ Nevertheless he seated himself beside them.
‘No, my lord, you are not. We are perfectly capable of paying our own way.’
‘How independent you are!’
‘You are mocking me.’
‘Indeed I am not. I admire your spunk.’ He turned as the waiter brought the girls’ meal and took his order for pork chops, roast chicken, a fruit pie and a quart of ale.
‘Spunk, my lord?’
‘You do not seem at all distressed by your recent alarming experience.’
She was taken aback for a moment, thinking he must know who she was and had heard about Lord Bentwater’s proposal, but then realised he was talking about the runaway horses. ‘Oh, that. It did not last above two or three minutes and we did not turn over, did we?’
‘No, but it was a near thing.’
She smiled. ‘A close-run thing.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, if you will.’
‘It must have been far worse for those of you travelling on the outside in the rain and wind.’
‘A mite uncomfortable,’ he said laconically.
The waiter came back with a tray loaded with food and Emma’s eyes widened at the sight of it. Her ham pie had barely filled a corner. She watched as he attacked it with gusto.
‘And you need not have endured it if you had not given away your inside seats.’
‘I hope you are not going to bore me with your gratitude all the way to Kendal, Miss Draper. A good deed once done should be forgotten.’
‘By the doer, yes, but the recipient should be thinking of ways to make all right again.’
‘Allowing me to bear you company has made it right.’ He had noticed her looking longingly at the food on his plate and guessed she had very little money. Putting down his knife and fork, he pushed his plate away. ‘Do you know, I am not as hungry as I thought I was. I shall have to send most of the chicken back to the kitchen and I hate waste.’
Rose looked at Emma and Emma looked at Rose, each reading the other’s thoughts. ‘So do I,’ Rose said, knowing Emma would never stoop to admitting such a thing. ‘And it is like to be some time before we stop again. If you have truly eaten your fill…’
‘Oh, I have. Here, let me help you to a morsel.’ And he divided what was left in the dishes between their two plates. ‘But do hurry up. We were so late arriving we are not being given the full hour to eat. Apparently, the schedule is more important than our digestions.’
They had eaten half of it when they were recalled to their seats. Almost reluctantly Emma left the cosiness of the warm room and the company of a gentleman she found strangely beguiling and made her way out to the coach, now with a different team of horses. Followed by Rose, she took her place and was taken aback when Lord Malvers’s servant climbed in and sat opposite her. Lord Malvers joined them and they were away again.
‘You have no objection to my travelling inside with you?’ he asked.
‘My lord, you must think me very particular and singularly lacking in conduct to object to anyone who has paid for his seat.’ She gave a little laugh and added, ‘Twice over.’
‘Then I shall take it you are content with my company.’ He smiled to put her at her ease, but she was wary of him, he could see it in her eyes, such big, expressive eyes. He turned to her companion. ‘What about you, Miss…I am sorry, you have the advantage of me.’
‘Turner,’ she said.
‘Well, Miss Turner, do you think you can suffer me to share your carriage?’
‘My carriage! Goodness, sir, what would I be doin’ with a carriage?’
‘Quite right. Prodigious expensive things they are to keep.’
‘Is that why you travel by public coach, my lord?’ Emma asked him, knowing he was throwing darts at her by teasing Rose. It behoved her to come to the maid’s rescue.
‘You think it miserly of me?’
‘I would never accuse you of miserliness, my lord. I was simply curious.’
‘Again?’
‘Touché.’ She laughed. ‘You do not have to answer me.’
‘No, but there is not much else to do is there? The countryside is too wet and bedraggled to be worth our attention, so we must fall back on conversation. Unless, of course, you prefer silence.’
‘No, my lord. By all means let us converse.’
‘Then I will tell you I did not bother to keep a carriage and horses in town and as my journey was urgent I had no time to go home for it.’
‘Home being in Norfolk?’
‘Yes. Buregreen. It is on the borders of Norfolk and Suffolk, quite near the sea. There are three farms, mainly arable, but with a fair acreage of grazing. Before the war they were productive, but last year the harvest was not good owing to bad weather and this year the climate
has been the worst anyone can remember. I doubt there will be a yield at all.’
‘And yet you left it to go to London? Are you not happy at home, my lord?’
‘It is the place I most wish to be, but my mother, bless her dear heart, thought I should find me a wife.’
‘You are not married, then?’
‘No, Miss Draper, I am not. I never had the time or inclination for it.’ It was spoken so emphatically she wondered why he was so adamant.
‘And the London Season bores you.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘You said so yourself, earlier today. Not to your taste, you said. Do you think you will find a bride in the Lakes?’
‘A mermaid, you mean, half-fish, half-woman.’
It was a moment before his meaning registered and then she laughed. ‘Do you always tease, my lord?’
‘Only if I think it will make you smile. It is better than being sombre, don’t you think? Life is too short to take seriously.’
‘We cannot always be laughing. There are times…’ She stopped, afraid to go on. He was looking at her with his head on one side, his blue eyes watching her, waiting for her to give herself away. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction.
‘Yes,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘Times of war, times of bereavement and loss, times when the situation of the poor breaks one’s heart and one is left fuming at the callousness of a society that lets them suffer. It is thinking of such things that demand solemnity.’
‘You evidently think very strongly on that subject.’
‘Yes. Don’t you? Or perhaps you have never had to think about it.’
He was fishing, she decided. ‘Of course I think about it and I wish I could help them, but it is not in my power.’
‘No, you are only Miss Fanny Draper, isn’t that what you told me?’
‘Yes, because that is my name.’
‘My dear girl, I am not disputing it.’ He waited for her reaction, an angry accusation of impertinence, not only for the way he had addressed her, but for doubting her honesty. For a fleeting second he saw it in her eyes and then it was gone.
