Fourpenny Flyer

by Beryl Kingston

  And the slender young women looked up, calling for help. And she was Miss Harriet Sowerby.

  Chapter Six

  Harriet Sowerby was never so glad of anything in her life as she was at the sight of her own dear Mr Easter looking down at her from the Pump Room on that dreadful, dreadful afternoon.

  When the fat lady made that unearthly groaning noise and fell backwards into the water, Harriet was alarmed and upset, but when those awful flailing arms knocked poor Miss Pettie off her balance, she was so frightened she hardly knew what she ought to do.

  She called for help but everybody was attending to the fat lady and nobody heard her, and in the meantime Miss Pettie was sinking. She knew that the imperative thing was to keep a drowning person’s head out of the water. But Miss Pettie’s head was quite extraordinarily heavy and her body was drifting of its own accord. Oh! Oh! What should she do? What if Miss Pettie were to die? What would her mother say when she heard of it? She hung on, trying to push the air out of that awful swelling gown with one hand and supporting Miss Pettie’s white wet head with the other and all the time she was praying frantically. Dear Lord, please don’t let her die! Oh, please don’t.

  And there he was. Like a miracle. The answer to her prayer. Looking at her with so many expressions following one another so rapidly on his remembered face, surprise, recognition, alarm, and then the most tender concern. He was saying something to her through the glass, but she couldn’t hear what it was. And the next second he was gone. She was weak with relief, the strength ebbing out of her arms, but she hung on, and presently she could hear his voice echoing round the bath, giving orders. ‘Attendant! Attendant! Quickly! This way! Follow me!’ How wonderfully commanding he was.

  And then he was standing beside her in the water, stripped to his shirt, and there were two bath attendants with him who lifted Miss Pettie out of her hands and carried her to the steps, dangling her body between them like some huge wet sail. And Miss Pettie wasn’t dead after all, praise be! She was fluttering her hands and begging to be forgiven tor being such a nuisance. ‘I am so sorry, so very sorry. Oh John, my dear boy, how can you forgive me? What a dreadful thing!’

  He was wading beside her, soothing her, his fine shirt stained by the water. ‘It is no trouble, Miss Pettie. You are not to think it. We will soon have you better. Lift her gently, if you please, sir.’

  They were lowering her into a chair which had been brought down to the water’s edge by a third attendant, and now a small crowd was gathering around her, avid with interest, and what with their saffron-yellow backs and the steam rising from the bath, Harriet couldn’t see any more of Miss Pettie except for her poor old head with its thin cap of scant white hair. And she remembered how sensitive the lady was about her appearance and how much she must be suffering to be seen in public without her cap, and she went wading off to find it.

  By the time it was retrieved and Harriet had pushed her way back through the heavy water to the steps and finally climbed out, the fat lady had been carried away and the crowd around Miss Pettie was consequently a great deal bigger. It now contained two physicians, who were both red in the face and shouting at one another for the privilege of attending poor Miss Pettie, who had been bundled in towels and blankets and seemed to be recovering. She was certainly a much better colour, although her mouth was trembling and she looked as though she would burst into tears at the slightest provocation. Mr Easter was wrapped in a towel too, but he wore his with a romantic air, swathed about his shoulders like a poet or a wild Scottish chieftain or a …

  ‘Where do you stay?’ he asked, walking to the edge of the bath and holding out his hand to assist her.

  What a comforting thing to be supported so! And what a warm, firm hand it was. ‘In the White Hart,’ she said. Thank ’ee kindly.’

  The attendants were wrapping her in a towel too. ‘What good fortune.’ Mr Easter said, smiling at her, ‘for that is where I am staying too. I will escort you to your rooms. Does Miss Pettie have a maidservant with her?’

  ‘Jane is here,’ she said, handing Miss Pettie her bedraggled cap. ‘We sent her to Milsom Street to make a few little purchases.’

  ‘Then she may return for your clothes,’ he said, and Harriet noticed that he was careful not to look at Miss Pettie while she draped her head. ‘We need not delay here a moment longer.’ And he turned to the physicians. ‘I am sure we are all grateful to you for your concern, gentlemen, howsomever we have no need of your services at present.’

  ‘You will take my card, sir,’ the smaller of the two said instantly, handing one damply across. ‘Recommended by Persons of Quality as you see, sir.’

  ‘And mine, sir,’ the other bristled. ‘Recommended by a marquis, sir.’

  ‘Your servant, gentlemen,’ John said coolly and he turned his body away from them to give orders to the attendants. ‘A chair for the young lady, if you please.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Harriet demurred, embarrassed to be put in the same social position as Miss Pettie. ‘I can walk, Mr Easter. Indeed I can.’

  But he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘After such a to-do and in such a state? The very idea! A chair for the young lady, if you please.’

  It was really quite thrilling to be carried from the baths, even if the chairs were horribly damp and even if they did smell of mildew and even if she did feel she had no right to be in one. Mr Easter walked between her chair and Miss Pettie’s, giving them both the most careful attention as if they really were equals. He had picked up his coat and hat, and carried them across his arm, but it was the arm nearest Miss Pettie and so Harriet had nothing to obstruct her view of him. And how handsome he was. A true knight, in his wet shirt and his wet breeches with that straight dark hair ruffled by his exertions. A true knight come to her rescue, just at the very moment when she needed him most. Even in her most daring dreams she’d never imagined anything remotely like this. It was like a fairy tale.

  Miss Pettie began to weep the moment they emerged into the crowded street. Her false hair was so sodden that it hung on either side of her poor old wrinkled face in long, straw-coloured rats’ tails.

  ‘Oh John, John,’ she sobbed, clutching at it. ‘What a disgrace to be seen so. I cannot abide it. Indeed I can’t. We must go home at once, Harriet. At once. I have brought shame to us both. And to you too, I fear, John. Oh what recompense for all your goodness.’ She was awash with distress. Pea-green water dripped from the rats’ tails, and tears rolled down her nose and the chair dropped puddles at every step. ‘Oh John, John, I want to go home.’

  He remembered his timetables even in the rush of rescue. ‘And so you shall, Miss Pettie,’ he promised. ‘There is a coach leaves the White Hart for London at half past five this very afternoon. It would mean travelling by night, but if that is what you wish, I will take seats upon it this very minute as ever is.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, as they dripped through the colonnade, ‘it is. It is.’

  And then they were being carried over the threshold into the White Hart and there was such a rush of activity that Harriet could barely catch her breath. Porters lifting Miss Pettie from her wet chair to a dry one and trotting away with her in a warm noisy procession, a stream of maids bearing brass bed warmers and potboys balancing brandy and hot water, Miss Pettie’s old servant Jane arriving, rabbit-eyed with anxiety, bundled about with parcels, her bonnet askew and her grey hair disordered, patting her mistress’s hand as well as she could as she ran beside the chair. And Mr Easter still coolly in command, requiring more blankets, giving Jane instructions, tipping the maids and the potboys, dismissing yet another unwanted physician and finally unlocking Miss Pettie’s door and smiling at Harriet as she walked past him into the room.

  ‘Should Miss Pettie require a physician,’ he said, ‘tell her I will arrange one for her. This town is full of quacks. If she were left to her own devices she would pay a great deal to very little purpose. I do not think she has taken any real harm from the blow. She is upset, that is all, and overcome by
the heat of the baths. Get her to bed and keep her warm. I will return.’

  And so he did, with the news that he had managed to acquire four seats on the evening coach, ‘two inside for Miss Pettie and Jane, and two outside for Miss Sowerby and myself.’

  He was delighted to see that pretty apricot blush on Miss Sowerby’s pale cheeks again, and those little crooked teeth biting her lip so charmingly.

  ‘We dine at the Angel Inn at Chippenham,’ he said. ‘A comfortable place, which will serve us well, I assure you. I was there myself only this morning.’

  ‘They will be surprised to see you back so soon, my dear,’ Miss Pettie said.

  But if they were, they didn’t show it. They served a passable meal of chitterlings and roast pork, and provided them all with quantities of hot water and the best brandy to sustain them on the next leg of their journey. And off they went again.

  While they were dining, the rain finally stopped, and now the night was clear and cold, bright with moonlight and studded with white stars. Harriet, perched aloft in the biting air beside her hero, suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, for the three other outside passengers were staying at Chippenham overnight and now they had the whole of the outside of the coach to themselves, quite unchaperoned. It was really rather romantic.

  As they settled into the two best seats, side by side, and tucked their greatcoats about their knees and their mufflers about their necks, she was overpoweringly aware of him, of the warmth of his body, and the white breath streaming from his mouth as he spoke, and his eyes so dark and limpid as he glanced towards her.

  And then the coach began to roll, swaying so suddenly and so violently that she was flung against his side, and he had to put out an arm to steady her. And that was very romantic. They were so close to one another she could see the reflection of the lantern in the pupils of his eyes.

  How handsome he is, she thought, and how kind, looking after us all like this. And she felt secure and cherished.

  As well she might for he was feeling most concerned about her. Her face looked excessively pale in the darkness. He had hoped there would be a seat inside for her after Chippenham, but all the passengers were travelling to London.

  ‘Were you long in Bath, Miss Sowerby?’ he said to make conversation.

  ‘Three days, Mr Easter,’ she said. ‘We were to have stayed a month.’

  ‘Did you have a chance to see something of the city? It is very beautiful in fair weather, I’m told.’

  So she told him about the fine shops in Milsom Street and the Assembly Rooms ‘at the top of such a hill, but very grand and well worth the climb, so Miss Pettie said’.

  ‘Did you dance there?’ he asked remembering the Victory Ball.

  ‘Well,’ she confessed, ‘not a great deal. The major domo was rather …’ He’d been an overpowering snob and had spent no time on her at all once he’d discovered that she was an old lady’s companion, but she didn’t think she could say that.

  ‘They are not a pleasant breed,’ he said. ‘They live to match money to money, and greed to ambition. I have never liked them.’

  ‘And yet a ball can be such an agreeable occasion,’ she said, remembering the Victory Ball.

  ‘Given the right company,’ he said, feeling extremely daring, because he was almost offering her a compliment.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ she said. And the coach threw her into his arms again like the obliging vehicle it was.

  And so they talked all the way to the Pelican Inn at Newbury, where they spent twenty minutes toasting themselves before a blazing fire while their supplies of brandy and hot water were replenished. Jane stayed in the coach with Miss Pettie, who was fast asleep and snoring, and the two other inside passengers who were so well wrapped in rugs they said they didn’t want to budge for anything. But Harriet was glad of the fire for it had been very cold on top of the coach. When she had to leave the inn, the air about her felt icy and before they’d gone more than a mile or two she began to shiver.

  ‘You are cold?’ John asked, rather concerned.

  ‘No, no,’ she tried to assure him, shivering more than ever.

  He untied the shawl that he wore wound about his shoulders and handed it across to her. ‘Wear this,’ he said, and when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘I shall not take “no” for an answer, so wear it, pray do.’ And because they were alone again in the swaying darkness, and he was still feeling extraordinarily gallant, and because it was very nearly the truth, ‘I would not have you take cold for the world.’

  Being cared for so openly and kindly suddenly made her tearful. She took the shawl and folded it about her. It was warm to the touch, and to her tremulous imagination it seemed that he was holding her in his arms.

  ‘When we get to Reading we have a ten-minute stop,’ he said. ‘I will unpack my green jacket and you shall wear that. I cannot have you shivering all the way to London.’

  ‘I am sorry to shiver,’ she apologized. ‘I do try not to.’

  ‘You cannot shiver or not shiver to order,’ he said. ‘That is an impossibility. When you are warmer you will not shiver, I guarantee.’

  She felt she owed it to him to try and explain. ‘It is not just the cold, Mr Easter.’

  ‘Then what?’ he asked, intrigued.

  She dropped her head so that her face was obscured by the brim of her bonnet. ‘It is because I am rather afraid.’

  ‘Not of me, I trust.’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Never of you.’

  ‘Then what do you fear? Coaches are a deal safer these days, I assure you, particularly on a night like this. Look how full the moon is. Why it is almost as bright as day. And besides, this is the best road of them all since Mr Macadam took charge of it. You have nothing to fear on this journey. Nothing at all.’

  ‘Well perhaps not afraid,’ she said. ‘A little concerned, perhaps’

  He considered her new words with splendid gravity. ‘Then what concerns you, Miss Sowerby? If it is anything within my power to allay, I will do so at once, you have my word.’

  He was so kind. But his kindness made her shiver more than ever. ‘It is nothing,’ she whispered, her head still bowed. ‘I am being foolish.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘There is no one here to overhear us.’ Which was true enough, for the coachman was singing to himself and in any case the noise of hooves and wheels would certainly cover their quiet conversation.

  ‘It is just,’ she said, deciding to confide in him, ‘that I fear my parents will be angry with me.’

  ‘Angry?’ he said, very surprised to hear it. ‘Whatever for? What could you possibly have done to make them angry with you?’

  ‘They will say that I have failed in my duty,’ she said miserably, breaking into a partial confession at his kindness. She could tell him that at least. ‘I should have cared for Miss Pettie, you see, and if you had not been there she could have drowned. I was allowed to travel with her so that she would be looked after, and they will say I failed in my allotted task. I know they will.’

  ‘But they will not be angry,’ he said. Who could possibly be angry with her when she looked so pale and frail and charming?

  ‘They will,’ she said, and the tears welled out of her eyes and dropped upon her cheeks, glistening like silver in the moonlight. ‘They will say I am a sinner.’

  ‘You are not a sinner,’ he said passionately. ‘You are kind and gentle. I never saw anyone less capable of sin.’

  His passion dried her tears.

  ‘They won’t be angry,’ he said firmly, taking command of her.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘perhaps not.’ Oh how much she would like to believe him.

  The coach swayed on and he began to tell her about Mr Wordsworth’s latest poem because he thought it would help her if he changed the subject, and she tried to listen, but by now, what with the lateness of the hour and the steady rhythm of the vehicle and the soporific warmth of all the brandy she’d drunk, she was finding it difficult to keep
her eyes open. Presently her head began to nod.

  John was surprising himself by the way he was describing Mr Wordsworth’s poem. Little more than twenty-four hours ago he’d been in complete sympathy with the pessimistic views of the Solitary, now he was stressing the opinions of the travelling poet. ‘It is a good world, Miss Sowerby. A good and beautiful world,’ he said.

  The coach gave a violent jolt that threw them together again, but this time, instead of recovering quickly and drawing apart, she stayed where she was, leaning against his chest with her head on his shoulder and, looking down, he saw that she was fast asleep. The poor dear girl, he thought. She is worn out. And he put his arm tentatively around her narrow shoulders so as to support her and hold her steady. It was a marvellous moment, intensely pleasurable and yet private. He had never known another quite like it.

  When the coach stopped at Reading and Maidenhead she was still asleep, so he stayed where he was, even though his feet were so cold he couldn’t feel them and he was beginning to get pins and needles in his arm. But what of that, when this dear, quiet, patient girl needed his support? He was still holding her in his arms when they rattled over the cobbles into the Swan with Two Necks at three o’clock in the morning.

  Then she woke with a start and apologized for being a nuisance, covering those delightful uneven teeth of hers with her gloved hand. But fortunately he had so much to attend to that there wasn’t time for either of them to be embarrassed. The luggage had to be unpacked and put aboard a cabriolet, and Miss Pettie woken and eased from one vehicle to the other, blinking and clutching her curls, and fares negotiated and orders given.