Had I not had the misfortune of tasting love, as my father had suggested, I believe I would have agreed to a life spent in a distant country rectory as the drudge of a disagreeable man, filling his austere house with children. Too poor to repair the leaking roof or to lay more than a meagre table, there would be little by way of gaiety and less by way of interesting conversation. There would be no genteel company. I would never again see Melmouth, or London. I would never again know love. So it would be until the day I was laid in earth.
I lay all evening upon the floor of my untended chamber, staring into the cold and contemplating my future course.
My soul whispered to my heart. Its urgings became stronger and louder, till the pleas could no longer be dismissed. Once convinced, my heart then began to persuade my head. My soul begged me to let it live, but in doing so, there would be a price: I would leave behind all that I was.
For it had occurred to me that I had but one friend in the world now, one person upon whom I might call. There existed no guarantee that he would assist me, for a good many months had elapsed since I had been assured of his affection. In that time, I supposed he might have purged himself of my memory. If only I had been so thorough in ridding myself of his!
No, I fear that Allenham haunted me, as did the passions I held for him. No ghost was ever more real to me than he, for I saw him everywhere. I shared every thought with him; he was present in every quiet moment, with every book I read or natural wonder I spotted. The rich tones of his voice vibrated inside me, his luminescent blue eyes glittered behind my own. While my soul moved within me and fired heart and head, I could not permit myself to believe that his love for me had been extinguished, when once it had flared like a star. Did Werther’s love for Lotte not increase with separation?
All that I possessed was a hope, a butterfly at the bottom of this box of horrors. That, dear readers, was enough for my soul. And so I listened to its calling and I did its bidding.
Chapter 12
My friends, we have now returned to where I began my narrative, to that moment when I sat trembling behind a bolted door at the Bull in Royston. I suspect that you see the irony of my situation: that I had fled from one perilous bedchamber only to find myself trapped in another!
My assailant, Mr. Fortune, continued to hammer upon the door for a good half-hour or more, all the while bellowing curses and oaths. I had never before heard such terms of abuse. He was a brute, to be sure. After some time his thumps subsided into taps and scratches and then into silence. I suppose it was then that I fell into a sleep.
My next memory is of being roughly shaken awake by a maid, who had slipped into my chamber through the jib door. She stood over me in a dirty cap and apron, marvelling that she should find me dressed and lying upon the coverlet.
A breakfast of coarse bread and ale was put upon the table, and she warned me to eat quickly as the stage to Oxford was shortly to call. Anxiously, I enquired after my attacker, fearing that I should meet him upon the stairs or, worse still, inside the stage.
“Ah, him,” stated the maid, “what a racket he did make last night. He went at dawn in a post chaise to London.” Then she squinted at me. “Did you jilt him, miss?” she enquired in a conspiratorial tone.
“Jilt him?” I asked.
“You know…” said she with a wink.
I stared at her blankly. “You did not think we were engaged to be wed…?”
“No,” she moaned, rolling her eyes, finding my simplicity rather trying. “You know… did you throw him from your bed? Had you enough of him?” She smiled wryly.
My eyes spread wide with indignation. “I did no such thing! He was merely…” Scarcely had I launched into the defence of my character, before the arrival of the stage was announced.
“No time for that, miss,” said the maid, fairly pushing me through the door and down the stairs. And in hardly more than a handful of minutes, I found myself once more in a carriage, surrounded by perfect strangers.
If I had learned anything in that short period, it was not to make conversation with anyone, no matter how kind their countenance. The stage was a lesser breed of transport, to be sure, though not as dreadful or bandit-ridden as I had been led to believe. I sat alongside an assortment of passengers: petty clerks, farmers, men with chafed hands and women in woollen skirts, one of whom who smoked a pipe for most of our journey. I had never before passed so much time in the close company of ordinary folk, and it was plain from their looks that they regarded me with a good deal of suspicion.
We travelled all day to Oxford, calling at several inns along the route. The scenery was most unfamiliar and I possessed no knowledge of my whereabouts. Indeed, the names that were called out as we stopped seemed as foreign to me as those of Aleppo or Alexandria. How much further was Gloucestershire? Amid this wilderness, I did not know. How many more days of travel were required to arrive at the town of Lechlade and then Herberton, near to it? Once again, I began to fret that my small purse would not take me so far, and that I would certainly drop from hunger before I arrived there.
By the time the stage came to a stop at the King’s Head in Oxford, it was dark and I had eaten nothing since that morning. The prospect of another night in such a place filled me with dread. The lamps glowed alluringly within the windows, and inside there was the usual scene of clatter and commotion to which I had already grown accustomed. With my hood over my head, I picked my way to a hidden place, carefully shunning the glances of curious men. I was prepared to sit quietly, attempting with all my might to shun the tempting scents of beef dripping, pork and boiled cabbage which swirled about the tavern. I lowered my head and slumped against the wall.
“Miss?” came a woman’s voice, rolling with the burr of the countryside.
I glanced up at a stout figure standing over me.
“Miss?” she asked again. “Poor lamb, are you ailing?”
I wagged my head slowly. “Thank you for your kindness, madam. I am merely fatigued.”
My well-spoken words caused her to study me carefully. She lowered her voice and then leaned into me. “See here, miss, I know not what trouble you find yourself in, but you look poorly and it would not be Christian of me were I not to offer you something from our table.”
Having learned only too recently what comes of accepting the kindness of strangers, I hesitated.
“Come now,” said she in a merry voice, “there is no need to be fearful. I am Mrs. Harper, and that is Mr. Harper and my son.” She gestured to a nearby table, where sat a square-built man and a boy of no more than thirteen. “We are honest folk. Just sold a bullock and cow at market today, so we have rabbit pie and parsnip pudding to spare.”
In truth, friends, I was too racked with hunger to refuse her offer and accepted, with many apologies, a place at their table. With hindsight, I am only pleased that she did not prove to be a bawd, for it is well known that such women haunt inns and taverns, hoping to ensnare unfortunate young creatures with just such a ploy as this. But the Harpers wished me no ill and were pleased to have my company, however poor a conversationalist I showed myself to be.
No sooner had I been revived than sense, as well, returned to my head, and I recognized that I would now need to offer my hosts some recompense for their generosity. This, I feared, would cost me the last of my coins, but much to my surprise, they refused to take so much as a ha’penny from me.
“Oh no, miss,” Mr. Harper protested loudly, “we shall take no money for common kindness.”
Indeed, my heart was greatly warmed by their show of common kindness. Had it not been for their charity, I cannot imagine what ills may have befallen me.
That night I was not only fed, but offered a share of their bed; and in the morning, they invited me to accompany them in their cart as far as Lechlade. I thanked heaven for this blessing, for such occurrences had been so rare of late.
It seemed to me odd, as the cart passed through the hillocks and vales of Oxfordshire, that the Harpers had enquir
ed so little of me. Beyond the most basic of queries, as to my name and family, no more was asked. They were of a plain sort and, unlike others, did not seem concerned about my circumstances. For more than twenty miles, I sat in the cart beside their son, listening only to the wheels in the ruts of the road and the plod of the horses. At moments, I could not believe it was I, there, upon a cart with three strangers, when only days before I was at Melmouth. I hardly knew myself. My skin did not even feel as if it were my own.
Thus I had a great span of time to consider the adventure upon which I had embarked. It was perhaps too much time, for my mind, in its idleness, began to knit all manner of probable outcomes.
I feared that I would arrive at Herberton only to find Allenham elsewhere. Although I had been led to believe that, in the wake of his tragedy, he had shunned London for the quiet of his estate, I could not be certain of this. Worse still, I was plagued by fear that his love for me had grown cold, that he would refuse me. Remorse perched on my shoulder. What mistake might I have made in doing this, in fleeing from my father’s home? My character would be for ever stained. Sorrow and confusion twisted about inside me, knotting themselves together in a tangle of worries and uneasiness.
After several hours, Mr. Harper pointed to a steeple rising upon the horizon. “That there is Lechlade, miss. Not far to go now.”
I could not turn back. Whatever I had intended when I slipped from Melmouth must now be carried though to its conclusion.
We parted at the crossroads of Lechlade, where Mr. Harper assisted me from the wagon and directed me towards the town. I lifted my chin and gripped my mean bundle of possessions as I set off on this final part of my journey. Once there, I enquired of an egg-seller in the marketplace how I might make my way to Herberton. She in turn pointed me towards the west road, upon which I should proceed another three miles by foot.
The rain had now begun, falling lightly and then in heavier, leaden drops. Like a persistent foe, it matched its pace to mine; the quicker my stride, the greater its force against me, and in no time at all I was soaked through.
It must be said that the state of my attire was, by the third day of my journey, unspeakably soiled. I looked not much cleaner than a beggar. Indeed the full hem of my cape was splashed brown, and the filth extended entirely up my ruined stockings, into my linens and skirts. My shoes were like two potatoes for the muck upon them. My hair had been untended for weeks, while my figure was so misshapen by hunger that my stays hung loosely from my torso. I could hardly bear that Allenham should lay eyes upon me in this condition, and I feared he would find me much altered, with no looks whatsoever to recommend me.
I trod the road as if in a dream, as if in a delirium. I took in nothing, as if my eyes were made of glass beads and stared out blankly into the world. Allenham had spoken often of the beauty of his county, its velvet hills and mossy brooks, but I was aware of none of this as I strode.
Eventually I reached what seemed to be the wall of Herberton, and then further down a gate. It was not the principal avenue to the house, and so I was forced on to a smaller path through the tall, wet grass. Then, as I came over the crest of the hill, I saw it, and it drew my breath from me.
Mind you, it was not the beauty or splendour of Herberton that caused me to gasp. No, for as Lady Catherine had complained, the house had neither. In the rain, its stone appeared yellow and drab, as if it were stained with grime. The two wings on either side had little more than a roof upon them, and seemed as if they had lain untouched by masons’ hands for some many years.
The sight of Herberton did not in itself surprise me, but rather that I should be there to see it. It was the enormity of what I had done, my boldness in coming uninvited to this place that shook me, for it was not the action of the person I had believed myself to be. In fleeing, I had forfeited any good character I might have possessed, and it was in that instant that I fully recognized the truth of the matter. It stunned me; it stopped me quite dead. And I would be dishonest if I did not confess it caused me some great measure of sadness. But surely, reader, by now you understand how few were my options. To this day, it seems a marvel to me that, at seventeen, I had courage enough to embark upon the path I chose. Perhaps it was not so much courage as naivety, for had I known what I was to encounter, I might never have taken such a step.
So, having resolved that I should proceed, that I could do nothing else, I pushed onwards, towards the house in front of me.
Chapter 13
I was cautious in my approach to Herberton, for I knew that Allenham’s servants were likely to stare. All servants stare if the opportunity presents itself. With my soiled attire I did not feel myself fit to enter the house by way of the portico. Certainly that would have raised questions and presented such a spectacle for the staff that I did not care to hazard it. Instead I found the door to the servants’ entrance and slipped inside. I was indeed beside myself with nerves, flushed red and entirely sodden. I asked to see the housekeeper, and soon she appeared, her jangling bundle of keys announcing her approach from down the corridor.
“I should like to speak with Lord Allenham,” I uttered in hardly more than a whisper.
The housekeeper regarded me with a wary eye.
“And may I beg the favour of your name, miss?”
I hesitated.
“I have come with an urgent message for his lordship. It is necessary that I see him immediately. Is he at home?”
I fear the state of my appearance did not aid my case. Instead, I believe it was my well-bred air that led her to see I was no lovesick country doxy. She said nothing but disappeared for a spell and then returned with a footman who examined me head to toe before escorting me above stairs.
My heart began to pound. Allenham was indeed here in this house, his house, the place of which he had so fondly spoken. He had known the rooms through which we passed since he was a boy. He had run across these very floors with his wooden toys, shouting and tumbling with his brother. This gold damask-lined room was where he sat and thought; the green painted one, where he ate; everywhere was Allenham, every page of his life, past or present, was laid out for inspection. To see inside his world was a wonder to me.
The footman showed me to a drawing room furnished in the heavy baroque style of his lordship’s grandfather, where the silk had faded upon the chairs and where a fire crackled in the hearth.
Once alone I began to shiver, though I realized it was not from the cold. I knew that when the door opened for a second time, it would be he who stepped through it. I paced. I attempted to regain some of my composure, but found it near impossible. All my bravery seemed in danger of capsizing.
I cannot say who was more surprised to see whom, for although I had prepared myself for the sight of him, I had quite forgotten the effect his person had upon me; his strong bearing, the lapis lazuli of his eyes, the perfect symmetry of his features, the sharp point of his nose.
“Miss Ingerton!” he exclaimed, his face betraying true shock. Immediately, he shut the door fast behind him and took in my haggard and slovenly appearance. “My God! How came you here?”
In the course of my journey, I had contemplated just what I might say to him. I had written a missive in my mind, containing all the details of my flight and the reasons for it, but when I began to speak, I found I could say nothing. At last, I had arrived at my destination. I was alive, I was at Herberton and Allenham, whom my heart recognized instantly, was but several yards from me.
I began to sob.
His lordship came to me and, resting his hand upon my shoulder, directed me to a chair.
“Oh dear, dear angel,” he cried. “The state of you! What must you have suffered? I cannot imagine.”
I nodded, the tears spilling all about, on to my cloak, on to his sleeve. When I had somewhat settled my emotions, he leaned before me and stroked the damp hair from my face.
“You have come alone?” he enquired in a soft voice.
I nodded again.
“By
what means?”
I looked up at him with red eyes. “I have fled. They would have me dead,” I sniffled.
“They? Pray, who is they?”
And so I recounted my trials with Sally, how she had turned the staff against me, and how the conspirators had served me a plate of poison mushrooms.
He stared at me incredulously. “Did you not inform Lord Stavourley?”
At that I began to weep again, and related to him what my father had revealed to me, and his plans to marry me to Pease. His lordship’s face froze quite solid, his brow set in a deep crease. He stood in silence for several heavy moments, cogitating upon this news.
“Does anyone know you have fled here?” he asked at last.
“No. I have told no one.”
“Have you given your name to any person along your route?”
“None but a gentleman, a solicitor gone to London; and a farmer and his wife from near Circencester.”
Allenham’s face bore some concern.
“You cannot stay at Herberton,” he stated firmly, but then noting my look of astonishment, quickly added, “but I shall keep you safe, and as near to me as is possible.”
He placed his hand upon mine, pressing his soft warmth against the backs of my fingers before swiftly releasing it and moving away. There was a strange air of formality about him. I believe I had taken him so much by surprise that he knew not how he should respond, nor what behaviour was appropriate in the circumstances. He continued his progress around the room, his arms folded, his head lowered as he thought.
Mistress of My Fate Page 14
