The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  With modest self-possession he bore his presentation to Mrs. Longden who was pleasantly impressed by his respectful manners and polite address. Willingly she agreed to being driven into town by a slightly devious route which would, he promised, present some charming views. There was no particular reason for haste, though it was a pity that the chosen road was in such shocking condition — really little more than a cart track. She endured the jolting patiently, her mind many miles away in distant Yorkshire.

  Presently the young man got down to open a gate, carefully securing his horses to the gatepost. It was with a sense of complete disbelief that she saw him turn back to the carriage and produce an ugly looking pistol, and heard him say, in tones that might have belonged to quite a different man, “Get down, the pair of you.”

  Before she had fully understood the change in the situation, Elsie broke into affronted expostulation. “This is no time for foolish jokes, Daniel. I’m downright ashamed of you. And before the mistress, too.”

  “No joke, my girl. Get down, before I lose my patience,” he riposted grimly with a menacing jerk of the pistol, and as she still stared in disbelief he added with brutal candour, “And don’t play the innocent. You know well enough what I’m after. Who told me all about her wealthy mistress and all the pretty gewgaws that she owned?”

  Such a wave of shame and misery engulfed poor Elsie then that she climbed out of the carriage quite mechanically, even turning, of long habit, to help Mrs. Longden negotiate the awkwardly high step, and then stood seemingly paralysed. It was only when Pelly, having seized and examined her mistress’s purse exclaimed disgustedly, “A paltry thirty guineas! Not worth the delay,” and then turned on Mrs. Longden wrenching the locket from her throat that Elsie came suddenly and disastrously to life. Recklessly she flung herself at Pelly and snatched at the hand that held the gun. As he pulled the trigger, the bullet, going slightly wide, seared Mrs. Longden’s cheek. He wrenched free of Elsie’s hold, struck Mrs. Longden a powerful blow on the head with the empty gun, dropped it and turned his attention to the girl who was now clawing at him in impotent frenzy. Easy enough to master her. The sensible course would be to knock her on the head like the other one, but her fury of hatred aroused in him the lust that her simple affection had never stirred, and against his strength she was helpless. Kick and scratch and bite as she would, he would take her now. Powerful hands forced her to the ground and tore greedily at her clothing, her frantic struggles were smothered beneath the weight of his body and she was forced to endure the agony of his possession.

  And then, lust and cruelty alike assuaged, he would not give her the swift death for which now she prayed. It pleased him to explain to the broken weeping creature that if ever her dealings with him were disclosed, she would face the hangman for her complicity. And lest that should not prove deterrent enough, he elaborated with convincing eloquence on the evils that would befall her if she tried to betray him, vowing that, wherever she hid, his vengeance would seek her out.

  After which he produced a pocket comb and a mirror, set his appearance carefully to rights, untied the horses and drove off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT was the old shepherd, Jeff Braddock, who came upon the hapless victims of Pelly’s assault. Jeff liked to look over the sheep each day. Though it was full summer and the grazing plentiful, his foolish charges could still contrive to get themselves into a variety of awkward fixes where his help was needed. Besides, since his wife had died last winter he had no one but his dog and the sheep to talk to, his cottage being too isolated to encourage the visits of his aged cronies. On this lovely summer evening he came slowly down the hill content that all was well with the flock and looking forward to the enjoyment of a tasty stew that he had left to simmer on the hob. Gyp, who had trotting sedately at her master’s heels, suddenly uttered an enquiring yelp and turned off the track, striking up hill towards the old road that led to the long deserted iron workings.

  The old man smiled and turned obediently in her wake. Maybe some child had strayed away from home and was lost on the hillside, for now that he was nearer he fancied he could hear a faint wailing such as a terrified child might make. With a heart that was tender to all small defenceless creatures, he hastened his steps.

  The scene which met his eyes was truly shocking. One woman lay stretched insensible in the roadway, while a second was scurrying like some demented creature between the body and the roadside ditch, where she scooped up water in her hands and carried it to sprinkle on the unconscious woman’s face, and all the time keeping up the eerie keening noise that he had heard from a distance.

  “Now what’s going on here, Missus?” drawled Jeff, in his soft countryman’s voice. “Been a haccident, ’as there?”

  The poor soul must have been proper startled he thought compassionately, for at the sound of his voice she uttered a dreadful shriek and made as though to run off.

  “Nay, now, nay my maid,” said the old man gently. “Don’t ’ee run away. Old Jeff Braddock never ’urt nobody in all ’is days. Tell me what’s amiss and I’ll ’elp ’ee if I can. ’As the lady fainted like?”

  Some note of human warmth in the kind old voice penetrated the swirling mist of horror in which poor Elsie was drifting. To his deep embarrassment she came to him in a swift little rush and fell at his feet, clasping her arms about his knees and pressing her face against his stained old moleskins while she choked out hoarsely, “Help me with her. Help my mistress. She’s still alive, for her heart is beating, but I cannot bring her to her senses.”

  “There now, my maid,” said the old man, patting the dishevelled drooping head with a gnarled but gentle hand. “Don’t ’ee take on so. Just ’ee let I go, and us’ll see what best to do for the poor lady. Maybe ’tis the heat of the sun has struck her down.”

  But when he came closer and saw the dreadful wound that disfigured the still face, he recoiled in deep dismay. Such injuries were beyond his simple skill. The bullet had struck Mrs. Longden on the jaw and ploughed an ugly powder-stained furrow across cheek and temple. But far worse than this was the head wound which must, thought old Jeff, have broken the skull. He dare not touch the deep spreading contusion, still slowly oozing blood which matted and stained the pretty hair.

  “I’d best go for help, my lassie,” he told the girl who gazed at him with that dumb imploring stare. She’d been in trouble too, poor lass, her mouth all cut and swollen, her arms and throat blue with bruises and her dress torn and stained. But when he suggested going for help, she began to scream and carry on like someone crazed. So far as he could make out from her distraught pleading it would be the death of her if anyone found out what had happened. He hesitated. The one on the ground was like to die any way, whatever he did. Best save the one he could help, and let the other poor thing take her chance. He rubbed his chin reflectively. It was half a mile to his cottage, and he had neither cart nor pony. It would have to be a carrying job. He hoped the crazy wench was strong enough to help, for he’d never manage it alone.

  In the end they managed it between them, though the old man was pretty done up by the time that they had lifted Mrs. Longden on to a hurdle taken from the sheep pen and carried her by the rough track to his cottage. Elsie, now that there was something positive to be done, seemed to be imbued with new strength, and her manner, which had so alarmed him, was much calmer. He brought her fresh water from the spring and set a kettle to boil. There was only the one bed, so the injured woman was laid on that and Elsie cut away the blood matted hair and cleansed the deep wound while the old man hunted out a flannel bedgown that had belonged to his wife, and then suggested to the girl that she, too, might like to change her torn dress for one of Martha’s prints.

  Now that she had done all that could be done for her mistress, Elsie was fast yielding to overwhelming exhaustion. Dumbly she did as the old man suggested, even managing at his insistence to swallow a few spoonfuls of the stew, and stretched herself on the rough pallet that he had contrived for her
beside her mistress.

  Contrary to his expectations Mrs. Longden did not succumb to her injuries though it was three days before she showed any sign of returning consciousness. Elsie had tended her devotedly so far as the simple resources of the cottage permitted, finding some measure of healing for herself in unremitting care of her mistress. The old man watched over them both supplying their needs, asking no questions as to how they had come to be in so shocking a state and waiting patiently for the time when the girl would confide in him. That day came when she finally realised that though Mrs. Longden’s physical condition was slowly improving, her mental state was not. She accepted Elsie’s ministrations without comment and never enquired how it had come about that she was lying sick in the shepherd’s cottage. When the girl discovered that her mistress did not recognise her an remembered nothing of her previous life, not even her own name, it had seemed to Elsie to be Fate’s final blow. The old man had come in from the hill to find her weeping bitterly, and at last she had told him a little of their story, though she was still too terrified of Pelly’s vengeance to give him her full confidence. The old shepherd, his simplicity as great as the girl’s own, was brought to agree that her best hope of safety lay in remaining hidden.

  So matters rested for several weeks until both mistress and maid were largely recovered from their physical ordeal. Mrs. Longden spoke little, spending long hours gazing blankly into the distance until Elsie felt she could endure the silence no longer. She began to wonder what was to become of the pair of them if her mistress never did recover the use of her faculties, linked with the realisation that it would be much easier to remain hidden if she did not. Close on the heels of this thought came awareness that they had been all this time a burden on the good old man who had sheltered them — had even given up his own bed for the comfort of the sick woman.

  She spoke to him of these matters that night when Mrs. Longden was asleep. He hushed her smilingly when she tried to thank him. He had given much thought to their problem, he said. Though he would be loth to part with them they should not make their home with him, for he was old and could not expect to live much longer, and then what would become of them, for his master would surely want the cottage for the next shepherd. Had Elsie no family of her own to whom she could turn? She was young and strong and able for work, so she would not be a burden. He did not stress the fact that by refusing to disclose the identity of her employer or to restore her to her family, she had herself taken on a heavy burden of responsibility.

  So it had come about that the two women had journeyed to York. Jeff had lent them the money to pay for seats on the stage coach, trusting to Elsie to repay him when she could. Her widowed sister had been told just sufficient of their story to frighten her into a promise of silence. There they had lived secluded. Elsie had found work as a seamstress, and she and her sister between them had cared tenderly for the afflicted woman. She had seemed content, in her placid way. But of late, said Elsie, there had been a change. She was restless, talked more, asked more questions, which they found difficult to answer. And now, tonight, she had remembered her husband’s name.

  This was the tale that Elsie had outlined, confessing her culpability with deep penitence and keeping back only the final bitter experience that she herself had endured at Pelly’s hands. Mrs. Gordon had been grave but kind, saying that nothing could be decided until the story had been told to Mr. Longden, and saying that the girl should now go home, on the promise that she would come betimes to Coney Street next day lest her absence should distress her mistress. Then Faith had run across the room and put her arms about her. “Poor Elsie!” she had said gently. “I don’t wonder you were afraid. It was dreadful for you. And you have done your best to look after Mama.” And at that Elsie had broken down and wept helplessly, until at last Mrs. Gordon had sent her home in the carriage with Nurse MacNab to care for her.

  *

  On Clemency now devolved the task of conveying the news to her father. After the first sharp exclamation of scarce-believing joy, he heard her out in silence. But despite her careful description of her mother’s injuries and parlous mental state the glow of happiness on the blind face did not fade. Indeed when she came to the end of the story with its heartening note of hope in her mother’s reference to himself by name, he could endure to sit still no longer, and sprang to his feet to pace eagerly up and down the room, avoiding familiar obstacles with practised ease.

  “We must bring her home at once,” he exclaimed. “I am convinced that in time she will recover completely, just as I have known all this while that she was still alive. And since it seems to have been the meeting with friends of her own standing, in a familiar setting, that has brought about this startling improvement, may it not be that the return to her own home will complete the cure?”

  He fell silent again, and when next he spoke he seemed to have forgotten his daughter’s presence, for he spoke softly, as though communing with himself. “And if it does not, then still I shall have my darling to worship and to cherish, and perhaps, if fate prove kind, I may win again the love she once bestowed.” And his face lit to such joyous anticipation that Clemency’s eyes filled with tears and she stole softly from the room with a sense that she was intruding on something too sacred for even her loving gaze to look upon, and went off to the kitchen to find Prudence and Betsy and to tell them the wonderful news. And in a secret corner of her heart she wondered if some day she might come to love and be loved as her father loved her mother.

  She was not half done answering their flood of eager questions when she heard him calling her name, and then he arrived in the kitchen himself, all wild impatience to set out at once on the journey to York. “Did young Giles bring you over?” he demanded eagerly. “Ask him to procure me a chaise, and to be sure to pick four good strengthy beasts. Desire Betsy — ah! You are here Betsy. Is it not splendid news? Will you pack my night bag? It has but just struck four. I can be in York before midnight if we put ourselves about.”

  It called for considerable eloquence to persuade him that it would be wiser to defer his journey until the next day; that he could scarcely travel alone so far from home, but that either Piers or Giles would gladly bear him company; and finally that it would be foolish to hire a turnout that was sure to be inferior when all the resources of the Manor stables were at his disposal.

  To most of this he eventually submitted, since it would help to speed the meeting with his wife, but it took Betsy’s sourly sensible comment, that a midnight arrival was just the thing to startle a delicate lady into a serious set-back, to make him abandon the idea of setting out at once, and reluctantly consent to an early morning start.

  Within the hour his daughters were heartily wishing that he had been allowed to have his way. They had become so accustomed to his gentle acceptance of their plans, that to find him taking command of his household with the full force of masculine vigour, issuing strings of orders with a crisp intonation that brooked no argument, was quite a stunning shock. They were kept in a breathless bustle until Lady Eleanor, prompted by the sympathetic Giles, arrived in the carriage and insisted on bearing them all off with her to dinner.

  Since she had brought with her two sturdy wenches who had been straitly enjoined to scrub and polish every corner of Mrs. Longden’s apartments until they were fit to receive her again, her husband allowed himself to be persuaded and his exhausted family sank back thankfully into the comfortable carriage while their father lingered for a last word with a very weary and distinctly crusty Betsy, reiterating the list of favourite dishes that must be prepared against his wife’s return, and the names of several delicacies, unobtainable locally, that must be listed for purchase in York. Betsy listened and assented with laudable patience, having already received the same instructions twice, and, as she grumbled to Elspeth when the door had finally close behind him, “As though I did not know as well as the next one just how the mistress likes things done! But there — it is good to see him so happy.”

&n
bsp; Elspeth’s industry and quiet ways had won favour with Betsy. She even allowed that with careful teaching and supervision — her own, of course — the lass might some day make a cook. Now, settling her aching limbs in the old rocker before the kitchen fire, she actually permitted her to brew a posset, the while she held forth on the enticing prospect of promotion to kitchen maid, if Lady Eleanor could be persuaded to release her to Mrs. Longden’s service when Ash Croft was restored to its former dignity and comfort. And Elspeth, who felt that an inside knowledge of the most stirring and romantic event that had occurred in the village during her short lifetime was in itself sufficient reward for her humble services, listened and stirred and wondered if Will was enjoying the meat pasty that she had saved from her own dinner to give to him. Not that he went hungry, he had told her, during that stolen interview behind the poultry house. His new masters fed him well enough. But she didn’t like the sound of the job. Why must he lie hid, if they were honest horse dealers? More likely horse thieves, and Will one that was all too easy led astray.

  It was fortunate that dinner with Lady Eleanor was not a formal occasion, since Mr. Longden was for ever breaking across each promising conversational topic to ask his girls to remind him of some additional luxury that must be obtained to ensure their mother’s comfort. There was an animated discussion with Lady Eleanor firmly insisting that it was quite absurd to be buying lengths of linen and silk and velvet. Mrs. Longden would very much prefer to make her own choice. He explained that Clemency had given away a great many of his wife’s clothes, saying that they were old fashioned and Mama would need new ones.

  “Yes. And so she will,” agreed Lady Eleanor briskly. “But not tomorrow. We females like to take time over the choosing of our gowns. They are not bought at random you must understand, but are planned to sort well with our bonnets and cloaks, or, in the case of an evening gown, to set off our jewels.”