The Rector's Daughter

by Jean Fullerton

  However although the wind had dropped, so had the temperature. By the time they reached the Royal Oak in Appleby at dawn, Charlotte was again frozen to the bone, so much so that Josiah had had to practically carry her into the inn. They had been due only the usual twenty minutes stop, but the coachman noticed one of their four horses had gone lame, so after a breakfast of boiled gammon and pease pudding, Charlotte had spent a blissful hour snuggled in Josiah’s greatcoat, dozing by the fire while they found another suitable horse.

  The next leg of their journey had taken them on to Penrith across the high fells and then onto Carlisle. The going had been slow because of the hard ground and the northerly winds whipping across the high flat uplands. But all the cold and sleeplessness and discomfort would be worth it once she and Josiah signed their names on their marriage certificates tomorrow and finally became man and wife.

  Yawning, she forced the sleep clouding her mind away and opened her eyes.

  ‘Yes, just ten miles,’ she said, smiling up at him.

  He kissed her briefly. ‘Sorry I’ve been out for so long, but a curricle had just come back from ferrying another couple to Gretna and as I offered him half again of his normal fee he’s willing to make the journey again.’ He offered her his hand. ‘So thankfully, for the last time, your carriage awaits.’

  Charlotte took his hand and dragged herself to her feet as Josiah picked up their bags.

  After squeezing their way through the crowded coach bar of the hotel they emerged into the street. Whereas at this time in the morning most publicans would be tucked up in bed snoring, the proprietor at The Fighting Cock was still busy feeding and watering passengers and selling last-minute tickets to those waiting for the early morning mail coaches that passed through on their way to London, York, Liverpool and coaches heading north to the border.

  Charlotte shivered as they stepped out into the moonless night. It was still snowing but softly and the sky was cloudless, allowing the canopy of twinkling stars to be seen clearly in the frosty night air.

  Josiah guided her across the main road towards the livery and coach yard on the other side of the road. But as they walked through the double gate he stopped dead.

  ‘What’s the matter,’ asked Charlotte, her breath visible as little puffs as she spoke.

  ‘The curricle,’ he replied. ‘It was right here.’

  The door with Coach and Carriage Hire painted in a white arch above it opened and a man dressed in a battered hat, a multi-layered cape like a mail coach driver and carrying a lamp strolled out.

  ‘How’do, mister, can I helps you?’ he asked, sidling across the mud and manure towards them.

  ‘The curricle,’ said Josiah. ‘The one with the dapple grey in harness.’

  ‘You mean, Old Muggle’s cart,’ said the man.

  ‘Yes. Where is it?’

  ‘It’s just gone.’

  ‘Gone! Gone where?’

  ‘To Gretna, of course,’ The man chuckled. ‘That’s where every young couple is headed from here.’

  Josiah frowned. ‘But I gave him a shilling not half an hour ago.’

  The old man’s wrinkled face creased into a long-suffering smile. ‘See nows, a couple much like yourselves offered Old Muggle’s a full crown and he could do no other than take ’em.’

  Josiah looked at him incredulously. ‘But he took my money.’

  ‘Aye and as soon as he returns he’ll no doubt ferry you and your sweetheart over the bridge too,’ said the man.

  ‘And when might that be?’ snapped Josiah.

  ‘In an hour or two,’ the man replied. ‘If he don’t decide to have a jar or two in the Maxwell Head once he’s dropped the parties he’s ferrying.’

  ‘Do you have a chaise or gig we could hire?’ asked Charlotte, stifling another yawn.

  Rubbing his stubbly chin, the old man shook his head. ‘I can’t say I has, miss.’ His face brightened. ‘But I’m sure Muggle’s one will be able to ferry you across in the morning.’

  The door opened again and this time a woman, also holding a lamp and swathed in so many shawls she looked as wide as she did tall, came out.

  ‘What’s to do, Seth?’ she asked, waddling over.

  ‘This young mister’s looking for transport over the border, Poll,’ the old man replied.

  A muscle in her side cramped and Charlotte gasped.

  In the mellow light from the lamp alarm shot across Josiah’s haggard face.

  ‘Charlotte!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, forcing a brave smile.

  ‘Now there, miss,’ said the woman waddling over to them. ‘You sits yourself down for a moment.’

  She indicated the bale of hay near them.

  Holding her tightly, Josiah helped her over to it and Charlotte sank gratefully onto it. Josiah placed their bags down beside her and took her hand.

  ‘My darling, you’re cold,’ he said, placing them between his.

  Charlotte didn’t reply. She daren’t for fear her teeth would chatter.

  Sitting next to her, Josiah enveloped her in his embrace and Charlotte tucked herself into the warmth of his body.

  ‘How far gone are you?’ asked the woman, holding the lamp closer and casting a querying eye over her.

  ‘Nearly five months,’ said Charlotte.

  The woman’s deep-set eyes flicked from Charlotte to Josiah and back again for a moment, then her mouth set itself into a determined line.

  ‘Right, come with me,’ she said, marching off towards the stable.

  Rising to his feet Josiah helped Charlotte up. Supporting her with one arm and carrying their bags in his other hand, they followed the old woman across the yard with Seth scurrying after.

  His wife was already leading out a fourteen-hand chestnut from the end stall by the time Charlotte and Josiah entered the stable.

  ‘You stay here, my lovelies, and warm yourselves up a mite,’ she said, as she led the horse past them. ‘While we get old Duchess hitched into the dog cart.’

  ‘But you ain’t got a driver,’ said Seth.

  ‘You has,’ said Poll. ‘Me.’

  ‘But, Poll—’

  ‘But nothing,’ Poll cut in. ‘These folk need to be wed.’

  Her husband opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.

  She looked at Josiah. ‘How much was Muggle charging you?’

  ‘Five shillings,’ said Josiah.

  ‘Well, I’ll take you for four,’ said Poll.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Charlotte, feeling a little better now she was out of the cold. ‘You’re very kind.’

  The old woman shrugged. ‘As I said, you and your sweetheart need to be wed and soon as I reckon, and I’ll be sure to get your other shilling from Muggle when I sees him.’

  She and her husband left.

  With the muted sounds of horses snorting and munching in their stall and the snow drifting down outside, Charlotte and Josiah made themselves comfortable on another bale of hay.

  Josiah put his arms around her again.

  ‘We’ll soon be there and married,’ said Josiah, rubbing her shoulders to warm her.

  ‘I know, we will,’ said Charlotte, smiling up at him. ‘But can you promise me something?’

  He kissed her, his lips warm on her chilly ones.

  ‘Anything, my love,’ he replied. ‘Anything in the world.’

  ‘The next time we take a trip to Scotland, can we come in the summer?’

  ***

  With muscles he’d forgotten he had screaming at him, Laurence Hatton yanked on his horse’s reins and bought it to a skidding halt outside The King’s Head in Carlisle.

  The party of three soldiers he’d seconded from the garrison company clattered into the inn’s yard just behind him. They pulled up their horses and dismounted.

  It was somewhere close to five in the morning and he’d been in the saddle for just over eight hours. However, despite his aching legs and sore rear, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself.
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  Despite his shameless sister and her paramour being a full day ahead when he’d ridden out of Northampton Barracks when he’d stopped at Penrith late yesterday afternoon, he’d found out that the Tally-Ho had passed through only a few hours before with a young woman matching Charlotte’s description and a dark-haired bearded man on board. Having commandeered fresh horses and hastily eaten a bowl of greasy mutton stew, he and his small troop were back on the road within the hour.

  Kicking his right foot from the stirrup, he swung his leg over the beast’s rump and jumped down, the steel tips and heels of his boots ringing out around the yard.

  ‘Water it,’ he said, throwing the reins at the waiting boy. ‘But leave it saddled and ready.’

  He signalled his men inside then rubbed his hands together to restore their circulation. Laurence glanced behind him briefly, then followed his men into the warmth of the inn.

  The inn was full of the usual rabble and their baggage waiting for the early morning coaches. Shoving an old woman and her scruffy bundle aside, Laurence marched to the bar.

  ‘Brandy!’ he barked at the woman holding a pewter tankard under the barrel tap. ‘And be quick about it.’

  Placing the drink she’d just poured in front of one of the flash-looking coach drivers at the other end of the bar the woman, a blonde with a pair of decent-sized bubbies, grabbed a bottle and a glass from the counter behind her.

  Ambling over she gave him the once-over then placed the glass in front of him and uncorked the bottle.

  ‘Leave it.’

  She put the brandy down. ‘Will you be wanting some victuals?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just the brandy and some information. Has a young woman about your height with brown hair and brown eyes, travelling with a rough-looking rogue, come through here?’

  ‘Lord!’ The women laughed. ‘Mister, we have couples like that pass through every day.’

  ‘I’m not talking about your usual riff-raff, you bird-wit,’ snapped Laurence. ‘The young lady I seek is quality and the bumkin with her speaks with a country accent.’

  The young woman shrugged. ‘Can’t say as how any such spring to mind.’

  She gave him a bold-faced look then flounced off to serve another customer.

  Laurence threw back his surprisingly passable drink and was just about to pour himself another when the public house door swung over and Clive staggered in.

  Like Laurence, he was grubby, unshaven and had been in the same set of clothes for the past five days.

  He spotted Laurence and strolled over.

  ‘Makes you realise why we bought our commissions in the infantry, doesn’t it?’ he said grinning, and rubbing his rear.

  ‘I thought you were right behind me,’ said Laurence, flatly.

  ‘I was,’ said Clive, picking up the brandy. ‘But I stopped for a piss and when I looked around you’d galloped off.’

  Raising the bottle to his lips he took a long swallow.

  ‘God, I needed that,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Any news?’

  Laurence shook his head. ‘But they can’t be far ahead of us now.’

  ‘I damn well hope not,’ grumbled Clive. ‘If I’d known your sister was going to inconvenience me this much I wouldn’t have agreed to marry her.’

  Laurence raised an eyebrow. ‘Not even for the promised three hundred pounds a year?’

  Clive gave him a sour look. ‘Well, I won’t be getting that will I unless we catch her and the cussed oaf who got one on her.’

  Laurence shot an angry look at his fellow officer, which he didn’t see because he was taking another swig from the brandy bottle.

  ‘’xcuse me, general,’ said a voice behind him.

  Laurence turned around.

  Standing behind him, in his leather gaiter and smock, was one of the inn’s ostlers. He had a leading halter and reins draped around his neck.

  ‘Yes,’ said Laurence.

  ‘I heard you asking about a gentle-raised young lady and a tall dark-haired fellow travelling with her,’ the ostler replied.

  ‘What of it?’

  The ostler, a straw-haired youth in the process of growing his first moustache, put his hand out.

  Ferreting in his pocket Laurence pulled out a sixpence and flipped it at him.

  The ostler caught it in a swift movement. He glanced at the coin in his palm then back at Laurence. ‘It could do with a bit of company.’

  Scowling at him, Laurence dug deep in his pocket and pulled out a shilling, which he dropped in the young man’s hand.

  ‘Well, if he had a full beard and she a sweet smile and a colourful bag with her belongings in,’ said the young man, stowing the coins under his smock somewhere, ‘then they left for Gretna with Polly Cato on her dog cart not more than half of the clock ago.’

  ***

  ‘It’s good and stuck,’ shouted Polly, who was in front of the dog cart holding the horse by the bridle.

  ‘I know,’ Josiah shouted back, the snow seeping through the lace holes of his boots as he stood at the rear. ‘It hasn’t budged an inch.’

  It was three-quarters of an hour since he’d helped Charlotte up on the four-wheeled vehicle and settled her in the front alongside Mrs Cato.

  At this time of year and this far north the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour but there were already the first few streaks of light cutting across the eastern sky and sparkling on the evenly laid snow that blanketed the hills.

  Josiah had taken the rear seat and although being rolled from side to side facing backwards wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel ten miles, it did at least allow him to keep an eye out for anyone following. Thankfully, the road had been clear thus far and they were now less than five minutes away from crossing the border.

  That is, they would be if one of the lightweight cart’s back wheels hadn’t rolled into a rut in the road. No amount of the horse straining between the shafts and him shoving at the rear had moved it an inch.

  Walking around to the side of the cart Josiah looked up at Charlotte who, swathed in a blanket, was sitting on the front seat.

  She sat huddled up with pale, drawn lips, a pinched nose and there were dark circles under her eyes but as she gazed down at him they were filled with warmth and love.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve been warmer but the baby’s fine,’ she added, helping to allay his other worry.

  ‘Soon be there,’ he said.

  ‘Not in this,’ she said. ‘Because it’s not going to move, is it?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘But the bridge into Gretna is just ahead.’ He pointed past where Polly was busy unharnessing the horse to the stonework beyond.

  ‘Well then,’ she said, giving him that brave little smile of hers. ‘We’d better start walking.’

  She threw off the blanket but, before she could stand, Josiah caught her arms.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right walking?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, rising to her feet. ‘It’s no more than half a mile—’

  He opened his mouth to speak but Charlotte jumped in first.

  ‘And,’ she gave him her Sunday school ma’am look, ‘I used to walk three times that each day around the parish so come on, Mr Martyn, help me down.’

  Reaching up, Josiah held her by the waist and lifted her down. Taking advantage while he had her in his arms, he bent down and pressed his lips on hers.

  She kissed him back briefly, then pushed away from him. ‘Well then, let’s be on our way.’

  Josiah hastened around to where Mrs Cato was unharnessing the horse from the shaft.

  ‘Thank you for getting us this far,’ he said, handing four shilling to her. ‘But we’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Just go straight on over yon bridge and the blacksmith’s house is on the right at the first junction but if you’re after something a bit more in keeping with your young
lady then you should seek Mr Linton at Gretna Hall opposite the church. He’s always on call and will have you wed in no time. He’s set up as a hostelry, so you can take a room there, too.’

  ‘I’m grateful to you, Mrs Cato,’ said Josiah. ‘And how can I ever thank you enough?’

  She gave him a motherly smile. ‘You and your new wife can thank me by living a long and happy life. Now, begone with you and get wed.’

  Leaving her to sort out her damaged cart, Josiah retrieved their bags from the dog box beneath the seats. Slinging his kit across him, he picked up Charlotte’s tapestry portmanteau.

  ‘Shall we?’ he said, offering Charlotte his arm.

  With the bare moorland wind whipping their hair and the dawn light illuminating the rolling expanses of the lowland hills, they started off and joined the traffic, both pedestrian and four-wheeled, headed up the road at the start of a new working week.

  ‘We’ll make for Gretna Hall as they can marry us straightaway and they have rooms there, too,’ he said. They stopped at the bridge for a few minutes while they waited for a flock of sheep led by a lad in hobnailed boots and an oversized coat to pass them.

  ‘I suppose if the couple are in bed together when the relatives arrive they can’t annul the marriage,’ said Charlotte, as they set off again. ‘Although I have to confess all I’m looking forward to in bed at the moment is sleep.’

  Josiah laughed as they crossed over from England to Scotland, the rushing water of the River Sark gushing through the arched stonework of the bridge heralding the news.

  As they reached the tollbooth on the other side of the bridge a thin-faced man in workman’s gaiters and a threadbare red army jacket with the trimmings hanging off, stepped out of the front door.