Such a resolution should have brought contentment, but it did not, and Juliana was settling down to enjoy a prolonged spell of self-pity when the carriage lurched to one side and she was thrown off her seat and on top of Nurse, who awoke with a shriek.
For a few moments all was confusion. The carriage body was resting at a drunken angle and there were shouts and cries from inside the coach and out. Juliana pushed herself away from Nurse and tried to comfort the children, who were tangled in a heap in the far corner.
‘I think we have broken a wheel,’ said Thomas, clambering towards one door, which now hung down over the bank. He managed to open it, and jumped down, calling cheerfully, ‘Come on, it is quite easy to get out.’
Within a few minutes the children had all climbed down and Juliana helped Nurse to alight before nimbly jumping out and scrambling up the bank on to the road. It was easy to see the cause of their accident. The road at this point was built around the contours of the hill, with dense woodland rising up to the east and on the west the ground falling steeply away to the valley bottom. A sudden dip in the road surface had been filled with loose rubble, which had given way under the weight of the coach and the subsequent jolt had shattered the front wheel.
The coachman was calming his frightened team, and as soon as Juliana assured him they were all safely out of the coach he coaxed the horses forward, dragging the carriage back on to the road, until it was in no immediate danger of slipping farther down the hillside.
‘I was right, Mr Dawlish,’ declared Thomas, surveying the damage. ‘It is the wheel.’
The driver climbed down and walked round the carriage, shaking his head.
‘Aye,’ he muttered. ‘Smashed beyond repair, she is.’ He kicked at the road with his boot. ‘Just look how this crumbles away. It’s all the rain we’ve had this spring, it’s breaking up the surface, and doubtless it has washed away the foundations, too. We was lucky the whole carriage didn’t go a-tumbling down the bank.’
As they all surveyed the wreckage, Major Collingham came bowling back along the road in his curricle.
‘Fortunately we were not too far ahead and Giles saw you stop.’ He jumped down. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘No, sir, everyone is well,’ replied John Dawlish, tugging his forelock. ‘It’s just a broken wheel, but she’s smashed, and we’ll need to find a wheelwright to repair her.’
Juliana looked up and down the road; the fields and woods stretched away in every direction.
‘Where are we, do you think?’
‘We have gone no more than five miles from Leek,’ said the Major.
‘Heavens, don’t say we have to walk all that way back,’ cried Nurse in alarm.
‘No, no, Rushton Spencer is no more than a mile farther on, and it’s downhill into the village,’ responded the Major. ‘There might be a wheelwright there, I think. What say you, John?’
The coachman rubbed his nose.
‘I disremember, sir. There will be a forge, of course, but we might have to go back to Leek to fetch a new wheel. However, if I remember rightly, there’s a respectable inn at Rushton Spencer where the ladies can rest.’
‘Then that is the way we shall go.’
By this time the baggage coach had lumbered up and the situation had to be explained to the driver and to Fewell, the Major’s groom, who was sitting up on the box. A quick discussion, a few instructions and Major Collingham had everything arranged.
‘Giles will drive Nurse in my curricle to Rushton Spencer, and find the inn John mentioned. Is it on this road, John?’
‘Aye, Major. On the crossroads, you can’t miss it.’
‘Good, then you go there, Giles. We shall follow on foot. Fewell and the coachmen will send on the baggage wagon and arrange for a new wheel.’
Gwendoline pouted. ‘I do not want to walk.’
The Major shrugged. ‘Then you had best see if Fewell will let you sit up on the roof with the trunks—there is no room inside.’
Juliana looked at the two coachmen who were moving the small trunks from the broken vehicle into the already laden carriage. It was clear that there would be very little room for a passenger. She smiled and held out her hand.
‘Come, Gwendoline. I need you to help me show the little ones the way. Perhaps the Major will tell us how he used to march when he was in the Peninsula.’
Major Collingham had been giving final instructions to Giles in the curricle; as that vehicle set off, he turned back, his harsh features softening as he regarded the little party looking up at him so expectantly.
‘Well, let me see. First we need a drummer. Thomas, you shall lead the way, and the others shall follow two by two.’
‘And you, Papa, shall be the Duke of Wellington,’ declared Wilhelmina. ‘Keeping us all in order.’
They set off, the two younger girls marching along quite happily beside the Major, swinging their arms in time to the beat of Thomas’s imaginary drum. The day was dry and warm, and the Major was persuaded to recall from his army days some of the more acceptable marching songs to help them on their way.
Juliana walked behind them with Gwendoline at her side. Major Collingham turned occasionally to speak to Gwendoline, but not once during their walk to the village did he address Juliana, and in the face of his seeming indifference it cost her an effort to remain cheerful.
Fortunately the section of road leading down to Rushton Spencer was smooth and well drained and they soon covered the mile down the hill, where Juliana was heartened by sight of the freshly painted inn at the crossroads.
‘That looks pleasant enough,’ she said. ‘I have no doubt we shall comfortable here.’
Thomas looked up at the inn sign. ‘The George. And look, sir, there is your curricle standing in the yard.’
At that moment Giles appeared in the doorway and hailed them. ‘I have been looking out for you,’ he said, grinning. ‘They have a parlour, sir, and sufficient bedrooms for us all, so I have told them we will take them, because I cannot see the wheel being mended for us to travel on today.’ He led them into the inn, throwing open the door to a large comfortable room where Nurse was sitting in a chair in the deep bay window.
‘No, don’t get up,’ said the Major as she went to rise. ‘We shall stand on no ceremony here. Have you ordered food? Good. Perhaps by the time we have eaten, Fewell will be here to tell us how long a delay we may expect.’
Juliana untied the strings of her bonnet. ‘I am sure Nurse and I can look after the children, sir, if you wish to go on: you could still reach Blackthorpe Hall before dark.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, but we have travelled thus far together. I can wait a little longer to reach Lancashire. I have no intention of abandoning my family.’
He looked towards her as he spoke, but his gaze was somewhere over her head and a bolt of remorse shot through Juliana. It could not be more clear that he was keeping his distance. She turned away, tears starting to her eyes at his brusque tone. Biting her lip, she walked to a far corner to divest herself of her bonnet and cloak, keeping her back to the room while she tried to regain her composure. She jumped when the Major spoke again, close to her shoulder.
‘I have upset you,’ he murmured. ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to imply I do not trust you.’
She muttered a quiet thank you, blinking away her tears. Two strong hands caught her shoulders, obliging her to turn and face him. She could hear the children chattering away to Nurse, describing their march down the hill, and she was thankful that she was shielded from view by the Major’s body, made even broader by his many-caped driving coat.
‘Come, what is this?’ He placed two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. ‘You have never minded my rough tongue until now.’
She turned her head away. ‘I am tired, that is all.’
‘I would that it were all. Ju, I—’
‘Papa, did you see the bills posted on the wall when you came in?’ Giles came up, excitement bubbling in his voice. ‘There is a mi
ll hereabouts tomorrow—well, at Congleton, which is very close! If we are to stay here, sir, can we go?’
The Major’s hands dropped to his sides. Juliana turned away quickly and busied herself with her cloak, taking some comfort in his use of her name. She heard him speaking to his son.
‘A mill, you say?’
‘Aye, sir. I do not know who is fighting, but the landlord tells me there should be some good sport. I know Thomas would like to go too, wouldn’t you, Tom?’
Juliana moved around the Major and saw that her brother was standing hopefully beside Giles.
‘I would,’ he said shyly. ‘And you did say you would teach me to box, sir, so would it not be a good idea for me to see a real sparring match?’
Major Collingham reached out to ruffle his hair. ‘I did promise, you are right, and I have been sadly behindhand with you, have I not?’
‘So can we go, sir, please?’ said Giles.
‘Well, let us wait for Fewell to tell us the state of the carriage. Then, if we are to remain here, and Miss Wrenn has no objections, we shall go.’
Juliana found two pairs of eyes fixed upon her.
‘I do not like the sport, I admit, but if the Major sees no harm…’
His unfathomable gaze rested on her again. ‘You may be sure I will take good care of your brother, Miss Wrenn.’
‘Ah, refreshments,’ exclaimed Giles as the landlady came in with a tray. ‘I ordered wine, cakes and lemonade to be brought in…oh, and ale for ourselves, sir—I hope you do not object?’
‘Not at all, my son. I admire your foresight.’
‘Well, I only thought of the wine and the ale,’ Giles admitted. ‘It was Nurse who said that the young ’uns would like lemonade.’ Giles beamed at them all. ‘So we have something for everyone to enjoy. All we have to do now is wait for Fewell to turn up.’
It was mid-afternoon before Fewell arrived at the George. Juliana had collected the children at the table with pencils and paper from her sketching block and they were engaged in drawing pictures for their journal. Major Collingham and Giles had gone out to the stables and Juliana looked up as she heard their voices outside the door. The Major entered with Giles and the groom behind him.
‘And he cannot be persuaded to have the carriage ready for the morning?’ demanded the Major as he came in.
Fewell touched his forelock towards Juliana before answering.
‘No, sir. The wheelwright says he cannot have the wheel ready before noon at the earliest, then there’s the fitting.’
‘And by the time the carriage is ready to travel it will be too late to set out,’ growled the Major. ‘We shall be here until Thursday.’
Juliana glanced from his dark frown to Giles’s cheerful countenance and smiled inwardly. She had no doubt the young man was thinking of the boxing match at Congleton. Major Collingham exhaled.
‘Well, if there’s no help for it. Miss Wrenn, are you happy to stay here for two nights or would you like me to see if there is another, larger hotel in the vicinity? We could go back to Leek, if you wish…’
‘This inn seems clean and comfortable enough, sir. I think we shall do very well here, thank you.’
He nodded. ‘Then it is settled. Fewell, you had best find accommodation for yourself and the others, and see if you can arrange for the carriages to be under cover for our stay, in case it comes on to rain again.’
The groom went out and Giles looked hopefully at his father.
‘So we are to stay, Papa. And shall we go to the mill?’
‘Would you have me leave your sisters here for the whole day?’
Juliana looked up. ‘Pray do not worry about the children, Major Collingham. Nurse and I will take care of them. It is, after all, what we are employed to do.’
His gazed scorched her. ‘Thank you for reminding me of the fact, MissWrenn.’ Looking at Thomas, he continued in a milder tone, ‘Well, my boy, do you want to come with us tomorrow?’
‘Would I? Oh, sir, yes, please!’
For the rest of the day the Major treated Juliana with a punctilious politeness that she found more daunting than his abrasive manner, so it was with relief that she saw the curricle drive away towards Congleton the following morning. The children were persuaded to spend the morning at their reading, but after so many days of rain, the blue skies and sunshine were too good to be wasted and when Gwendoline suggested they should play out of doors after luncheon, Juliana was happy to agree.
‘The maid says the landlord owns the orchard at the back and would not object to our playing there, as long as we do not climb the trees or damage the fruit,’ added Gwendoline.
‘Bless your hearts,’ Nurse beamed at them. ‘A little fresh air will do us all good, for we shall be cooped up in that carriage again tomorrow. If we could have a chair moved outside for me, I would happily sit with the children, Miss Juliana. I could take my knitting and watch them play.’
‘We shall all go outside,’ declared Juliana. ‘I will talk to our host about it now.’
Half an hour later they were established under the trees in the small orchard behind the inn, with two chairs for the ladies and a stool for Nurse’s feet, plus a rug for the children. The orchard was bounded by trees on two sides and the inn buildings to the west, so they were sheltered from any breeze. A lane ran back behind the inn, but was separated from the orchard by a low wall that prevented the children from running out into the path of any farm wagons or animals that might be on the move. Juliana leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, turning her face to the sun, enjoying its warmth on her skin. The children were playing tag around the trees, their happy laughter filling the air.
‘Ah, ’tis wonderful to see the little ones so happy,’ remarked Nurse, her fingers busy with her knitting. ‘I am so glad the master let you bring young Amy and Thomas along with us. Amy and Minna play together so well, and even Gwendoline is settling down.’ She chuckled. ‘Lord, how she disliked the idea of having a governess with us, but now it is Miss Wrenn says this, and Miss Wrenn does that—you are a firm favourite with her.’
‘I am glad. I had said I would leave you when we reached Blackthorpe Hall, if she was still set against me.’
‘The child was against anyone, Miss Wrenn. Such a stubborn, headstrong girl she is, just like her father, but they are both of them good at heart.’
‘Did they miss Major Collingham, while he was away with the army?’
‘Dear me, miss, he was in the Peninsula for several years, so they hardly knew him. Indeed, I think they have seen more of him during this journey than ever before.’
Juliana gave a little laugh. ‘Then perhaps it was a good thing Mr Brasher’s plans were overturned.’
A sudden anguished cry made her open her eyes. Amy was running towards her.
‘Gwen has fallen and cut her knee!’
Juliana hurried towards Gwendoline, who was sitting on the grass holding her leg. Her stocking was torn at the knee and a little blood was already oozing from a jagged gash.
‘There was a stone in the ground,’ she said, clenching her teeth.
Juliana took out her handkerchief and wiped carefully around the wound. ‘It is nothing serious, but it will be sore for a few days. Oh, you have torn your hem, too. Come indoors with me and we shall bind you up and repair your skirts. Then you will be as good as new.’
She helped the girl to her feet and they made their way to the inn. As she held open the door for Gwendoline to go in, Juliana looked back towards the orchard. The younger girls had given up their game of tag and were playing with their dolls on the rug with Nurse sitting close by in her chair, her feet resting on the footstool. Her hands were no longer moving the knitting needles and Juliana thought it would not be long before the old lady was asleep.
‘Look after each other,’ she called to the girls. ‘We will be back very soon.’
Juliana took Gwendoline up to her bedroom where the cut on the knee was soon washed and dressed, but the stitching up of her he
m took a little longer.
‘You are unlike any governess we have had before,’ remarked Gwendoline, watching Juliana as she plied her needle.
‘Because I mend your skirts? Surely anyone would do as much.’
‘No, that’s not it.’ She stopped, then said slowly, ‘I have been very unfair to you—I tried to make Papa think you were not a good teacher, and you have not said anything about it.’
‘Well, there has been no need.’
‘And I did spill the tea on you deliberately,’ Gwendoline confessed.
Juliana’s eyes twinkled. ‘I know, and you may think yourself fortunate I could not find a toad to put in your bed that night!’
‘I am very sorry.’
‘If that is so, then we can forget all about the matter.’
‘Yes, but—I don’t want Papa to dismiss you now, and I am afraid that he will do so, because you have given us no lessons, no real lessons. You have given us nothing to learn by heart.’
‘There will be plenty of time for that when you are settled in your new home. Until then we shall do what we can to improve your reading and writing while we are travelling, and perhaps do a little sketching.’
‘I like drawing.’
‘Yes, I thought as much—your drawings for our journal are very good.’
Gwendoline shook her head. ‘Faces,’ she said. ‘I can never draw faces as I would wish.’
‘Then we shall work on it. There, your hem is mended. Let me put away my scissors and needle and we will go back and join the others.’
‘Papa says our new mama will want to choose a governess for us.’
‘Well, that will suit me very well. I am only contracted to your father until September.’
‘Do you not want to stay with us?’
‘I thought you did not want a governess.’
‘Well, if we must have someone, I would as soon it was you as anyone.’
‘Thank you,’ said Juliana, smiling. ‘However, we agreed you should not make any decision until we reach Lancashire.’
‘But if I decided I wanted you to remain, would you not stay longer?’
More Than a Governess Page 10