Juliana followed the winding lane, bordered by native hedging, to a fork, where she turned onto a path through the wood. She had described this in her note to Mister Seymour. It led to an ancient grey stone Celtic cross, covered with a fine tracery of yellow-green lichen and pincushions of emerald green moss. To one side of it Mister Seymour waited for her. In a leather-gloved hand, he held the reins of a black gelding.
He indicated her clothes. “You are well-disguised.”
“I am grateful for these servant girl’s clothes, although they are far from what I am accustomed to.” Self-conscious, she smoothed the cheap bodice, hoping he would not think any less of her.
* * * *
Gervaise looked at the beech trees on either side of the path. Gilded by sunshine, their trunks soared to the sky like graceful pillars supporting a cathedral roof.
A ray of sunshine illuminated the pure lines of Mistress Kemp’s face, intensifying the delicate colour of her cheeks and lips. While she regarded him with wide-open, still trustful eyes, his breath caught in his throat.
“You shall ride pillion.”
“Thank you, how kind you are.”
Her obvious admiration flattered him. He looked away from her. Upon his word, this lady’s steady regard had nothing in common with other females; those who tried to capture his interest, either by fluttering their fans and eyelashes or by making bold advances. Bless her soul, she looked at him as though he was her hero. Only his late wife had ever regarded him thus. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat.
Again, a jolt of desire shuddered through him. He wanted to kiss her pretty mouth and—
She looked at him with such innocence that his cheeks burned. He turned aside, reminding himself of his vow never to take advantage of her.
“I am glad you ride,” he said to break the silence. Too many ladies fear to entrust their lives to cumbersome side saddles. “At the next post inn, I shall hire a saddle horse fit for a lady.”
“Thank you Mister Seymour, however, I insist you allow me to meet my expenses.”
Gervaise put a hand on each side of her tiny waist, controlling his fervent desire to hold her close. He avoided looking into her eyes for fear she might read the lusty thoughts in them. Instead, he swung her up, seated her sideways, and then mounted after he strapped her bag behind her.
“Walk on,” he ordered the horse. “Mistress Kemp, either hold onto my belt or put your arms round my waist.”
“Listen, Mister Seymour.”
In the distance, harnesses jingled, horses crashed through the woods, and men spoke in harsh voices.
Her hands tightened on his belt. “I fear my half-brother woke early and sent out a search party.”
“Spread out, men, his lordship ordered us to search every path,” a hoarse voice commanded.
Juliana clutched him around his waist.
“No need to be frightened. I am well armed.” He urged the horse to trot, but the gelding, burdened by so much unaccustomed weight, balked.
“Set to lads,” a voice urged, “his lordship will reward us after we find his sisters.”
“Mister Seymour, turn right along the narrow path ahead of us.”
He looked up at an oak tree. “Shall we hide in the branches?”
“No.”
“Very well, but if I am to risk life and limb for you, I hope you will confide in me later on. After all, it is not every day one meets a young lady running away from home,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Ride on, Mister Seymour. My dinghy is moored on the river. We can escape in it and leave our pursuers behind.”
“The horse?”
“No need to worry about him, I am sure he will find the way back to his stable.”
The sturdy gelding forged ahead through the native woodland on either side of the path until Gervaise drew rein at the tranquil water’s edge.
After he helped Juliana dismount, he withdrew a blunderbuss from his saddlebag. Juliana clutched her skirts, holding them high above her ankles to keep them dry. She stepped into the dinghy and sank onto the seat in the stern. Gervaise grabbed their baggage, throwing it into the small vessel, which rocked alarmingly, before clambering in and casting off.
“There’s the mistress,” a triumphant voice yelled.
Gervaise seized the oars.
One of their pursuers flung himself off his horse and raised a firearm.
“Lie down, Mistress Kemp,” Gervaise ordered. He raised his primed blunderbuss, ready to shoot if necessary.
Fortunately, the boat drifted away from the shore, but although a swift current bore it downstream, their pursuers rode along the towpath. One of them fired a shot which missed them by less than a foot.
“Row,” Mistress Kemp shouted.
He laughed in appreciation of his spirited companion.
* * * *
With the benefit of a strong, tidal current, they travelled some fifteen miles upstream before landing, leaving their pursuers far behind.
At the post house, Mister Seymour hired horses on which they rode to London. They reached the capital within three hours, having had only one disagreement over her insistence on selling the dingy her father had given her.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir.” She reached out for her bag. However, instead of releasing his hold on it, her travelling companion gripped the handle more tightly.
Juliana regarded him, her heart torn with conflicting emotions. The necessity of being beholden to this stranger made her uncomfortable. Yet, at times, he did not seem a stranger. He seemed to be someone she had known and loved forever. Loved? No! How foolish she was to have such thoughts.
“Please give me my bag,” she said, forcing herself to speak calmly.
“Not so fast, Mistress Kemp, where are you going?”
“To seek lodgings.”
“Most improper, come, you shall put up with some friends of mine who are a respectable married couple.”
Juliana shook her head. “I cannot be indebted to strangers.”
“I am no longer a stranger. You accepted my help.”
“And I am grateful for it but—”
“If you insist on taking lodgings, at least allow me to pay for them.”
“To take your money would be even more improper,” she replied, embarrassed by his generous offer. “Put your mind at rest, I will fare well enough now I am in London.”
“You will find it harder to survive alone in this wicked city than you anticipate. It would be my pleasure to fund you. If you insist, you may repay me at your convenience.”
Juliana shook her head to signify she must reject his offer of financial assistance.
“At least permit me to help you find somewhere to stay. Come,” he replied, clasping her arm and leading her into a tavern.
Juliana’s cheeks burned. No lady should enter such an establishment. She avoided the curious gazes of men with tankards in their hands, and did not hear what Mister Seymour said to the tavern keeper.
Moments later, her escort led her out of the establishment and up the street to a narrow house. The door was decorated with a brass knocker which he rapped hard.
His figure partially obscured the woman who opened the door. After a minute or two—during which she could not hear what they said because of the noise in the street—he beckoned to her and entered the house.
She went up the narrow flight of steps and looked questioningly at him.
“Mistress Kemp, this good lady assures me she has snug lodgings which will suit you.” He gestured to a plump girl. “I suggest you go upstairs and view them.”
Too tired to protest over his high-handedness, she hastily inspected the small rooms, decided they were adequate for her needs, and then returned to Mister Seymour.
“I shall rent them. Thank you for your help, sir.”
“Then I bid you good day.” He smiled, bowed, and left without any trace of regret that she could discern. The front door closed, leaving her alone and bereft. W
ould she ever see him again?
Chapter Four
After Mister Seymour left Juliana in her lodgings, she yawned and then added coal to the fire. She welcomed solitude to consider the events since Father’s recent death. Thanks to God, her lodgings, which she chose near Lincoln’s Inn for convenience, were inexpensive. She must make plans. First, she would sell her pearls. Next, she would search for witnesses to her parents’ marriage, and a written record of it. Juliana closed her eyes. What might have been if she were now mistress of Riverside estate?
Juliana sank onto the only chair in the room. Exhausted, she stared into the heart of the glowing fire. For Henrietta’s sake, if not for her own, she must be brave and resourceful. Tomorrow she would send a messenger to Nurse to make sure Henrietta had arrived safely.
She unpacked the black gown she would wear on the morrow and then hung it on a peg to remove the creases. Afterward, she changed into her linen nightrail and donned her silk nightgown.
Juliana bundled up the blue and white striped gown and yellow petticoat and then put them in her bag. Her laughter rang out. Accustomed to wearing the finest wool, silks, satins, and furs, she had never imagined wearing a servant girl’s best clothes. A knock on the door startled her. Nervous, for she had never before lived alone, she answered the summons.
Mrs Budgeon, her landlady, peered past her into the small apartment. “Thought you might be hungry. Don’t suppose you’ll want to eat at a tavern. D’you want my girl, Betty, to fetch your victuals?”
While Juliana considered the suggestion, the widow seized the chance to enter the little parlour. “My boy, Dick, will fetch more coal for a consideration.” Mrs Budgeon fingered Juliana’s dressing gown. “That’s best quality, that is, and the quilting’s lovely.” After a coy smile, she continued. “Don’t doubt your gentleman will spend his ready on whatever you want.”
Juliana’s cheeks burned. Her father had maintained a liaison with a widowed lady of good family, which she did not like to think of. He would have been surprised to learn she knew about it; but he would never have countenanced either of his daughters having a lover.
A dig in the ribs dragged Juliana from her thoughts. She stiffened and bit back a tart remark. Wealth and rank no longer protected her from such unwanted familiarity. “The gentleman, madam, is no more than a friend.”
Mrs Budgeon simpered. “That’s what they all say. Now, though I’m not as strait-laced as some, I’d not house a prostitute. I’ve got my girl to think of. However, I’ll not turn you out for having one gentleman to befriend you. No need to colour up, I don’t think the worse of you. He’s got a nice way of speaking, and he’s handsome, even if his skin is almost as brown as a hazelnut.”
Juliana agreed. Despite his sun-tanned face, Mister Seymour was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Mrs Budgeon plopped down on a stool by the fire. “I hope you’ve recovered from your ague.”
What did the nosy woman mean? “Ague?” Juliana asked.
“Yes, you’re still pale and tired, but some of your hair’s grown back.”
Ah, Mrs Budgeon thought her hair was shaved off due to fever. She seized the opportunity to be rid of the woman. “Although I am exhausted, I am not hungry, but I would like to partake of a dish of tea before I sleep.”
“A dish of tea costs a halfpenny.”
Juliana rose to hold the door open for Mrs Budgeon. “I shall be glad to pay for it.”
“I’ll send my girl up with it. If you want her to fetch your breakfast, tell her.”
“Yes, thank you, I will.”
Mrs Budgeon’s plump, lined face creased into an avaricious smile. She rubbed the palms of her podgy hands together. “Whatever you need, ask for it.”
Juliana fastened the latch before she sank back onto the fireside chair and shivered, apprehensive about her future. She glanced at the dull yellow painted walls, the polished floorboards, wooden shutters keeping out the dark, and the plain but adequate box-like furniture. Only a sampler worked in bright threads added cheerful colour to the room. She sighed, thankful because her lodgings and her landlady were clean. Tomorrow, regardless of her financial circumstances, she must employ a maid.
A thump on the door announced Betty’s arrival.
“Thank you,” Juliana said to the wiry, sharp-eyed girl.
“Ma said you’d be wanting me to fetch breakfast.”
“Yes, I would like you to bring…bread, butter, ham, and coffee—oh, I don’t know—”
“Some eggs or cheese seeing as you might not want steak or chops,” Betty suggested.
“Very well, make sure the butter is not rancid and the cheese is not mouldy.”
At night, Juliana lay fretful in bed. She did not sleep until the night watchman called out. “Four o’clock on a mild dry night, all’s well.” In the morning, she woke when Betty brought her tray.
“The sun’s shining, and your gentleman’s called to see how you are.” Betty’s intelligent face betrayed a little smile as she put a tray on a table by the window which overlooked the red-brick buildings of Lincoln’s Inn. “He said as he would come at noon to help you.” She winked. “We know what a help he can be.”
“We do not. The gentleman is no more than a commonplace friend—”
The landlady’s daughter shook her head. “Nothing’s commonplace about him, he’s too good looking, even if he’s as dark as a Romany.”
Betty was right. There was nothing commonplace concerning Mister Seymour. Juliana sighed. Extraordinary! Whenever she was with him it seemed as though their souls recognised each other from ages past, but how could that be?
“Do you need anything else?” Betty asked.
Juliana eyed the girl. Although she did not like either her inquisitive landlady or her pale-faced daughter, she would tolerate them because it might be difficult to find another lodging house as cheap and suitable as this one.
She drew her dressing gown closer round her. At all costs she must end Betty’s assumptions in case the girl ever had a future opportunity to damage her reputation. “I need a maid to run my errands and sleep here.” Juliana’s breath caught in her throat. Should the need ever arise, the maid could testify she, Juliana, was of good character.
A frown spread across the girl’s broad, pock-marked forehead. “What will your gentleman have to say?”
“He has no say.”
“I do believe you mean it.” Betty bobbed a curtsey. “Sorry if I’ve offended you. Ma and I see all manner of doings, so we thought—”
“Both of you are mistaken. However, we will say no more about it. Please be good enough to ask Mrs Budgeon to find me a clean, honest maidservant.”
* * * *
“My nose,” said Mrs Budgeon to her son while she chopped meat for a pudding, “tells me there’s a rat, and let me tell you, I’ve always had a good nose for rats.”
Dick looked up from his bowl of pottage. “Oh, Ma, not again.”
“My new lodger isn’t what she seems. What’s more, she’s made our Betty believe she’s not the gentleman’s woman. Who is the jade? I want to know. The gentleman’s paying the rent so she’s his woman.”
“Go on with yer, Ma. Yer problem’s imagination, not a rat. You always think there’s something afoot with the lodgers. As for the rent, so long as it’s paid, why worry?”
Mrs Budgeon snorted. “Why didn’t the gentleman want her to know he was paying part of it?” She paused. “Well, maybe things aren’t what they seem. Perhaps she didn’t want him to pay any of it. But what about her short hair? When I asked her if she’d been sick, she coloured up as red as this mutton I’m chopping. Do you think I should tell the constable?”
“Tell him what?” Dick slammed his spoon down. “Last time yer stuck yer nose in where it wasn’t wanted, the constable threatened to arrest yer for ruining the woman’s good name.”
Mrs Budgeon pushed the wooden slab piled with chopped meat aside and ladled flour into a bowl.
“Well, it’s as
may be, Dick. But I ask myself what a foolish old constable knows about life? I’ll keep a close eye on the strumpet.”
Dick sighed. “Keep yer mouth shut as close as a mousetrap. Yer don’t know she’s a strumpet. If yer go on like this yer could land yerself in trouble.”
* * * *
After Gervaise breakfasted in haste, he strode across the dining room with the intention of paying a call on Mistress Kemp. A couple of lackeys, dressed in gold-trimmed scarlet coats, white waistcoats, black breeches, and white stockings, opened the double doors for him.
He crossed the marble-floor of the hall. Two more lackeys bowed.
Although Gervaise had returned to his motherland from India too recently to know all his servants by name, he inclined his head to acknowledge their presence. Long ago, he had vowed not to be like his father, a man so arrogant that to the end of his life, even when they served him, he pretended not to notice the servants unless he needed to speak to one of them.
Sometimes Gervaise thought fondly of the loyal servants he had employed in India. In spite of superstition, disease, crocodiles, extremes of climate, poisonous snakes, and other hazards, he held the country in great affection.
He hurried up the stairs. This was not an appropriate time to think of the past. Instead he must make haste to render whatever aid he could to Mistress Kemp. In his impatience to hear her voice again, he pulled off his sapphire blue turban before he marched into his bedchamber.
While his valet helped him to remove his blue quilted dressing gown, worn over a white linen nightgown, Gervaise remained pensive. He preferred to travel without an escort to hem him in. Perhaps prudence should prevail on this occasion. He did not doubt his swordsmanship, but why risk losing his life at the hands of cut-throats?
He glanced at Peter. “Are my clothes ready?”
“Yes sir. I’ve laid out your purple coat, matching breeches, and the cream waistcoat with silver and lilac embroidery.”
Far Beyond Rubies Page 4