Mary Or The Perils 0f Imprudence

by Catherine Bowness

  It began to seem to Mary that she would reach Tunbridge Wells before she found a place where she could turn and, once amongst the busy town traffic, she dreaded to think how she would manage to steer the curricle without running someone over or colliding with another conveyance. There had been one or two side roads down which she might have driven in order to find a quiet place to effect the turn but, by the time she noticed them, she was halfway past and it was too late.

  Now that she had managed to modify the pace and was driving along in what she believed to be a respectable manner, she was frequently overtaken by young bucks in similarly fashionable and speedy curricles and it was not long before she began to compare these other equipages – and their horses – unfavourably with her own.

  Some of these dashing gentlemen, seeing a lone young woman behind such a pair, evidently felt it their duty to pass judgment on her driving skills and to exhort her to give the bays their heads and allow them to ‘show their paces’. Mary, having only recently experienced their paces and not having liked them above half, raised her chin but kept her whip lowered and plodded on, searching with increasing desperation for somewhere suitable to turn. In truth, she was convinced that such a feat would prove to be well beyond her powers.

  Some of the comments were positively ribald and fixed upon her lone state: why did she not have a gentleman – or at least a groom - with her? But it was not until she was overtaken by a lone horseman that the full danger of her situation became clear. He had no vehicle to manoeuvre and required considerably less space on the road to overtake her. When he came alongside, she shuddered with fear because it seemed to her that he was unnecessarily close.

  “Want any help?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. I can manage perfectly well on my own,” she responded curtly for, in spite of his offer of help, she did not think this was what he had in mind.

  “You should not be driving about by yourself, you know. How did you come by such a handsome pair? Did you steal them?”

  He was no doubt wondering, not only why she was unaccompanied, but also why a female dressed in such a modest style was driving a fine curricle with a prime pair of horses. She realised that the mismatch between her appearance and her situation was an additional peril. Ladies of quality were known to behave in outrageous ways from time to time and such a female driving such a curricle might have occasioned remark – and no doubt admiration – but she would not have been accused of having stolen them.

  Boiling with rage and injured pride, Mary tried not to look at her persecutor but he, no doubt having noticed not only her figure – although it was not displayed to particular advantage – but also the strands of bright hair escaping from beneath her bonnet, came closer still and almost ran his horse into hers.

  She twitched the reins to avoid him, causing the nearside horse to stumble on to the verge. The curricle swayed alarmingly and threatened to tip over into the ditch but Mary, by now so enraged that her painfully learned humility had altogether evaporated, held it up and applied her whip so that the bays, until now held back to an unusually sedate pace, leaped forward. As she steered them back from the verge on to the main highway, the horseman, taken by surprise, was caught by the edge of the curricle. She heard his horse shriek and him curse but was too intent on managing her own vehicle to be able to spare him a glance.

  They bucketed along for some way at the increased speed before she managed to bring them back to a more controlled trot.

  “Now what shall we do?” she asked them rhetorically. “We must and shall turn round. Let us find a straight piece of road and do our best for, if we continue at this rate, we shall arrive in Tunbridge Wells – and then where should we be?”

  Fortunately for Mary’s temper the horses did not point out that there would be little doubt where they would be; the question rather would be the one she had first put to them: what they should do about it.

  Their ears twitched in response and Mary felt a sudden access of affection for them. They were exceedingly handsome and had so far carried her with perfect, if sometimes erratic, safety, but they were not hers and, from what little she knew of horses, she must guard against springing them if she was not to hand them back to their owner in a damaged condition.

  She drew them back to a walk and once more scanned the road for a suitable turning spot. Every time the highway looked wide enough and straight enough there was another vehicle in sight but, after she had continued for what seemed like hours but could not have been more than a few minutes, she decided that she must take her chance and hope that anyone coming from either direction would see her in time to slow down.

  Eventually she decided that her best chance might be to choose the stretch of road and then wait for a pause in the traffic. Having succeeded, rather to her surprise, in drawing the horses to a halt, she waited impatiently for the road to clear, hoping that there would be no more lone horsemen ready to assault either her or the vehicle. When she could see nothing in either direction but a farm gig, which she judged slow enough and small enough to stop in time, she began the manoeuvre.

  First she spoke to the horses, telling them what she intended. She did not suppose that they understood but, since they had already demonstrated far more intelligence than she would have expected, she thought she might as well appeal to their better natures. She then began to manipulate the reins so that the offside horse stepped forward while the nearside one was restrained. She hoped that this would result in the curricle edging towards the middle of the road. It did, although at first the movement was almost imperceptible and then, when she attempted to improve the angle, it was too rapid and the nearside horse stumbled while the offside one looked sideways with some bewilderment.

  “I am sorry!” she said. “I am not very good at this, but I am sure you can see what I am trying to do.”

  She had by this time advanced some way towards the centre of the road but her horses were at odds with each other and the curricle itself had begun to teeter precariously. She attempted to encourage the nearside horse to join the other but he seemed unwilling to take another step.

  As she wrestled with them, trying to keep her temper and her nerve, a travelling chaise appeared from behind; the driver was obliged to cross to the other side of the road to pass her and did so with many imprecations upon her character and driving ability. This not unnaturally inflamed Mary once more; she did not like to be criticised and felt, in view of how well she had managed so far, that such blighting comments were wholly unjust. She was too well bred to shout back but muttered angrily beneath her breath, while the panic induced by her situation in the middle of the road with two horses which seemed to be going in opposite directions, once again concentrated her mind and gave her the courage to impose her will upon her steeds.

  It was some time later, and she had grown very hot in the process, that she managed to get the curricle facing in the opposite direction and the horses aligned in front of it. She paused, praised them for the excellence of their understanding and set forth once more, urging them after a few minutes into a trot.

  She was feeling justifiable pride in her driving skills and beginning almost to enjoy herself when she came up behind a large carriage which was moving so excessively slowly that she was forced to slow to a walk. She knew that Lord Marklye would have flown past on one of the straight stretches but as these were few and far between – and when they occurred there was far too much traffic for safety, she did not. She hesitated for too long when an opportunity did arise so that, by the time she decided to make a dash for it, it was too late.

  Unnerved by what she perceived as her own poor spirit and no longer feeling any degree of pride, she resigned herself to plodding along behind the travelling chaise. As they proceeded, she had time to look around her and was thus able to notice the importunate lone horseman limping, horseless, along the road. She tried to avert her gaze and pushed ineffectually at her drooping curls in a vain attempt to bundle them back beneath her bonnet and re
nder herself less recognisable but he, no doubt looking for someone to come to his aid, saw her and shouted at her, a vile torrent of abuse which turned her initial feeling of pity to a fury so great that, if she could have reached him on the opposite verge with her whip, she might have been tempted to do so.

  Once past him, she comforted herself with the thought that his horse seemed to have run away so could not be badly hurt and he, although clearly bruised and enraged, was at least not dead. She had not killed anyone – or even, so far, a horse.

  She was becoming positively bored and beginning to wonder if she would ever reach the spot where she had left the Viscount when she saw him standing beside the road, a bunch of flowers in his hand. He noticed her at the same moment and called out, perhaps afraid that she might miss him – or decide to drive past and leave him there.

  “Miss Best! Forgive me for my earlier provocation and pray take pity on me. Stop! I have your reticule safe in my possession.”

  He held it up and she drew the curricle, by now with some skill, to a halt beside him.

  He approached and held up both reticule and flowers. “You need not have picked up the flowers,” she said, bursting into tears with the relief of seeing him.

  “My dear girl, I had nothing else to do,” he replied. “You have been gone for an age. Where have you been all this time?”

  “Oh, driving along the road; I should think I must almost have reached Tunbridge Wells. I did not drive off on purpose,” she added. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” he said, jumping lightly up beside her. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I am so glad to see you!” she answered before she could stop herself.

  “Well, I am very glad to see you too,” he agreed cordially. “I was imagining you in a ditch somewhere, possibly even one filled with water from which you would be bound to need rescuing. Would you like me to drive now?”

  “Oh yes, please. I hope I have not injured your horses.”

  “I should not think you have. Have you been springing them?”

  “Does that mean galloping? Yes, I have – at least they have been springing themselves most of the time, although I did make them go fast at one point when there was a horrid man trying to push me into the ditch. Well, as a matter of fact, I do not think he wanted me in the ditch so much as he wanted to be in the curricle with me. I am afraid he fell off when I brushed past him.”

  “Good gracious! You seem to have been having a most exciting time.”

  “I daresay I may consider that it was when I look back upon it, but at the time it was perfectly horrid. Where is your groom?”

  “I sent him back to fetch another vehicle. What a chapter of accidents! Is everything still in your reticule that you expect to be there?”

  “I do not know; I expect so.” She was still tearful.

  “Then I suggest you look.”

  “Why? What does it matter?”

  “I thought it was Lady Leland’s money.”

  “Yes, it is but, if someone has taken it, what can we do?”

  “Lay information to that effect so that someone in authority can look for the thief.”

  “That horrid man accused me of being a thief!”

  “Truly? Why did he do that?”

  “He thought I had stolen your curricle. He probably supposed me to be a maid who had run off with my employer’s property.”

  “I daresay your employer would have deserved it if he had been a man; very likely he would have tried to take advantage of you and incurred your displeasure. Taking my curricle and two of the best horses I have ever owned would be my just desserts if I had behaved so shabbily.”

  “Pray do not make fun of me,” she begged, her voice wavering.

  “Have you counted the money yet?”

  “I would do so if you would cease to bully me,” she said, opening the purse.

  He remained silent while she counted.

  “It is all there,” she said eventually, shutting the purse and pushing it back into the reticule.

  “Good. I think we can count ourselves lucky so far. We are both alive, so far as I know both our grooms likewise, the horses are not yet lame, you have all the money with which you set forth and you have, in addition, a pretty bunch of flowers. And, by no means a paltry matter, we have both declared that we are glad the other is here. I am sorry if I teased you.”

  “I am glad you are satisfied. I am not. Lady Leland asked me to buy some playing cards and counters for her party and, not only have I wasted the entire afternoon, but I have failed to carry out her commission. What will she say?”

  “I should imagine that she will be so glad to have you safely restored to her that she will fall upon your neck with joy. Would you like me to come in and explain the situation? Incidentally, there is no necessity for you to buy either cards or counters; I have plenty and will bring some over tomorrow if that would assist you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She was silent for a few minutes while they trotted peaceably along the road. Then she said, “The thing is that she wished me to take the carriage – not the gig – and she will be displeased that I ignored her instructions; I brought this upon myself and she will quite justifiably accuse me of pride.”

  “Why did you not do as you were bid?”

  “Oh, it was not defiance, although I daresay, from what you have seen of my character, you are thinking that it may have been. The truth is that I feel uncomfortable in my new elevated position and fear that I shall not be able to carry it off either with my fellow servants or in the shops.”

  “You are wearing the wrong clothes,” he pointed out reasonably.

  “Yes; that is no doubt why that horrid man accused me of stealing your horses; Lady Leland has bought me some that are more appropriate for my new position but they have not yet been delivered.”

  “You would have looked very odd sitting in a gig dressed in the sort of clothes which would mark you out as a lady and I presume that – if you had been thus clad – you would have submitted to the closed carriage; in such a vehicle, you would have been in no danger of being insulted by passing idiots for the simple reason that they would not have seen you. Nevertheless, I can understand your unwillingness to – as it were – muddle your stations in such a manner, particularly since you appear so reluctant to accept her ladyship’s beneficence. What did you do that put you so much beyond the pale that you are loath to return even when the gate is opened?”

  “I cannot disclose that.”

  “Why not? Did you kill someone?”

  “No.”

  “Steal from your last employer?”

  “No.”

  “If you have done neither of those, I cannot see how you can have done anything that would ban you permanently from taking your proper place in Society.”

  “You are making fun of me,” Mary said in a small voice, “and I think it unkind.”

  “As a matter of fact I am not. Such conduct would ill become me since I have not, myself, always behaved quite properly and yet, you see, now that I am cloaked in both a title and funds, I have been positively welcomed by the most respectable people in England. Is Lady Leland aware of what caused your fall from what I am convinced was a higher rank than that in which I find you now?”

  “Yes; that is why she took me in. I owe her everything and it is on that account that I feel so burdened by becoming her heiress. I have been heaped with a treasure I feel I do not deserve.”

  Chapter 22

  “I am persuaded you labour too much under a misplaced sense of guilt. I cannot think why. If she is happy, not only to forgive you but to reward you, I think it ill behoves you to look her gift horse in the mouth. It is time to put the past behind you and give the good lady what she deserves: your gratitude and some evidence of the pleasure and happiness she believes she is conferring upon you.”

  “I own I had not thought of it like that,” Mary admitted.

  “No: because you have
been thinking of yourself and not of her, while she has been thinking, throughout, of you.”

  “Are you accusing me now of self-indulgence?”

  “Yes, probably I am. Do you consider my judgment unfair and harsh?”

  “It is harsh, yes, but not, I think, unfair.”

  He nodded but did not pursue the point. After a few moments, he said, “I have been thinking about teaching you to swim and have obtained permission to teach my young guest at the same time so that you will not be alone with me.”

  “I am alone with you now,” she pointed out. “There does not seem to be much danger in that by itself; however, when I raised the matter with her ladyship, she forbade it.”

  “Did she?” he asked curiously. “Or did she simply not overtly agree? And has she, in any event, since meeting me and deciding that I am not a scoundrel, changed her mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She does not strike me as the kind of person who issues orders to those for whom she has formed an attachment. I think it more likely that she advised you against it. Would you like to learn?”

  “I suppose it might prove useful but it is not the only means of protecting myself against disaster with which I should like to be armed. Can you teach me to fight too?”

  “Fight? So that you may defend yourself against the likes of Mr Armitage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lady Leland has already provided you with the means to defend yourself against such as him. I assume he was trying to make love to you in a somewhat forceful manner, prompted no doubt by the combination of your beauty and your lowly position, which no doubt led him to suppose that he could have his way without being obliged to offer you his name. When he discovers that you are an heiress, he will no doubt change his tune. He will come, on bended knee, to beg for your hand.”

  “Do you not think that, when I decline – as I shall – he might decide that, if he were to drag me away forcibly, I would be obliged to concede? He will, after all, at that point be pursuing something far more important than idle seduction: the acquisition of a fortune.”