by Mary Nichols
‘If I am in a disagreeable mood, it is because you will persist in talking nonsense. It is enough to give me an earache.’
‘Then I will be silent.’ She spoke huffily and he was immediately sorry. He reached across and put his hand on hers.
‘I beg your pardon, Molly. I am a crosspatch, I admit it, but the truth is I am not used to being responsible for someone like you.’
‘It is a heavy burden, I know.’ She was aware of the pressure of his hand on hers but chose to ignore the sudden fluttering of her heart and the tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach; she was not experienced enough to connect one with the other. ‘It is no wonder Mama was disinclined to take me to London and Aunt Margaret used to despair of me.’
‘I am sure she did not. She spoke of you very affectionately.’
‘Did she?’ Molly brightened. ‘But she often said the sooner I found a husband to knock some sense into me the better.’
‘He would have a very hard time of it, I am persuaded.’
‘Oh, no, for I am willing to learn. But I should not like him to beat me.’
She spoke so seriously, he burst into laughter. ‘Oh, Molly, my sweet, he would be an unutterable cur to raise a finger to you.’
‘Not even if he were provoked?’
‘Not even then.’ He turned to look at her and his heartbeat quickened. He would almost be sorry when they reached London and he had to part with her. A life on the road was beginning to be a far less attractive prospect than it had been two or three days before. ‘But that does not mean I will allow myself to be provoked and do nothing. There is more than one way to skin a cat.’
‘What a dreadful maxim. I beg you find a less distasteful image. I am very fond of cats.’
By this time he had completely forgotten what it was he wanted to scold her about, or, if he remembered, set it to one side. It was much more agreeable to listen to her chatter, even though he pretended he did not like it. He was almost sorry when they drew up at the Greyhound in Newmarket in the late afternoon.
Once they had procured rooms for the night, they were able to take a stroll round the town. Duncan had been there before and he was able to point out the important buildings and tell them about the stables and racehorses, some of whom they saw cantering on the heath in training for races the following day.
‘Oh, do you think we might go to the races?’ Molly asked as they walked together a little ahead of Frank and Martha. ‘I should so like to see the horses running. Do they have lady riders?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Duncan exclaimed.
‘I do not see why not,’ she said. ‘Ladies are lighter than men and if they ride well that would surely give them an advantage.’
He grinned at her. ‘Now I suppose you are daydreaming about being a lady jockey?’
She laughed. ‘I’ll wager I could ride as well as any of them.’
‘And that is one wager I will certainly not accept.’
‘What a pity,’ she said, without rancour. ‘But you will take me to watch?’
‘Perhaps. If you promise to behave.’
‘Oh, I will. I will be the epitome of decorum, the very stiffest, most upright lady you can imagine.’
‘I shall look forward to seeing that,’ he said with a smile which told her he did not expect it to happen. ‘Now I think it is time to return to the inn for supper.’
Molly was delighted with the races. She loved the colourful crowds, the magnificent horses, the diminutive riders and all the tipsters and racegoers making bets, sometimes for thousands of pounds. Duncan gave her a few coins from those he had won at cards the previous evening. There was always a great deal of gambling in Newmarket and not all of it on the race course; it had been easy to find a game, which was his intention when deciding to come.
‘I’m going to put it on that one,’ she said, pointing to a chestnut filly.
‘You will lose,’ he said. ‘She might as well have three legs for all the winning she will do.’
‘Fustian! She is a lovely animal; she has such beautiful eyes.’
He laughed, thinking of Molly’s expressive eyes. ‘A horse does not run with its eyes. Look at its legs, its haunches, the depth of its chest.’
‘Oh, that goes without saying,’ she said. ‘But the eyes show the spirit. She wants to win; you can see it there.’
‘And like all females she gets what she wants—is that what you mean?’
‘Yes. Please put a guinea on her for me.’
He smiled and took the coin from her outstretched hand and strolled over to lay the bet, adding several guineas of his own. He had no idea why he went against his own advice; the filly had no form and he should not gamble foolishly when his funds were so low, but if Molly fancied her, who was he to argue? Besides, she was called Brancaster’s Bright Belle and that seemed a good omen.
They crowded as closely as they could to the edge of the course as the horses thundered past. Molly forgot her promise to act with decorum and jumped up and down in excitement, shouting the filly’s name as it took the lead. To everyone’s surprise, Bright Belle won her first heat and then her second. Everything depended on the last run. Molly hardly dared breathe as the horses lined up and took off.
This was a much harder race, for the runners had all won previous heats, and though Bright Belle kept with them for half the distance she began to flag. At the end of the second furlong, she was lying third and falling behind; it looked as though she had given her all. ‘Come on, Belle,’ Molly shouted. ‘Show them what you’re made of. You can do it.’
It seemed as though the filly heard her, or perhaps her jockey did and he wanted to please the vivacious young lady he had seen out of the corner of his eye. Whatever it was, Bright Belle put in an extra effort and passed the horse in front to run neck and neck with the leader. Molly was becoming hoarse with shouting and even Martha was caught up in the excitement and clasped her hands in front of her, muttering, ‘Come on, Bright Belle,’ as they approached the finishing line.
The crowds were going wild, urging one or the other horse on, and as they passed the finish with Bright Belle winning by no more than a nose there was a concerted sigh and then Molly grabbed Duncan by both hands and danced him round and round until both were dizzy. ‘We won! We won!’
He tried to slow her by releasing his hands and putting them on her shoulders. Giddy, she stumbled and fell against him. He held her fast, feeling her heart beating rapidly against his chest, and smelling the fresh scent of her hair just below his chin. He wanted to go on holding her, to tip her head up and kiss her lips, to go on kissing her, to make love to her.
But it was only a momentary weakness. He allowed his lips to brush her hair before pulling himself together and holding her at arm’s length. ‘Steady, my dear; it is not a fortune you have won, you know.’
‘Oh, but I do not care about that. It is the pleasure of seeing her win, when you said she had no hope…’
Reluctantly he released her. ‘Oh, so it is your victory over me you are crowing about.’
‘Yes. No, I did not mean that. It is the victory of the underdog which pleases me. You should understand that.’
‘Should I?’ he queried.
‘Yes. I am persuaded you like nothing better than to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.’
‘Gammon! What evidence have you of that?’
‘None but my eyes and ears…’
‘Captain, I think you should collect your winnings.’ Frank interrupted them. ‘I fancy the fellow is about to depart.’
This was indeed true. The man who had taken a large number of bets besides Duncan’s, and had obviously lost a great deal of money, was not going to pay up if he could avoid it. He was scurrying away through the crowds. Duncan and Frank went after him.
They were soon lost in the crowds who were milling about waiting for the next race to start. Molly, left with nothing to do, watched the people around her, some excited at winning, some disconsolate. She looked o
n in fascination as one finely dressed gentleman’s pockets were picked and the thief made off with a watch, a fob and a purse. The man did not even notice his loss.
She walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Sir, I believe you have just been relieved of the contents of your pockets.’
He swivelled round to face her. She gasped when she realised it was Mr Bellamy, but he did not notice as he patted his pockets and realised they were empty.
‘I saw the man do it. He went that way.’ She pointed. ‘You will know him; he has a ginger beard and a long black cloak. Very thin fingers, which is why, I suppose…’
He did not wait for her to finish but dashed off in the direction she had pointed. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I wanted to thank him for lending us his coach.’
‘He did not remember you,’ Martha said. ‘You should not have spoken to him.’
‘Not told him I had seen his pockets rifled? Oh, that would have been very uncivil of me.’
They became aware of a scuffle breaking out a little way off and saw him tackling the thief, who was putting up a spirited resistance. It seemed that Mr Bellamy was having the worst of it, when Duncan and Frank, returning with their winnings, intervened. They held the struggling thief while Andrew went through his extraordinarily large pockets and retrieved several watches and purses.
‘These are mine.’ Andrew held up his belongings, while other victims hurried forward to reclaim their stolen property. ‘I am in your debt, Stacey.’ He smiled at Molly who was making her way towards them. ‘And to the young lady.’
‘Molly?’ Duncan queried, looking at her. She was smiling back at Bellamy as if they were the best of friends and he felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Bellamy had everything in his favour: youth, looks, and the prospect of inheriting Brancaster’s title and wealth. There was no cloud of rejection and dishonour hanging over him. He was what Society called one of the eligibles.
‘I saw it happen,’ she said, coming up to them and allowing Andrew to take her hand and put it to his lips. ‘The thief was very deft, for he had the things out of Mr Bellamy’s pockets in a trice.’
‘You have the advantage of me, ma’am,’ he said. ‘You know my name but I am in ignorance of yours. Indeed, I do not think we can have met, for I would surely have remembered so delightful an encounter.’ He bowed towards her, smiling in a way that infuriated Duncan.
‘That is because you have not met,’ he said coldly. ‘Miss Martineau does not go out in the society you frequent.’
‘But she has done so today and for that I give thanks.’ He paused. ‘Miss Martineau, you say?’
Duncan had no alterative but to present him. ‘Miss Martineau,’ he said, turning to her, determined to be formal, ‘may I present Mr Andrew Bellamy?’ To Andrew he said, ‘Miss Margaret Martineau.’
He bowed with a flourish. ‘Your servant, Miss Martineau, and a very grateful one, for I should have been penniless again if you had not seen the knuckle at his business.’
‘Penniless again?’ she echoed.
‘Why, yes. Did my friend, Stacey, not tell you?’
‘No. I am indeed sorry to hear it has happened before.’
‘The circumstances were different,’ Duncan put in quickly. ‘It is getting late, Miss Martineau; I think we should be going. The racing is over for the day and I am sure you must be hungry.’
‘Then please join me for supper,’ Andrew said. ‘It is the least I can do to show my gratitude.’
‘I do not think so,’ Duncan said coldly. ‘Miss Martineau is fatigued.’
‘Indeed I am not,’ she contradicted him. ‘Is there any reason why we should not accept Mr Bellamy’s invitation? Besides, I wish to thank him for being so kind as to lend us his coach and horses.’
‘Lend them?’ Andrew queried, turning towards Duncan with a slightly puzzled frown. And then he gave a laugh that was mischievous if not downright malicious. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he said, speaking to Molly. ‘It was my pleasure, ma’am. I hope you found it comfortable.’
‘Indeed, yes. But it must have inconvenienced you a great deal to part with it.’
‘I have other means of conveyance, ma’am. Think nothing of it.’
‘It will be returned to his lordship,’ Duncan said, stiff-lipped.
‘Is that so? I wonder why you see the need?’ He seemed suddenly more cheerful. ‘But I had rather it were returned to me.’
‘I am sure that can be arranged,’ Molly said, while Frank and Martha looked on, Frank with secret amusement and Martha in bewilderment.
Duncan was feeling a little like a cornered animal, which was a state of affairs he was certainly not used to. And it was all because of Molly. Never before had he had to prevaricate to please a woman; they either took him as he was or they did not take him at all. Molly was different. He wanted Molly’s good opinion even though he knew he did not deserve it, and he did not want her to know he had won the equipage in a game of cards.
‘How about it, Stacey?’ Andrew asked. ‘You owe it to me to give me the chance to…’ He paused and smiled. ‘To express my gratitude to Miss Martineau for saving my purse.’
‘But that is cancelled out by our debt to you for lending us your coach,’ she said.
‘Then that is the end of the matter,’ Duncan said, snatching at this with relief. ‘Come, Miss Martineau.’ He took her arm and almost propelled her away, followed by Frank and Martha and the sound of Bellamy’s laughter.
‘That was most uncivil of you,’ she scolded him when they were sufficiently far away for him to slacken his speed. ‘Mr Bellamy was being polite.’
‘Was he?’
‘I begin to think he did not lend us his coach at all. I begin to think you held him up and took it from him at pistol-point.’
He grimaced; this was even worse than being accused of winning it at cards. ‘He would not have stood there bowing and smiling if I had, would he? He would have shouted for help and had me arrested.’
‘True,’ she admitted. ‘But perhaps he forbore to do that because I told him his pockets had been rifled and you helped him to overcome the knuckle.’
He smiled at her use of the slang word, which he was sure she had only just learned from Andrew’s lips. ‘The value of a purse is far inferior to the value of a coach and four matched horses. Frank will return them to Lord Brancaster after we have arrived safely in London. Now we will say no more of it.’
She opened her mouth to speak again, but desisted when she saw that he had set his mouth tight shut and was looking decidedly grim. If he was going to be a crosspatch, then she would not walk beside him. She slowed her pace to walk beside Martha. Frank took the opportunity to accompany Duncan.
‘It was bad luck running into Mr Bellamy again,’ Frank said to him.
‘It is of little consequence. He would not renege on a debt of honour and force us to return the coach.’
‘But he wants the chance to win it back. And he doesn’t seem the kind of man to take no for an answer. If he makes a noise about it, he will have everyone on his side, baying for you to accommodate him.’
‘If he comes looking for us, then naturally I shall comply, but I did not want to take him up on it in front of the ladies.’
‘Forgive me for saying so, sir, but it seems to me you are paying altogether too much attention to Miss Martineau. It will end in tears. Hers, if not yours.’
‘And I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself.’
It was an answer which convinced Frank that his employer had lost his head, if not his heart, and he had better tread warily. He said no more and they arrived back at the Greyhound in time to change for supper.
Molly dressed in one of the gowns Duncan had bought her in Norwich, a froth of pink lace over a darker pink satin slip, and then sat down for Martha, who had already changed into her one good dress, to arrange her hair. ‘Put it up,’ she told her. ‘Make me look a little older, if you please. The Captain is constantly calling me a child and I do not like it.�
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‘Perhaps it is not your looks but your behaviour which prompts that,’ Martha suggested. ‘You are as bright and eager as a child and speak before you think. You would do well to watch that.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I think you must be right, for Mama has said the same thing. She is always telling me I should hold myself aloof, that ladies never betray their feelings.’
‘I know nothing of Society ladies,’ Martha said. ‘But it is wise to hold a little of yourself back. You must keep the gentlemen guessing; it is the only way to engage their interest.’
‘Really?’ She was astonished. ‘You mean I must pretend indifference, even when I am far from indifferent?’
‘Especially then.’
‘How strange.’ She looked at herself in the glass, turning her head this way and that and putting on a haughty expression which did nothing but make Martha smile. ‘You see,’ she said. ‘No one takes me seriously.’
‘Oh, I am sure the Captain does. Now, are you ready?’
Molly picked up her fan and they went down to the dining room, where the men were waiting for them. Duncan, who had very little in the way of baggage with him, had changed his coat and put on a fresh cravat, and Frank, apart from washing and brushing his dark hair, was wearing the same breeches and coat he had been wearing all day.
They had hardly begun their meal when Andrew Bellamy strolled into the dining room. He was attired in a green silk coat, white breeches and white cravat, exquisitely starched and tied so that its froth of lace filled the neck of his pointed shirt collar. His coat was open to reveal a pink and red striped satin waistcoat. His companion looked positively drab in a black tailsuit.
Molly caught sight of them first. ‘Why, here is Mr Bellamy,’ she said, with a delighted smile.
He saw her almost at the same moment and hurried over to make his bow. ‘Miss Martineau, your obedient.’ He turned to Martha. ‘Ma’am.’ And to Duncan and Frank. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. I did not know you were staying here.’
‘Yes, what a coincidence,’ Molly said. ‘Captain, do ask Mr Bellamy and his friend to join us.’