Michelle Styles

by An Impulsive Debutante

  ‘I will do what I can.’ Lottie looked towards the door and wished Tristan would arrive back. ‘What does she look like? And where did you lose her?’

  Both children began to talk at once, chattering about this and that and how they were chased. Lottie held a finger to her lips, waiting until they fell silent. ‘Please, I will help. We shall have to find the stationmaster. He is probably in the first-class waiting room. I am sure your nurse is looking for you both right now.’

  ‘A guard told us that we couldn’t go there. He called us urchins. Chased us away. And a bad man came and tried to capture us.’ A single tear ran down the girl’s face.

  ‘He was going to take us away and put us in a pie,’ the little boy said. ‘And I would never see Nurse or Mama or Papa again.’

  ‘Hush, Charley.’

  ‘But you said, Verbena. It is why we hid in the coal pile,’ the boy protested.

  Lottie shifted uneasily. She remembered all too clearly her experience yesterday. There were other worse things that could happen to children. She regarded the door and willed Tristan to return, but the doorway was vacant. She pressed her hands to her mouth, thinking. She had to do something. ‘I will do the best that I can to reunite you with your nurse. She will be looking for you on the platform. I am sure she will.’

  The children’s faces cleared and the boy shyly placed a kiss on her glove. ‘Thank you, pretty lady.’

  ‘First shall we clean your faces? Make you more presentable?’

  ‘Please, we have lost our handkerchiefs.’

  Lottie took out her handkerchief and began to wipe the coal from the boy’s chin. He gave a grateful smile. She handed it to his sister, who scrubbed her face before holding it out.

  ‘Keep it. You have greater need than I do.’

  She took the pair by the hands and began to look. The nurse would be frantically searching. No doubt she would discover her or someone else on the platform.

  Except for a pile of luggage and a porter, the platform was empty. Lottie stamped her foot in frustration and wished she had waited for Tristan. She had to think clearly.

  It was possible she had made a mistake and that perhaps the children were meant for the first-class lounge and had become confused. The nurse might have fallen asleep and the children wandered away. It had been known to happen. She had done it once as a little girl and had been discovered crying in a livery stable.

  She lifted her head and turned the knob and took the children in. A steward with a disdainful look blocked her way. He curled his lip as he looked her and the children up and down.

  ‘Here, what are you doing with those filthy children? You are only allowed in this here room if you are a first-class passenger. I will need to see your tickets.’ The steward’s expression indicated that he doubted Lottie or the children would possess such a thing.

  ‘I am looking for their nurse,’ Lottie answered. ‘They may have become confused and entered the third-class waiting room by mistake.’

  The steward began a long lecture about the rules and regulations of the railway company and how she would have to comply. Lottie resisted the temptation to roll her eyes heavenwards. Did she look like riff-raff? At that moment, a soberly dressed elderly woman with a worried expression came up with the stationmaster. When the children saw her, they gave a glad cry and rushed into her arms.

  ‘Bless you, my dear,’ the woman said to Lottie. ‘I have searched everywhere for them. They are a pair of scamps. I only took my eyes off them for an instant and they were gone. Vanished into thin air. Their mother would have been beside herself with worry. She suffers dreadfully from her nerves.’

  A lump grew in Lottie’s throat as the children began to talk at once. Tristan would understand why she had left the waiting room, she was sure of it. The children were so delighted to be reunited with their nurse.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ she said when the children had finished telling their tale.

  ‘Would you like something for your trouble?’ The woman reached into her reticule.

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’ Lottie kept her back straight. No one had ever offered her money before. She had only done a good deed. ‘The children’s smiles are enough reward.’

  ‘If you are sure…’ The nurse held out a coin. ‘You have saved my job. I shouldn’t like to think what would be said.’

  ‘Quite sure. It was my pleasure and I believe the pair have learnt their lesson.’

  The two children nodded vigorously.

  ‘If you insist, but…’ The woman shook her head. ‘The master won’t like it. Nor will my lady. They like to help those less fortunate than themselves.’

  ‘I do insist.’ Lottie turned on her heel and started back towards the door. With any luck, Tristan would not have returned and she could explain the story with a light laugh. She intended on leaving out the bit about the offer of payment. There was no need for Tristan to know about that. She knew she had done the correct thing. She stubbed her toe on the edge of the carpet and nearly fell.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ she said. ‘I was thinking about other things.’

  A fashionably dressed mother and daughter drew their skirts back as if she might contaminate them. Lottie’s heart lurched. The pair could have been her own mother and her six months ago—wrapped up in their own self-importance, blind to the world around them. She wondered if those two had even seen the children and thought to stop them.

  She gave her head a slight shake. The blindness and stupidity of people. A cold shiver ran down her back—how many things had she failed to see? How many things had she missed because she was too busy looking towards the best social advantage? Thankfully this time she had noticed. She shuddered and kept on walking.

  ‘The nerve of some people, Mama.’ The younger of the pair waved her fan. ‘Some people think they own the railway and the station.’

  ‘They don’t know their place, dear,’ the mother replied in a strident tone. ‘This waiting room is supposed to be for gentle folk. Such a display of ill breeding.’

  ‘I doubt you would know any,’ Lottie muttered under her breath.

  ‘Were you speaking to my daughter and me?’ The elder of the women looked Lottie up and down. ‘You should know how to speak to your betters.’

  ‘I do and when I meet them, I shall.’ Lottie lifted her chin and prepared to glide pass. There were shocked gasps from the women and a crowd began to gather around.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ The woman had the same imperious tone that Lottie’s mother used when confronted by a hostile shopkeeper.

  ‘Does it matter? The children in question have been reunited with their nurse.’ Lottie’s stomach churned. Her right to be in a first-class waiting room had never been questioned before. Couldn’t people tell?

  ‘And did you know how handsome the reward would be?’

  ‘I guessed.’ Lottie gave her best social smile. ‘It was very easy to work out that the children were well cared for and would be missed.’

  ‘Shocking! She probably stole the children herself. I wouldn’t put it past her,’ a portly gentleman pronounced, leaning over to the two women. The elderly woman gave a smile of smug satisfaction as if she knew of her own superiority. ‘The steward should be informed.’

  ‘Yes, call the steward, Mama. I wonder I hadn’t thought of that. Some people like to give themselves airs and graces. There ought to be a law.’

  Lottie stared at the growing throng of unfriendly faces, all looking down their noses at her. Surely they saw her refuse the money. Surely they knew she had brought the children back out of the goodness of her heart.

  ‘I meant their smiles and tears of joy at being reunited with their nurse. Anyone but a simpleton would know that.’ Lottie tilted her head higher, ignored the steward who was steadily advancing towards her with a gleam in his piggy eyes. ‘If you will excuse me, please, I believe the air is fresher in the third-class waiting room.’

  She stumbled out of the first-class waiting room. Her hands wer
e trembling as she leant against the wall and tried to collect her thoughts.

  How could people be that cruel?

  She put her hand over her mouth and refused to cry. Everything she did was misinterpreted. She straightened her shoulders and resolved never to behave in such a fashion herself.

  When she had nearly reached the third-class waiting room, she saw Tristan striding toward her, a newspaper folded under his arm. His eyebrows were drawn together and a look like thunder was on his face. ‘You have come from the first-class waiting room. Do not try to deny it. I saw the direction you scurried from.’

  ‘Before you jump to conclusions,’ Lottie said, holding up her hand, stopping his words, ‘There was a very good reason for me being in there.’

  ‘I have little doubt that you think you had a good reason for being there.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What explanation are you going to give? Were you looking for a comfortable place to sit? Somewhere where you did not have to mix with the ordinary people.’

  Lottie’s heart sank and she straightened the folds of her gown before answering. The irony of the situation did not escape her. She cleared her throat. ‘Don’t you dare try to tell me that I don’t belong there. I have had quite enough of that today already. The steward protested in the strongest terms when I first went in.’

  ‘Did you go there to prove a point?’ He tapped the newspaper against his hand. ‘I told you what would happen.’

  ‘To reunite some children with their nurse,’ Lottie said through gritted teeth. Then at the slight relaxation of his mouth, she quickly explained the story. Tristan listened, nodding at several points. ‘And the passengers were truly horrible,’ Lottie said as she finished the tale. ‘I shall be pleased to return to third class.’

  ‘What did they do to you?’

  ‘They made it seem like I didn’t know my place. The nurse even offered me some money as reward.’ Lottie blinked back tears. ‘Money? Me? I refused it, of course.’

  Tristan put his arm around her and she drew strength from him. ‘Some people only pay attention to what is on the outside.’

  ‘But even if my gown is muddy and creased, I look presentable.’ Lottie gave a huge sniff. ‘It is only a few months old and the cut is highly fashionable.’

  He took her chin between his fingers and raised it. ‘You look presentable to me, if slightly creased. Do you want to sit in the first-class waiting room? Shall I go and make arrangements? It can be done.’

  Lottie shook her head. ‘Not now, not when I know what snobs populate it.’

  ‘You have good intentions, Lottie. You did the right thing.’

  ‘I know, but why do they always turn out to be wrong?’

  ‘It is nearly time to board the train, Lottie. Forget about it. They are not important.’

  Lottie rested her hand on his arm. ‘But they were awful.’

  ‘Now do you see what pride can do to people?’ he asked and she could see a strange light burning in his eyes.

  ‘I have never behaved like that.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  Lottie paused. From now, she would make the effort to see the people about her and speak pleasantly without first deciding what their social status was. Her lesson had been a hard one. She would do things because they were right. But she could not explain this to Tristan. He might consider her a monster. And she wasn’t that. ‘No, never to my knowledge. At least, I hope I haven’t.’

  Chapter Nine

  Tristan surveyed the Hexham railway yard with a frown. He had expected Mrs Elton to send one of the tenant farmers out with a pony cart. Not the lap of luxury, but something.

  There was nothing there except a few broken-down farm carts. And Mrs Elton would not have sent one of those. They would take far too long to get to the Hall. He cursed under his breath. There was no use second-guessing the reason. He would have to adapt and cope.

  ‘Is there something wrong, Tristan?’ Lottie broke off her farewells with a farmer’s widow. ‘Something is amiss. I can see it in your face. The train was a half-hour late, but there’s nothing we could do about that.’

  ‘It would appear that my earlier presumption was wrong. There is no transport waiting for us. Curious, Mrs Elton is generally very efficient.’

  ‘Perhaps the innkeeper did not send your letter. I did not trust him.’

  ‘That is certainly one explanation.’ Tristan scanned the rapidly emptying yard again, but no pony cart or conveyance magically appeared. And he had no intention of standing about, hoping that one would. ‘We shall have to see if the livery stables are open. They will have a carriage for hire. I would like to get to Gortner before nightfall.’

  ‘But won’t that be expensive?’

  Tristan tilted his head. Lottie had changed since this morning. She made an effort to speak to the people about her and had entertained several children with songs on their journey from Carlisle. How much was show and how much was a true change, he was not certain, but something had happened to her. He knew his plan was working. She was starting to think about others. ‘Do you have a better alternative?’

  ‘Mrs Foster’s brother is a farmer. He is picking her up. He has the cart with the two white oxen.’ Lottie gestured towards the widow, who gave a large beaming smile and waved back. ‘Mrs Foster has offered us a place in her brother’s cart. They can drop us off at the crossroads to Gortner Hall, if we like. She says it is not a far walk, a country mile or two only. And two more in the back of the cart will not make a pennyworth’s of difference. I thought it best to enquire about how one proceeded up the North Tyne Valley as you appeared so vague about it.’

  ‘I am never vague.’ Tristan crossed his arms. Irritated. Lottie did not trust his ability. And Mrs Foster had her distances wrong. Gortner Hall was nearly five miles from the Wark crossroads. ‘The livery stables will be able to provide something.’

  ‘It is what ordinary people do. Do you think I am so frail that I cannot make the journey?’ Lottie adjusted her bonnet. ‘A mile or two is nothing to me.’

  ‘It is more than—’ Tristan stopped. Lottie wanted to do this. He would let her. It would be a good experience for her. A reinforcement of the lesson. Sometimes, one had to milk the opportunity.

  ‘Don’t be mulish, Tristan. I am saving us money.’ Her lips turned up in the sweetest smile. ‘Tristan, I am being ordinary.’

  ‘Very well, Lottie, if you wish to ride in a farm cart that badly, we will. Go ahead, arrange it.’

  ‘Way aye, it will be a right pleasure, sir,’ the plump woman said, coming over. ‘Your good wife and I have been exchanging recipes on making jam and chutney. She has some right interesting ideas, like. Elderflower and gooseberry. I had never thought of it, but they would go well together in jam.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘I have always enjoyed helping out in the still room. It is one of my enthusiasms. The still room is a right and proper place for a lady.’ Lottie’s eyes glowed. ‘I found a kindred spirit in Mrs Foster while you took refuge behind your newspaper. She likes to preserve fruit and vegetables. She even told me the best way to make sugared violets. It is a much simpler way than Lucy makes hers.’

  ‘Your abilities never cease to surprise me.’

  ‘I am resigned to my fate now.’ Lottie smiled up at him. ‘And it will be quite amusing to be the wife of a local landowner.’

  Tristan tilted his head, considering the possibilities. Resigned to her fate. A form of words or the truth? Did Lottie know what she was asking? Was it a ploy because she knew he would refuse the gesture and then she would be able to insist on using her money to hire a more expensive carriage? He would play along. Nothing serious would happen and Lottie would learn to listen to him. Mrs Foster led the way to a hay cart where her brother greeted them with a genial wave and readily agreed to take them to the Gortner Hall crossroads. Tristan heard the muttered gasp beside him and the slight hesitation. Then Lottie squared her shoulders, climbed into the cart and patted the hay beside her. Her once pr
istine dress became covered in wisps of straw, but she appeared not to mind. ‘Are you coming, Tristan? It will be fun. And you did mention haystacks earlier.’

  ‘To sleep in, not to ride on.’

  ‘As long as it gets us where we are going, I don’t mind.’

  He gave an inward smile of satisfaction. He doubted if Lottie had ever ridden in a cart for as long as she would have to today.

  ‘Is the condition of the hall as bad as Mrs Foster says?’ Lottie asked as the cart began to move.

  ‘Much worse,’ Tristan answered firmly.

  ‘He would know, but I know my late husband—God rest his soul—said that all that estate needed was someone to love it,’ Mrs Foster said over her shoulder. ‘Mr Foster hated what had happened to it. Once, it was Lord Thorngrafton’s seat. The way the old lord treated it after…’

  ‘I think we had best be making a move, if you want to get to Wark before nightfall,’ Tristan said, not letting Mrs Foster finish. Lottie did not need to hear the exact details of the scandal from a stranger. She already knew the bare bones, but he would tell her everything in his own time.

  ‘Allow me to help you down.’

  Lottie gratefully grasped Tristan’s outstretched hand as she clambered down from the farmer’s cart. The cart journey had been much rougher and had taken far longer than she had at first supposed. Every muscle in her body ached and at one point she had been sure that her teeth would be shaken loose. Mrs Foster and her brother raised their hands in farewell and started on their way again, seemingly unaffected by the bone-jarring awfulness that was the farm cart.

  ‘I could have done it myself.’ Lottie straightened the folds of her dress, picking out bits of straw and hay. Her heart sank as she regarded the windswept crossroads. ‘How far is Gortner Hall from here? Mrs Foster said that it would not take very long to walk.’

  ‘Miles. I did try to warn you, Lottie.’ Tristan pointed down the desolate crossroad with not a house or horse and cart in sight. ‘But you insisted that we accept this lift. It would have been churlish of me to refuse, as you quite rightly pointed out, since the lift was free.’