by Burnett, May
“What will your step-mother have said when the maid she sent with you returned within the day?”
“She had complained of having to do without her, so I suppose she will not mind. And I could not take her – she reports everything I say and do to my stepmother.”
Did Miss Trevelyan have plans her stepmother must not hear about? She looked so meek and mild. Jeremy studied her pale face speculatively, noting that she was more placid, less nervous, than the last few times he had seen her.
The coach passed over a pothole and Miss Trevelyan raised her gloved hand to her mouth with a strangled gasp. Mrs Widdy quickly handed her a basin. Jeremy averted his eyes from the indelicate spectacle, though the noises were impossible to overhear. If Miss Trevelyan suffered from travel sickness, this journey would be even more tedious than he already expected.
They stopped for a minute to empty and rinse out the basin. The rain was stronger than ever, or he would have ridden again. As it was, Jeremy resigned himself, and cast about for interesting subjects that might distract the girl from her queasiness. How would she react if he took a completely contrary, absurd stance? Most of the young ladies he had talked to in recent years were all too eager to agree with whatever he asserted, and he sometimes made a game out of getting them to support obvious nonsense. Miss Trevelyan at least seemed to have no matrimonial designs on him. Maybe he could goad her into an argument. Anything to pass the time.
***
By the third day, Jeremy had had a whole series of invigorating discussions with Miss Trevelyan, and understood better why his sister had befriended the girl. When he could draw her out of her melancholy thoughts, whatever they were, she had a well-informed mind and was quite capable of defending her views with ingenious and intelligent arguments.
Mrs Widdy had hired a maid of sorts at the first inn where they stopped for the night, though Molly was not as respectable as Jeremy could have wished: a freckled girl of sixteen, she regarded the journey to far-off Cornwall as a great lark. She was inexperienced but willing, and Jeremy was glad to know that Miss Trevelyan had not one but two females to sleep in her room and guard her reputation. As an added precaution, he always took the chamber furthest removed from theirs. But over shared meals and rides – a few hours of each day, when he tired of riding, or wanted conversation – a cautious familiarity had been established. Poor Miss Trevelyan continued to suffer from travel sickness now and then, especially in the mornings, so it tended to be in the afternoons, before they stopped for the night, that Jeremy joined her and Mrs Widdy and Molly in their coach.
***
Jeremy was riding somewhat ahead of the vehicle when a horrible grinding noise at his back alerted him that something was amiss. He wheeled his bay around. His horrified eyes were met by the spectacle of the coach on its side and sliding further downhill, the panicked horses fighting in their traces, and his coachman lying insensible on the ground, though he was beginning to groan and move by the time Jeremy had swung down from his mount. The axle had broken on the steep downhill slope.
As the outriders stared in shock, Jeremy swung down, handed his reins to one of them, and ran to liberate the team, talking to the panicked horses in a soothing voice. It was a difficult and dangerous task to get them free, even with the other outriders’ assistance. Once freed, the four horses began to graze in the meadow just off the road. One of the leaders was lamed, but it would probably recover after some days’ rest.
After checking that the coachman had no open wound that required immediate assistance, Jeremy climbed up onto the upended coach, where it had come to rest at the bottom of the slope. He had to wrestle with the door and gravity before he could catch a glimpse of the passengers. There was noise and movement inside, so at least one of them must still be alive – pray God that all three women were all right, or at least only with minor injuries.
In the meantime the outriders tried to assist the coachman, who was gingerly trying to sit up, holding a hand to his head.
As Jeremy pulled, somebody inside the coach pushed at the door. He finally wrenched it open, though it threatened to fall back the moment he stopped holding it up. Peering downwards, he was glad to see Mrs Widdy and Molly conscious, though bruised and dishevelled. Molly’s left arm was bleeding, most likely from the shards of the opposite window. It did not appear a life-threatening injury.
“Miss Trevelyan!”
“She’s swooned,” Mrs Widdy reported over Molly’s wailing. “Pull yourself together, girl!” the nurse told the girl severely. “Can you help me lift Miss Trevelyan up?”
With great difficulty, the three of them managed to extricate first the Miss Trevelyan, who looked deathly pale, and then the other two from the upended carriage. The unconscious girl was no lightweight, despite her lack of inches, and having to hold the door up all the time, Jeremy found himself cursing fluently.
Had he brought his sister’s friend all this way merely to have her die along the road? But this was no time to indulge in guilt or horror, he needed to keep a cool head, and decide what to do for the poor young woman. At least she was still breathing, though when he touched his hand to her brow it was cool and clammy – too cool.
“There was an inn a few miles back,” one of the outriders said. “Maybe they will know of a physician nearby.”
Jeremy left one of the men behind with the ruined coach and its erstwhile driver. The other was sent ahead, to ensure a chamber and bed would be ready by the time the injured lady arrived. Jeremy wondered if he could ride with the burden of an unconscious woman on his horse without risking additional injury, when luckily a farmer’s cart came by. Its driver was easily persuaded by some coin to transport the patient and her party to the closest inn. With care, Jeremy lifted the three women into the primitive vehicle. He had to hold Miss Trevelyan on his lap, in his arms, so that they would all fit. As the cart turned and laboriously went up the slope that had proved so dangerous, Mrs Widdy bound up Molly’s arm with a strip of her petticoat. Jeremy thanked Heaven that at least the nurse was all right, and with her wits about her.
“I don’t like how pale Miss Trevelyan is,” she said in a low voice, “better rub her hands and arms, to warm her.”
He did so, and Mrs Widdy took off her warm coat, and carefully put it atop the young lady. Luckily it was not so cold that he had to fear for the old nurse’s own health.
The ride to the inn could not have taken more than twenty minutes, but it seemed much longer than that to Jeremy. Molly looked scared, and Mrs Widdy worried, which added to Jeremy’s own apprehension. She had never lost her nerve over any of the nursery’s calamities, even when Barnaby had broken his leg and whooping cough had come close to carrying Theodore off at the tender age of three.
He carried Miss Trevelyan into the small inn still enveloped in the coat, and having placed her in the bed of a small, modest guestroom, - the best to be had here - left her to Mrs Widdy’s ministrations. The next medical man lived two hours away, he learned from the innkeeper. A messenger was dispatched forthwith.
They hired all the available rooms for an indeterminate period, to the innkeeper’s delight. These guests were quality, at least the gentleman; didn’t the grooms and the old woman call him milord?
Seeing that he could not do anything more for Miss Trevelyan at present, Jeremy went back with the cart for the coachman, as well as the abandoned horses. The coach must also be removed from its position, where it would be a danger to other travellers, and sent for repairs. He was looking at a delay of several days, but none of that mattered, as long as Miss Trevelyan survived. He should have been in that carriage himself, and held her securely in his arms, when the accident occurred. Instead – his thoughts veered off; he found it impossible to imagine the terror and pain of those short moments when the carriage suddenly broke, tilted, and slid downhill. What had she felt? Had she suffered?
It was two hours before everything that could be accomplished was done, and he returned to the inn with icy apprehension in hi
s heart. The coachman, prone on the cart, was seeing double and felt nauseous as well as complaining of a splitting headache. The physician had not yet arrived, and Miss Trevelyan was still unconscious, but at least she was yet alive.
Once the coachman had been settled into bed, Mrs Widdy left Molly to watch over the Miss Trevelyan and signalled to Jeremy that she wanted confidential speech with him. They found an empty corner of the taproom.
“Just how bad is it?” he asked the nurse with trepidation. “Is she going to survive?”
“It’s too early to say. She’s holding her own, and we got her warmed up at last. But there is something you need to know.” Mrs Widdy looked very serious. “I understood that Miss Trevelyan was an unmarried young lady?”
“Yes,” he said, wondering at the question.
“I had my suspicions earlier, when that ‘travel sickness’ came mostly in the mornings,” she said grimly, “but if she was with child then, she no longer is. The accident caused heavy bleeding, about an hour ago, and she is very much weakened. She lost the babe she carried, and may yet lose her life as well – in my estimation, the chances are about even.”
“Good God.” Jeremy stared at the nurse. He knew her too well to doubt her conclusions. “That is – ,” he broke off, not knowing what to say, unable to pull his thoughts together.
Miss Trevelyan was the last woman in the world he would have suspected of an illicit affair. She had not cast out even the smallest lure when they were travelling – or at any time before, when he thought back. From their discussions he would have sworn she was principled and virtuous. Of course, he’d have sworn the same about his sister, and yet …his thoughts ground to a halt. Was it possible that both friends should be in this same predicament at exactly the same time? Not impossible, of course, but it was a coincidence that defied belief.
“Do whatever you can for her, spare no efforts,” he ordered. “Don’t quiz or question her in any way, treat her just like before. And apart from the physician, Mrs Widdy, don’t speak to another soul of this.”
“If you say so, my lord. She seems a nice enough young lady, and anyone can make a mistake, I suppose.”
Chapter 18
To Jeremy’s great relief, Miss Trevelyan recovered, albeit slowly; her body was weakened by the shocks of accident and miscarriage, and the physician, when he finally arrived, ordered rest for at least a week before their journey could be continued in easy stages. He gave the same recommendation for the coachman.
As he paid the fee of five guineas to the man, Jeremy was conscious of the doctor’s speculative gaze. With a start, he realised that of course the man would assume Miss Trevelyan to be his mistress, since they were travelling together.
“You can count on my discretion, my lord,” the physician assured him as he pocketed the coins.
Jeremy nodded tersely. Any explanations would only make the situation worse.
It was on the fifth day of their enforced stay at the small inn that Jeremy decided the girl was sufficiently recovered to get some answers at last.
“Miss Trevelyan,” he said, after sending Mrs Widdy outside, and taking her place in the armchair that had been placed by the sufferer’s bed, “how are you feeling now?”
“Much better, thank you.” Indeed her frightening paleness had abated somewhat, and there was a tinge of colour in Miss Trevelyan’s lips. The innkeeper’s strengthening diet of chicken soup and calf’s foot jelly seemed to have had at least some effect.
“Is your head clear again – I am very sorry you suffered concussion as well as everything else,” he said awkwardly. “But we must talk frankly. Are you aware that you were with child, and are no longer at this moment?”
“Mrs Widdy told me,” she said in a low voice. “I am glad.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Susan kept telling me that it was not the child’s fault, that I should not hate it,” she said, “but I could not help feeling aversion and resentment. What happened is for the best, and a few days’ suffering is a small price to pay.”
“Susan knew about this?” Jeremy frowned. “I believe that we are beyond subterfuge and secrets now, only frankness will serve.”
She hesitated for a few moments. “Susan and I swore that nobody need ever know, but the situation has changed. There is no longer a child to think of, and as you know it existed, I’m ruined anyway … I might as well tell you all.”
That sounded ominous. She was all too right about being ruined, but that could wait till he knew more. “Please.”
“Not quite three months ago,” she began, “I accompanied your sister to a house party at the Collington estate. Your aunt was not able to go with her, and my stepmother was pleased enough to bundle me off to a place teeming with eligible men, at least that was what she imagined. Instead I met a monster.”
She took a deep breath. “Susan and I exchanged rooms, because mine was draughty and I easily catch cold. Nobody but her maid knew, and I had not brought one. One night, as I was asleep, I was assaulted by a very large, drunk man. The door had been locked, but we found later that most of the locks in the house were the same. It would have been easy enough to find a key that fit. It was dark, and I struggled – he held one of his beefy hands over my mouth, I nearly choked. I could smell the brandy on his breath.”
“In Susan’s original room?” Jeremy felt cold and hot at the same time, and so furious that he wanted to smash something with almost painful force.
“Just so – it was Lord Fenton, intent on avenging the slap she had dealt him earlier in the evening and to force her into a match she had rejected. He told me as much, thinking he was addressing her. He left without noting his mistake. He still does not know it.”
There was a silence. Jeremy was trying to overcome his rage enough to think through what he’d learned. “The swine thought to rape my sister – still thinks he did so?”
“Do you understand now why I am glad his child is not going to be born?”
Jeremy was still grappling with incongruous details. “But what has Northcote to do with all this? Why did Susan pretend that she had to marry quickly, when it was you all along? I take it she is not with child as well?”
“At first we decided to simply remain quiet and rely on stout denial, though Fenton sent your sister at least one threatening note, that I’m aware of. When I told your sister at Almack’s that denial was not going to be enough, she came up with a plan. I could not like it, but it was the only alternative I could see, to jumping into the Thames.” From her tone Jeremy realised that she had seriously contemplated that tragic step.
“Susan decided that she had to marry quickly and move away from London, the further the better. She left me the letter of invitation before she even departed, as well as enough money to make the trip on my own, if my stepmother did not allow me to go. Stupidly, I did not hide the purse well enough, and the maid got her hands on it. When you offered to send me to Cornwall, you were literally saving my life.”
“You said as much,” he recalled, “and I thought it mere exaggeration at the time.”
“The plan was to pass the child off as Susan’s, and return to town after a long visit, preferably at a time when my father was in the country, and could shield me from my stepmother.”
“Susan was going to pass the child off as hers?” He found that almost harder to believe than all the rest. “But what about her husband – Lord Northcote?”
“He would have had to be told the truth, of course.”
“Susan thought he would go along with such a story?” Jeremy shook his head. “When it would have been the first child, possibly his heir? Northcote’s title is only a barony, but his is an old family. Almost no man would do that.”
“Susan can be very persuasive. She told me to leave that part to her.”
They stared at each other bleakly. “Maybe I was mistaken in his character,” Jeremy said slowly. “But that does not alter the fact that Susan and you completely deceived a great many peopl
e. I’m not blaming you – your position was impossible and not your fault – but I’ll have a word with Susan when we get to her place.”
“She was only trying to help me. As a married woman, she claimed, it would be a little easier.”
“I suppose it would be,” he said unwillingly. “So what is to become of you, Miss Trevelyan? My sister was willing to marry a pauper to help you, presumably because you were in this predicament in her place. I see only one solution to make things right.”
Her expression turned mulish. “If you think you can force or shame Lord Fenton into offering me marriage, spare your breath. I would rather kill myself after all than suffer his touch again – and Susan thinks he would not do it anyway, he’s as stubborn as he is vile.”
“His behaviour puts him beyond the pale of civilised society,” Jeremy had to agree, “but you mistake me. I would not force such a brute on you, though he certainly owes you reparation.” He took a deep breath. “You will have to marry me instead.”
Her reaction was instant and humbling. “What? You must be joking! I am not going to marry anyone, ever. What I remember of that awful night has left me with a permanent disgust of the whole business of sexual congress. I have given my future some thought, and think I will settle somewhere in Cornwall – not far from Susan’s place – as a widow, under an assumed name. It should not cost too much to rent a modest cottage.”
“What will your father think, when he next returns to England and does not find you?”
“I can write to him and let him know that I’m alive. He is used to not seeing me for years. My stepmother will not miss me. Maybe you could write to her and say this accident carried me off – it would simplify everything. I could arrive in Susan’s castle already under my new name.”
He had never seen her so resolute.
“You would prefer such a penurious existence to being my lady – a future Countess?”