A Scandalous Journey: The Amberley Chronicles

by May Burnett

  A Scandalous Journey

  The Amberley Chronicles

  May Burnett

  Chapter 1

  Sussex, May 1842

  Emperor’s iron-shod hooves clattered on the road. A small stone was dislodged and fell a few feet away from the gelding’s powerful legs. The moonlight was just bright enough to permit riding without at lantern. Duncan’s hands held the reins with the calm steadiness befitting an officer.

  He had to stop thinking of himself as a soldier. That period of his life had come to a sudden end this past day, when he’d finally had enough. The Colonel had not tried to dissuade him from selling out, had not once mentioned his hard work and dedication over the past seven years. To the devil with him, and the whole regiment. If a man’s loyalty was spurned, only a fool would persist where he was not wanted.

  Duncan had dreamed of an army career since he was five years old. His family had been opposed, with more wisdom than he had appreciated as a youth, but after his father’s death he had had his way, and had eventually become a Captain of her Majesty’s 125th Foot. By tradition he could continue to call himself Captain after the sale of his commission went through. But it would be an empty title, a futile reminder of the past. Better, perhaps, to be merely Mr. Kinninmont, a name that had been good enough for his father and grandfather.

  The sudden lack of duties and responsibilities felt strange and unaccustomed. Nobody needed or wanted him anymore. But they had not truly wanted him at any time, had they? It was up to him, now, to set a new course in life. Once the bitterness over the past weeks faded, he might even come to relish the challenge.

  A cloud obscured the half moon. He slowed Emperor to a near-amble. Nobody but his brother would miss him if Duncan broke his neck, should Emperor stumble over some pothole, but the horse deserved better. Besides, Emperor represented a substantial part of Duncan’s fortune. The roan snorted through his nostrils, protesting the slow pace, but knew better than to challenge his rider.

  Looking back on the past seven years, Duncan marvelled at his naivety. He had actually believed that by doing everything well, going by the book, he could fashion a successful career in Her Majesty’s armed forces. He should have realised it would not be so easy, from the sneers that he ‘smelled of the shop’ to the first time he was not invited along when his better-born brother officers went carousing or gambling outside the mess. That he carried out his duties more conscientiously than anyone else in the regiment had only widened the distance. They had pegged him as an ambitious prig with middle-class, Scottish values. The more he tried to excel, the more they sneered. A few visible mistakes during those first weeks might have served him better.

  At least he had no wife or children to be affected by his sudden change of circumstance and resulting low spirits. The one lady he could have imagined courting had married the heir of a baron instead. No matter. He would never again willingly mingle with patronising aristocrats who looked down their long noses at him.

  Again the horse snorted, and tried to go faster, but he held Emperor back. There was no hurry. His brother would only shake his head, and try to persuade Duncan once again to become his partner in the family’s drapery business. Perhaps, if he went very slowly, he could think of persuasive objections by the time he reached Edinburgh. He might have inherited a talent for commerce, but he could not see himself measuring fabric and ribbons.

  It was well past midnight, after a long and harrowing day. He should look around for some hospitable hayloft. Duncan had supped frugally in the early evening, but would not waste his sparse funds on a room. A soldier was used to rough conditions, or at least should be, had he not had the infernal bad luck of serving during peacetime.

  Had there been a war, of course, he would never have considered selling out, no matter how greatly provoked. But the army he’d experienced was vastly different from what he had imagined in boyhood, inspired by his uncle’s tales of the heroic battles against Napoleon. Decades-long peace was not good for soldiers’ morale and competence.

  With faint surprise, Duncan made out the silhouette of a large coach on the road ahead. If he could overtake it at this amble, it must be travelling slowly indeed. As he drew nearer he realised that it had stopped altogether. Four horses were stomping impatiently and turning their heads as much as they were able, confused by the lack of hands on their reins, but too tired to run off.

  The coachman was not on the box but crouching over the ditch, vomiting piteously. The smell hit Duncan like a cudgel, even from several yards away. His equally fastidious roan snorted his disgust.

  “Stand still!” An imperious voice startled him, just as he had been about to swing down from the saddle and offer assistance.

  He turned. A slim, small person in a floor-length coat was aiming a large pistol straight at his heart. The voice was that of a lady, but her stature belonged to a thin child of perhaps twelve or thirteen. This diminutive female wore a tricorne hat, in the fashion of three generations earlier. What short curls were visible underneath had a silvery sheen in the moonlight.

  Any soldier knew that firearms in inexperienced hands were doubly dangerous. His gaze caught on the small hands and large weapon. From his position he could look directly down the barrel. Duncan sat stock-still, holding the reins tight. “If you are planning to shoot me dead, Miss, may I at least know the reason?”

  The small lady did not answer for a few moments, staring up at him suspiciously. How long would she be able to hold the heavy pistol steady?

  He glanced sideways at the sick coachman, but the fellow was not even attending to their confrontation as he retched his guts out, and desperately gasped for air. He was on his hands and knees, about to keel over.

  After a few seconds’ stand-off the girl asked in refined upper class accents, “Who hired you? What were your orders?”

  Duncan bowed ironically. “There must be some mistake, Ma’am, for I am my own man. Nobody has hired me, and I am not for sale. My name is Duncan Kinninmont. I was about to offer my assistance, but in view of the pistol in your hand I prefer to simply continue on my way, if you do not mind.”

  The pistol turned slightly downwards, though she did not relinquish it. “If I have made an error, I beg your pardon. By all means proceed, Mr. Kinninmont.” Her timbre was deep and melodious.

  Emperor had passed the stationary coach and was two horse-lengths beyond when she called out, “Wait!”

  Should he ride on? Duncan was half inclined to ignore her call, have nothing to do with this strange coach and unwomanly female. But he was never one to refuse to help, and that coachman was in a bad way.

  He walked Emperor back and swung down, a wary eye on the gun she still held, pointing down. “What happened to your driver?” The fellow was writhing on the ground now, his hands on his belly, groaning with pain.

  “He ate something that disagreed with him,” the girl said shortly. “So did my companion, my maid, the outrider and the postilion.”

  “All of them? Yet you seem perfectly healthy.”

  “I am not fond of fish stew.”

  “Ah.” Duncan cautiously approached the coachman, who was panting, sweat covering his brow. He would either survive or not. There was nothing to be done for him. Perhaps a drink of water, when he was a little better and might keep it down.

  “May I?” He approached the door of the coach. The girl gave a terse nod. Upon opening it, he recoiled from the stench, more concentrated than outside, and just as vile. Two women and two men were in obvious distress, hanging across each other and moaning feebly. They had copiously expelled whatever they had ingested.

  Duncan strove to subdue his instinctive
disgust at the mess before him. “They need a physician.”

  “I know,” the girl said in exasperation, “but I don’t know how to find one in the middle of the road, at night.”

  “I can drive the carriage, but first we must get the coachman inside.” He eyed the tall, bulky man. It would be difficult, though Duncan was strong enough for his six-foot frame. The young lady was such a wisp that she would be no help at all.

  “Can you assist him? I’ll tie your horse to the back of the coach in the meantime,” she offered with more practicality than he had expected.

  “Thank you, I’ll do it myself.” He quickly secured Emperor and then attended to the distressed coachman. The fellow had not quite passed out, though he could not rise without Duncan’s support, and was unsteady on his feet. “Can’t see well,” he mumbled. “Everything white ...”

  Pushing him up into the carriage, and arranging him to sit between two of the other passengers, taxed Duncan’s strength to the utmost. He shut the door, and wiped sweat off his brow before collecting the dangling reins and climbing up to the padded driver’s bench. The girl watched without speaking.

  “You will have to sit up here, next to me,” Duncan said. “The air inside is not fit for breathing, and would only sicken you too.”

  She nodded, and climbed up to his side with lithe movements.

  The horses moved briskly enough, once they felt the reins tighten, relieved to get away from this deserted spot. “Where were you bound, Ma’am?” he asked the silent young woman. “Is it close enough to reach with five sick people? If not, we’ll have to look for an inn or farmhouse.”

  She had not introduced herself, and he would not press her. A mere fifteen minutes ago he had been lamenting that nobody needed him anymore. At least he could help this stranded party of travellers.

  “My destination is several hours distant, too far when everyone but me is in danger.” Her voice shook a little. “I am not imagining it, am I? Their condition is very serious?”

  “I am no physician, but I fear you are right. From a fish stew, you said? How long past did they eat this dish?”

  “A late dinner, about two hours ago. The inn was mean and not too clean, so I decided to push on rather than take rooms there. Had I known everyone else would get so very sick … The coachman remained fit longer than the others, even after I took the outrider and postilion into the coach.”

  “He is the biggest, perhaps that is why he took longer to succumb.”

  “In that case I must be doubly grateful I did not partake of the stew, or I might be dead by now.” The girl’s voice was bleak.

  “What happened to the outrider’s horse?”

  “It ran off.”

  “We have to find somewhere to bed them down. Do you know this area at all well, Miss …?”

  “I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” she said. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Kinninmont. Anxiety has apparently affected my manners. My name is,” she hesitated for a moment, “Towers, Miss Monica Towers. I was travelling to join friends in Sussex.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Towers, I only wish it were under better circumstances.” Duncan wondered what she would look like in daylight, in a pretty gown rather than the shapeless coat. Would her face match the lovely voice?

  “As to your question, no, I do not know this area well, especially at night. When I last travelled in this direction, two years ago, I was with my family and paid little attention to landmarks.”

  “Few people do.” He drove as quickly as he dared, with the poor light and groans audible from inside the carriage each time the unwieldy vehicle lurched. “This is a side road, with little traffic and few inns. We must stop at the very first place we find, even if it is only a farm house, and I will ride to fetch the nearest physician.”

  “Five people so very sick will strain even the best Samaritan’s hospitality,” she said wryly. “An inn would be preferable.”

  Yes, and the sooner, the better. From the pitiful moans of the sufferers, any one of them might expire momentarily.

  Chapter 2

  As she talked to the stranger Monique clasped the handle of her pistol, discreetly nestled in the folds of her cloak. Mr. Kinninmont’s help was necessary and welcome, but she still doubted whether she could trust him. His arrival just when she had been left alone and undefended was suspiciously fortuitous. For the present she would keep an open mind.

  Yet had he wanted to kill her, he could have done it then, quite easily. Broken her fragile neck and left her on the ground, ostensibly the victim of a tragic carriage accident. Instead he had struggled manfully to heave her poor coachman inside the vehicle, a feat she would never have been able to manage, and sounded genuinely concerned for her sick retainers. Perhaps Mr. Kinninmont was just an innocent bystander after all. If so, he represented the only piece of luck to befall her on this miserable night.

  Was that even his real name? If not, she could hardly complain, for she had changed hers into a simpler English form. An unwed young lady should not be sitting so close to a chance-met stranger that she could feel his warmth through her cloak and other garments. He smelled of horse, infinitely preferable to the revolting odours emanating from the carriage. It must be pure hell for those inside.

  No, a lady should not be sitting so close to a gentleman to whom she had not been properly introduced. But even the highest stickler would have to admit her current emergency trumped social rules. With any luck there would be no consequences, especially if her helper continued in ignorance of her fortune and birth. Who knew what he might do with that knowledge? She had received more than enough pressing offers of marriage for her wealth and pedigree. As pleasant as he seemed so far, Kinninmont might presume on this highly compromising situation.

  Her gaze fell on his gloved hands, holding the reins. Monique could drive a well-trained pair, and would have tried to manage this team if help had not arrived, but it was a relief that it had not been necessary, that she did not have to pit her lamentably light weight and strength against so many large animals.

  “Why were you riding so late, on this road?” she asked him. “I hope we are not keeping you from some urgent appointment.”

  “No danger of that, Miss Towers, my time is entirely my own.” His voice was deep and manly.

  The false name sounded odd to her ears. She had better get accustomed to it quickly, before she gave herself away. “Nonetheless I am grateful for your assistance, after that, um, unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “Who did you think I was?” he asked curiously. “Were you expecting some highwayman to come dashing out of the dark? A hundred years ago such a danger might have existed, but we are civilised now.”

  How much should she tell him? His question was reasonable, and she should have expected it. “Not a highwayman, no. But the ill effects of that fish stew could conceivably be the effects of poison.”

  “Who would knowingly poison five people – six, if you had eaten the dish as well? And presumably there were other guests?”

  “Yes, at least half a dozen more ate from it during the hour we stopped there.”

  “Then it is most unlikely that anything more sinister than spoiled food is behind this. Only a madman would poison so many, and what possible motive could there be for such a heinous crime?”

  She was silent. She had an enemy – a man with reason to hate her, who had passionately sworn vengeance a mere two months earlier. She had not taken the threat seriously at the time. Could it be that she had underestimated his vindictiveness? Was there anyone else? Her father had always suspected her maternal cousins of coveting her fortune, but since her most recent birthday they no longer had anything to gain by her demise. No, if anyone it would be Alain, but likely she was just letting irrational fears get the better of her judgment. “I daresay you are right. But if you wanted to murder one person in a way that looked accidental, and did not care how many others you killed, what safer way to do away with a person?”

&nbs
p; He shook his head sceptically. “I notice that as badly off as your companions are, none of them has actually died yet. With luck they may all recover. And did anyone know in advance whether you would stop at that particular inn this night, Miss Towers?”

  “No,” she had to admit. “Not even I knew beforehand. It was a small, ill-favoured place. We only stopped there because one of the leaders had taken a stone in his hoof, and the coachman wanted to give him some rest.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Several travellers entered the place soon after we arrived, and any one of them could have slipped something in the stew. If anyone had been following us on horseback, it would have been easy.”

  “Someone you would not recognise? Why on earth would they do that?”

  “I don’t really believe it happened like that.” Dieu, why was she arguing with him? What could his opinion matter? Still, she did not want even a chance acquaintance to think her a fanciful ninny, imagining non-existent dangers. “I do have an enemy who might be capable of such a crime. I never would have imagined him resorting to such ignoble means, but…” Her voice trailed off before she could indulge in more confidences, unwise with a stranger. Monique had not even had a clear look at the young man’s face.

  “I don’t know how dangerous this enemy might be, but this sounds like some melodrama out of a sensational novel, Ma’am. Nobody could possibly want to kill you enough to risk killing a dozen others in the bargain. That just doesn’t make sense.”

  “I hope you are right.” She really should change the subject. “Tell me more of yourself, Mr. Kinninmont.”

  He took a deep breath, taking his time before replying. Was he inventing a plausible story?

  “There is little enough to tell. Until yesterday morning, I served as a Captain in the One Hundred Twenty-fifth Foot Regiment, stationed in Portsmouth. However, I have resigned my commission.” Though the timbre of his voice was even, she guessed it had not been an easy decision. If there was any truth to his story in the first place. “I am on my way to visit my older brother in Edinburgh, to consider what new course to pursue.”