Lady Jane's Ribbons

by Sandra Wilson

  Much to Jacob’s discomfort, Jane automatically picked up the coffee pot and poured two cups, handing one to him. ‘Now then, sir, you were saying that there is a little more to Mr Chapman’s activities.’

  He awkwardly accepted the cup, for it didn’t seem right at all that she should wait upon him.

  She looked quizzically at him. ‘Have you nothing more to say, sir?’

  ‘About Chapman? There’s almost too much to say about him. He’s the biggest villain in coaching, and set to be a bigger one still if he’s not stopped. Anyway, yes, there’s much more to what he’s done to me personally than I’ve said so far. The Swan was never a crack coach, but it did reasonably well, especially the afternoon up coach from Brighton, which got in just in time to connect with the Holyhead mail. There are a couple of regiments stationed over in north Ireland, and their junior officers and so on liked to take their pleasure in Brighton and then get back to camp at the last minute. They used the Swan because it kept perfect time and could be relied on to meet the mail.’ He gazed away for a moment, smiling as he fondly remembered those halcyon days. ‘The Swan was always full then, and never a crazy woman like she is now.’

  ‘Crazy woman?’

  ‘Empty coach.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Anyway, I was doing so handsomely that Chapman began to cast his covetous eyes in my direction, deciding that he wanted the Swan’s slice of the cake for his Nonpareil. He started off mildly enough, luring my best whips away with offers of better wages, bribing inns, and occasionally boxing in. I began to lose a minute here and there, and occasionally the Swan wouldn’t get in in time for the Holyhead mail. My reputation soon suffered, passengers switched allegiance, and before long I was running at a loss. But I wouldn’t give up, and that annoyed Chapman, so much so that he got a bit rougher. His coachmen would goad mine into racing along the open road, he’d squeeze, feather edge, choke up the ground—’

  Jane was at a loss. ‘Please, Mr Wheddle, you’ll have to explain.’

  ‘Squeezing is when a rival coach forces a dangerous situation by passing too close, making the other coachman make mistakes. Feather-edging is when that’s taken still further, usually by forcing a coach against a bridge parapet or a bollard. Choking up the ground, well that means putting obstacles like flocks of sheep or logs on the ground, the ground being the actual road a coach travels. The down ground is from here to Brighton, the up ground from Brighton back again.’

  ‘Which is why we always say up to London and down to the country, no matter what?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Jane. And to be more precise than ever about grounds, each one is divided up into stages, in the Brighton road’s case into six stages, each one horsed by a local inn or landowner. I personally horse the Swan on the first stage out of London and the last one in, but for the rest I relay on others, and that’s how Chapman can get at me, by bribing them to serve me badly.’

  ‘It all sounds most irregular and dangerous, Mr Wheddle.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘To say nothing of being extremely illegal.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, Chapman’s a sharp one when it comes to what’s legal. He uses informers to see to that side of it.’

  ‘As he did today? When the magistrates checked the license?’

  ‘That was a mild one, designed only to delay me; he’s usually more intent on having me fined.’

  ‘But he can only do that if you break the law.’

  ‘Ah, but there’s ways and ways of breaking the law, Lady Jane. Sometimes I admit to being at fault, like when the coach panels get so dirty that the lettering can’t be read, that’s an infringement and carries a fine. The magistrates, naturally enough, wouldn’t get to know about most of what goes on, except for the likes of Byers, Chapman’s pet informer, and the most hated man after Chapman himself on the whole road. He’s trapped a great many coaches by luring the coachmen into shouldering.’

  ‘Shouldering?’

  ‘Picking up fares along the route, carrying them a short distance, and then setting them down without entering their names on the waybill. The coachman does it to pocket the money; it’s the same when he carries more passengers than the license permits. Overloading’s another one the informers can get a coach on, and then there’s the old one of getting a genuine passenger to sit on his luggage on top.’

  She stared. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It raises the coach above the legal limit of ten feet nine inches,’ he explained. ‘Byers waits at the next tollgate to point the fact out to the keeper, who carries out a spot check, and bingo, another appearance before the magistrates.’

  She sat back thoughtfully, remaining silent for a moment before looking at him again. ‘Mr Wheddle, so far you’ve only told me what Mr Chapman’s sins are, but I’m not fool enough to think that he’s the only coachmaster resorting to somewhat low tricks. Does my brother conduct himself in a less than honorable way on the open road?’

  ‘May I be honest with you, my lady?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘The earl’s more a thorn in the side of honest proprietors than a downright poisoned arrow like Chapman. Oh, he may own the Fleece and run the Iron Duke as legitimately as I run the Swan, but for all that, he’s still a gentleman amateur, in it for the prestige and little else. He’s a swell whose greatest delight is to get up on the box of a crack coach and drive it like the very devil to Brighton and back. The Iron Duke’s not a stagecoach, it’s a spanking turnout worthy of the Four-in-Hand and Hyde Park, all trimmings, gleaming lacquerwork, polished brass, and perfectly matched teams. He doesn’t carry a guard like everyone else – he has a liveried servant who hands out the best sherry and a little silver box filled with sandwiches, should the passengers feel in need of refreshment. And if, by any mischance, the Iron Duke should get in a half a minute over time, then he gives the passengers their fares back! It’s a game to him, and he has more than enough money to play it as long as he likes. Losing £50 a week would be like water off a duck’s back to him. But he’s a gentleman, and even though he’s needling Chapman at the moment, he’s still playing it all strictly according to the rules, like a duel between gentlemen, only with blank shot. He’s entering this Midsummer Day race in the belief that it will be conducted correctly in every way; well it won’t be, because Chapman’s not a gentleman and only knows how to fight in the dirtiest way possible. So no, Lady Jane, the earl doesn’t conduct himself dishonorably on the open road; he’s just intent upon his own pleasure and that’s about it.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr Wheddle, for it would grieve me considerably to discover that my brother had sunk to such levels.’

  ‘Is there anything else you wish to know?’

  ‘No, I think you’ve been most informative.’

  ‘Not too informative to put the earl off purchasing my business?’

  ‘When you’ve been so honest with me, sir, I think it’s time that I was equally honest with you. My brother knows nothing about my visit here today. I’m the interested party, Mr Wheddle, and I’m interested because I’m seeking a way of teaching him a lesson in how to go on politely. He’s become a ribbon bore of the first order, and these days the only thing capable of moving him to rhapsodies is his coaching.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Did I understand from your conversation with your coachman that you don’t really wish to lose this place or stop running the Swan?’

  A little bemused, he nodded. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Good, because that means we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. I don’t wish to become the owner of your business, Mr Wheddle, but I am more than prepared to finance you to whatever sum you think is necessary to make the Feathers and the Swan as flourishing and important as the Black Horse and the Nonpareil, or the Fleece and the Iron Duke. I’ll purchase new coaches, give you funds to attract back your best coachmen, pay for any advertising, and meet any fines you may have to pay. In return, you’ll keep my involvement a secret until the very morning of M
idsummer Day.’

  ‘Midsummer Day?’ Light was beginning to dawn in his astonished eyes.

  ‘Yes, Mr Wheddle. I want the Swan to be entered in the race. I’d like to beat the Iron Duke, and the Nonpareil as well, since Mr Chapman appears to be even less deserving of victory than my brother. It’s just over two weeks to the day of the race, which I admit doesn’t give us a great deal of time to prepare, but it will have to do.’

  He was still staring at her. ‘My lady, you can’t possibly be serious!’

  ‘But I am, sir. Oh, and I nearly forgot to say, I wish to travel on the Swan’s box during the race. My brother must suffer the humiliation of seeing a woman come in first, and the further humiliation of that woman’s being his sister. I cannot think of a more sovereign way of teaching him that long overdue lesson.’ She smiled at him. ‘Well, sir? What do you say? Do we have a deal or not?’

  Had she sprouted horns and a tail he couldn’t have been more taken aback, while from behind the counter his daughter could only stare.

  ELEVEN

  Jacob was dazed. ‘You – you can’t be serious,’ he said again, shaking his head as if he must have misheard everything.

  ‘As I said, sir, I’m very serious indeed.’

  Betsy couldn’t remain behind the counter, and came hesitantly toward the table. ‘But my lady,’ she said tentatively, ‘such things simply aren’t done.’

  ‘Gentlemen do it all the time,’ Jane pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but not ladies. There’d be such talk and a dreadful scandal. Your reputation would suffer.’

  ‘I don’t intend to file my teeth, wear breeches, and hurl abuse at the bystanders,’ replied Jane, still smiling. She could understand their amazement, for what she was suggesting was indeed a little shocking. She looked from one to the other, seeing doubt written all over them. ‘Come now, if a gentleman came here with such a proposition, you’d both think it a splendid notion, wouldn’t you?’

  Jacob had to nod. ‘Yes, but what a man does is entirely different. Ladies just can’t go around doing things like ride on stagecoaches during races.’

  ‘I fail to see why, since what’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose as well. Don’t you want to save your business, Mr Wheddle?’

  ‘Yes, but not if you’re intent upon risking life, limb, and reputation.’

  She held Betsy’s gaze then. ‘What do you think? I mean, what do you really think?’

  The girl glanced uneasily at her father. ‘I don’t know, Lady Jane, and that’s the truth. I agree with you that it’s not fair that what’s sauce for the gander isn’t sauce for the goose as well, but I agree with Dad, that for a lady to set out on something like this would be very ill-advised indeed.’

  ‘You think it would make me notorious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I don’t agree. It will be a nine-day wonder, that’s all, and if the Swan should win, or even come second, just think how gleeful all the women would be. I wonder how many other poor female souls there are suffering at the hands of selfish men who can only think of coaching? And I don’t just mean ladies like myself; there must be countless women who have to endure ribbon talk morning, noon, and night.’

  Betsy had to grin at that. ‘There are indeed, Lady Jane. I’ve heard some of them complaining.’

  ‘There you are then.’ Jane fixed her eye upon Jacob. ‘I’m still set on this, sir, and you’ve yet to give me a really good reason why we shouldn’t do it.’

  For a moment he didn’t reply; then he met her gaze. ‘Very well, Lady Jane, you want reasons, I’ll give you them. I haven’t told you everything about Chapman’s activities, not by a long chalk, and perhaps when you know exactly what sort of man he is, then you’ll see that to go ahead with what you propose is quite out of the question.’ He glanced at his daughter for a moment. ‘There’s a coachman, name of Arthur Huggett….’

  Betsy took a deep breath and turned quickly away. Jane looked curiously at her.

  Jacob continued. ‘He was the finest whip on the Brighton road, and no mistake, better even than George Sewell. He used to drive for Ebeneezer Taylor, who kept the Dog Tavern down in Thames Street, close to the earl’s Fleece. Ebeneezer’s coaches ran the Brighton road like mine, never being exactly bang up to the mark, but fetching along handsomely enough for all that. Needless to say, Ebeneezer’s business caught Chapman’s eye and he began all his usual tricks, but Ebeneezer was made of stern stuff and wouldn’t give in. He was also not without funds, having married a widow of some means, so he could keep going, it didn’t matter to him that he was losing £50 pounds a week. That meant Chapman had to use different tactics, dirtier ones, in order to get Ebeneezer off the road. The Dog Tavern burned to the ground one night.’

  Jane stared at him. ‘Are – are you saying that…?’

  ‘That Chapman put it to the flame? Yes, Lady Jane, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Arthur Huggett lost his wife in that fire, and he was never the same after that. He took to the bottle, couldn’t keep a stagecoach going in a straight line, lost job after job, until now he’s being kept by his son Will, in poor rooms above the Orange Tree Coffee House in Covent Garden. Before that he’d had his own house, he’d dressed as handsomely as Sewell does now, and he’d been the toast of the Brighton road, the acknowledged master, idolized by the likes of your brother, Lady Jane. He’s a mere shadow of a man now, never sober, without any self-respect, and totally reliant upon poor Will, who daren’t keep a regular job because that would mean he couldn’t keep his eye on his father. Will’s a fine young man, a coachman like his father, but his life’s been ruined by Chapman, just as surely as his old man’s has.’

  Jane was appalled. ‘But if Mr Chapman did such a dreadful thing, why hasn’t he been brought to book for it?’

  ‘Knowing he’s done something and being able to prove it, are two different things, Lady Jane. Anyway, the outcome of it all was that Ebeneezer threw in the towel after that, sold out to Chapman, and went to live in the country. I think he’s got a place somewhere up by Oxford now. Now then, my lady, it’s true that I don’t want to leave the Feathers, and it’s true that I want to keep the old Swan on the road, but I’m not a fool. I don’t want my business to go the same way as Ebeneezer’s.’

  ‘I can’t think that Mr Chapman would risk the same thing twice,’ replied Jane. ‘Surely that would be far too hazardous, even for him.’

  ‘He’s capable of anything.’

  She nodded. ‘He’s evidently a far more black-hearted villain than I’d realized, but I’m afraid that that only makes me more determined to win. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with such dreadful things, Mr Wheddle, and to lose the race would surely be as big a blow to his pride as to my brother’s.’

  With a patient sigh, Jacob got up. ‘Lady Jane, I don’t think you’ve any idea what sort of event that race is going to be. It’ll be a vicious scrap, with no holds barred, and it’ll be as far removed from a spin in Hyde Park as you can imagine. And apart from all that, I don’t think the Swan can be got up to the necessary scratch by Midsummer Day.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘New coaches take time to build, and time’s needed too to find the right sort of horses. Bloodstock is what’s needed for such a race, not the poor old nags I’ve been running lately. Then there’s the finding of a fine enough whip, to say nothing of which inns will agree to take the horses – they’re all either in your brother’s pocket or in Chapman’s. They horse the Swan at the moment, but they certainly won’t for the race; it’s more than they dare risk because they’ll lose custom from the other two.’

  ‘Very well, let’s consider all those points. I’m sure we can find a coach builder who will be prepared to provide the right sort of coach in such a short time.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Betsy gave him a cross look. ‘Come on, Dad, you know a coach can be got in time. Mrs Mountain would build one, for a start.’

  ‘All right, but finding a coachman of the right calib
er is another matter.’

  Jane sat back. ‘What about my own man?’

  He laughed a little wryly. ‘With all due respect, my lady, he might be a fine and fancy fellow driving a sedate landau through London, but he’d never stand a chance on the open road against the likes of Sewell or your brother. You’ll need a man of different quality, a master of the Brighton road, not just a reasonable hand over any road you care to mention. It’s knowing the exact ground to be covered that’s the thing, knowing every corner, every hill and every hollow, because it’s knowledge like that that gains seconds, minutes even. That’s why coaches like the Iron Duke and the Nonpareil cover the distance to Brighton in five hours, reducing to as little as four and a half for a race like the one we’re talking about. The Swan takes a good five and a half hours, and won’t better that unless it’s got a Sewell on the box. It’s years of practice we’re talking about, not shoving a man up out of the blue on race day.’

  ‘But my brother hardly has years of practice,’ she pointed out.

  ‘No, but he’s a different kettle of fish. As you’ve said, he has a positive passion for coaching, he probably eats, sleeps, and breathes it, and that’s what makes him Sewell’s equal.’

  She nodded then. ‘Yes, I suppose that does describe my brother rather accurately,’ she admitted. ‘So, we can acquire a coach with relative ease, but we’ll find the matter of a suitable coachman much more difficult.’

  ‘Next to impossible; they’re snapped up and kept tight, of that you may be sure, since they’re worth their weight in gold to a good coachmaster.’

  Betsy cleared her throat. ‘Dad, there’s Arthur Huggett.’

  ‘Oh, be sensible, Betsy! He’s a drunk; he can’t see further than the next bottle. I know you love Will, but that’s blinding you to the truth about his father.’

  Betsy flushed a little. ‘That’s not true, Dad. Oh, I admit that I love Will, and if he was half the coachman his father is I’d recommend him as well, but Will isn’t, he’s just average. I know his father, though, and I think he’d leap at the chance to get back at Chapman. He’d stay dry in order to drive the Swan in that race, I just know he would.’