by Beth Andrews
‘Didn’t I just say so?’
‘Your resemblance to my Laurina and Laurina’s daughter, my sweet Claudia, cannot be denied. I acknowledge you as the daughter of one and granddaughter of the other.’
I had no time to express my gratitude at his ready acceptance, for he had directed his attention towards Sophia, who had been watching him with a look of wonder upon her face. As his gaze met hers, his eyes grew round in astonishment.
‘Good Heavens! Another granddaughter!’ he cried, stepping back a pace and almost falling over a gilt chair directly behind him. ‘Your resemblance to the beauteous Matilda, daughter of my Laurina’s eldest girl, proclaims it!’
Wasting no more time, Sophia rushed into his arms, which were open not so much to receive her as to steady himself.
‘Oh, sir!’ Sophia was in an ecstasy. ‘When I first beheld you, I knew at once that we were in some manner related, but whether through grandfathers or grandmothers, I could not determine.’
While the two were embracing, a handsome young man who was also staying at the inn entered the room from the opposite end. Upon perceiving him, Lord St Clair released Sophia and threw up his hands in ever-increasing surprise.
‘Yet another grandchild!’ His voice was becoming quite shrill now. ‘What unexpected happiness is this, to discover three of my many descendants in the space of three minutes.’
‘Oh, happy day!’ the young man said, joining our family gathering.
‘You, I am certain, are Philander,’ Lord St Clair stated decisively, ‘the son of my Laurina’s third girl, the amiable Bertha.’
‘So I am.’
‘But the union of my Laurina’s grandchildren is not quite complete,’ the old man added, shaking his head gravely. ‘One member yet remains: Gustavus.’
While he was talking, I had observed a graceful youth seated at a table just beyond the open doorway, listening intently to all that was transpiring. At these last words, the young man rose up from his chair and stepped boldly into the room.
‘And here he is!’ the youth announced. ‘Here is the Gustavus you desire to see.’
I thought it was the end for our grandfather. He looked in danger of succumbing to an apoplectic fit.
‘Can it be true?’ he demanded.
‘It certainly can,’ Gustavus insisted. ‘I am the son of Agatha, your Laurina’s fourth and youngest daughter.’
‘I see that you are!’
‘What a fortuitous coincidence,’ I commented, surveying this unexpected convocation of relatives. Even Sophia, it seemed, was my own cousin—though we never afterward spoke of it, seeing that we were already spiritual sisters and therefore far more closely connected than by mere blood.
‘But tell me,’ Lord St Clair asked, looking around him, somewhat fearfully it seemed to me, ‘have I any other grandchildren at this inn?’
‘None that I am aware of, my lord,’ Philander answered.
Heaving a sigh of relief, the old man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large wad of banknotes. At this sight, our hearts rose and our eyes lit up in anticipation.
‘In that case,’ he was saying, ‘I will provide for you all without further delay. Here are four banknotes of fifty pounds each.’
We all snatched the notes from his hands eagerly. I seem to recall Gustavus attempting to grab hold of two of them, but the old man was stronger than any of us had imagined—at least where his fortune was concerned.
‘Take them, children,’ he declared, stuffing the remainder back into his pocket. ‘And remember that I have done my duty as a grandfather.’
With unexpected vigour, he turned and beat a hasty retreat to the coach which still waited outside. As he departed somewhat precipitously, I could hear him shouting to his coachman: ‘Gregory, get me out of here! Now!’
Sophia and I had nowhere to conceal our new-gotten wealth, except for our ample bosoms, where each of us proceeded to stow our banknote. The two young men concealed theirs beneath their coats, I noticed.
Sophia, meanwhile, was visibly distraught at our grandsire’s hasty departure.
‘Ignoble grandpapa!’ she cried, and immediately swooned, slipping almost noiselessly to the floor.
‘Unworthy progenitor!’ I added, and followed her example.
Chapter Eight
We must have lain thus for a quarter of an hour or more, until at last we began to revive from our double stupor. With heads spinning and senses disordered, we managed to support each other so that we could both stand up again. I do not recall which of us first noticed a certain something missing from our persons, but it was with a near-simultaneous gasp that we each thrust our hands into our cleavage as the horrified realization dawned upon us.
‘The banknotes are gone!’ Sophia shrieked.
‘So are Philander and Gustavus!’ I added, pointing out that we were once more quite alone.
Sophia wore a look of mingled pain and puzzlement.
‘Do you think that there might be,’ she pondered aloud, ‘some connection between the disappearance of our money and of our two cousins as well?’
‘A most pertinent connection,’ I snapped. ‘My dearest Sophia, we have been robbed—and it requires no great logic to determine by whom.’
‘Can they have gone very far?’
‘That is something which we are about to discover.’
Without further ado, I grabbed her hand and hauled her out through the door into the inn yard. Outside all was a bustle of activity. Spying a young ostler, I called out to him in strident tones.
‘Holla, boy! Did you see two young men running away from the inn?’
The boy frowned and asked pointedly, ‘Two well-dressed coves?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’ll be them on the hay wain.’ He pointed to the gate leading out into the high road.
‘The Hay Wain by Constable?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Not by the constable,’ he corrected me. ‘By the gate.’
Through the open portal I clearly spied a lumbering cart pulled by two sturdy oxen. The cumbersome vehicle was making its way slowly along the muddy, rutted road which ran by the inn. There was a large, burly man who looked to be a gross farmer of some sort. Seated up behind him were two young gentlemen exquisitely attired in coats and breeches which I well remembered, laughing loudly. No doubt they were congratulating each other on a job well done.
‘I see the two vile wretches!’ I shouted back at Sophia.
‘Can we catch up with them?’
I did not bother to answer this query, for I had already caught a glimpse of another cart of much the same sort, which had stopped before the gate while the driver dismounted to fix the yoke which held his team of oxen. As I watched, the conveyance began to move ahead and the driver returned to his seat.
With my hand still clutching Sophia’s, I dashed forward and reached the rear of the cart just as it passed the entrance. Hitching up my skirts, I clambered aboard, then reached back to assist Sophia in following suit. Our perch was somewhat precarious, however, as each bump in the road threatened to dislodge us and leave us sprawling in the mud behind. I pushed myself back into the depths of the cart’s hay-strewn bed and motioned Sophia to do the same, which she did. Then, twisting about and leaning over the side, I looked ahead to see whether the first cart, containing our vile relations, was still in sight. It was. In fact, it must have been a mere ten or twelve yards ahead of our own.
‘Driver!’ I screamed as loudly as I was able. ‘Follow that cart!’ I thought the man would fall from his seat, so startled was he. He looked around, eyes widening in surprise, but apparently perfectly content to have us as passengers.
‘Bless my soul! Wherever did you two young ladies come from?’
‘Never mind that!’ I chided him. ‘We must catch those men ahead of us.’
‘No worry about that, miss,’ he said placidly. ‘We’re both bound for Donwell Farm.’
Satisfied that we were now giving chase to our two felon
s, I ventured to stand up, holding on to one of the wooden railings which formed a barrier on either side, and shook my fist at Gustavus and Philander.
‘Restore to us our banknotes, you miscreant hounds!’ I demanded loudly.
Both men merely laughed in response to this, and Gustavus actually had the impertinence to make a face at me and stick out his tongue. It was he who responded to my challenge.
‘Come and get them, madam!’ he cried gleefully.
‘You will be sorry for your act of treachery, villains!’ Sophia screeched, having positioned herself on the opposing side of the conveyance, likewise supporting herself on the wooden railing.
‘Who’s going to make us sorry?’ Philander flung back at her in derision.
‘We will!’ I answered him.
‘And our husbands!’ Sophia added.
‘Your husband will soon be dancing at the rope’s end!’ Gustavus taunted—a remark all the more cutting because it was impossible to refute.
This was too much for poor Sophia, who immediately broke into hysterical weeping. I knelt beside her, attempting to soothe her and stem her convulsions of grief. Then, when I had determined that she was beginning to recover, I rose back up and resumed my ranting.
‘When I get my hands on you—’ I began, addressing the two men once more.
‘What will you do then?’ Philander interrupted.
‘Murder!’
At this point, Sophia looked up from where she lay sprawled at my feet.
‘Have we caught up with them yet?’
‘Not yet, dearest,’ I replied.
‘Damn.’
I looked around me. An elderly dame, with a bundle of sticks for a fire, was trudging along the edge of the road, and presently overtook us, giving us a glance of unabashed curiosity. A little urchin, face smeared with dirt, ran up to the wheel of the cart and, keeping pace with it as we went on, began to interrogate me in the rudest fashion.
‘Are you wanting to catch up to those two men up there?’ he asked first.
‘We will apprehend them, never fear!’ I said, undaunted.
‘If you get down and run after the cart, you’re sure to reach it faster than just sitting here in this one.’
Sophia actually gasped at this scandalous suggestion.
‘Run after the cart!’ she repeated, eyeing the little fellow with considerable animosity.
‘On these dirty, muddy roads?’ I continued, scarcely able to conceive such a thing. ‘In our best gowns? Impossible!’
‘Only think how unfashionable!’
‘Think of the shocking inelegance of such an activity.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ the boy admitted. ‘But you’ll never catch them men like this.’
Sophia waved her hand at him in dismissal, while I addressed him rather more directly.
‘Be off with you, impertinent brat!’
Unfortunately, even as I spoke, I could see out of the corner of my eye that Philander and Gustavus had leapt from the cart and were running across a neighbouring field faster than the winner of the Winchester Races.
‘Look!’ the boy exclaimed, pointing in their direction. ‘They’re getting away!’
‘So they are,’ I agreed, none too happily.
‘Told you so,’ he said smugly.
‘All is lost,’ Sophia wailed.
‘Base, unfeeling cousins!’
‘You should’ve run after them,’ the urchin commented, pressing home his point.
I merely hunched up my shoulders and turned away, while Sophia closed her eyes and pretended she had not heard him.
‘Children,’ she commented to nobody in particular, ‘should be seen.’
‘But definitely not heard!’ I finished her thought.
At that, the boy ran off, and I soon saw him hop onto the cart which our cousins had just abandoned.
‘I suppose we had best return to the inn,’ I said to Sophia, who reluctantly agreed. Our inheritance, it seemed, was lost forever.
Chapter Nine
Since we had progressed less than a quarter of a mile from the inn, it took us only a few minutes to return there. As we were about to enter the gates, we spied an expensive carriage approaching rapidly on the road. At first we thought it might be Lord St Clair returning with more banknotes. In this, however, we were mistaken. As we approached it, it became obvious that we had never seen this particular carriage before.
A man thrust his head out of the window and addressed us at once.
‘I’m after finding my relative,’ he said in a pronounced Scottish accent. ‘Would either of you two ladies be Sophia?’
It was, of course, Sophia’s relative, MacDonald, the very person to whom she had written her letter. He was a tall, well-built gentleman of about forty, but frightfully dour-looking.
‘I am Sophia,’ my friend announced with genuine joy.
‘Get you into my carriage, then.’ He opened the door and reached out an arm to assist her.
‘But what of my friend, the beautiful Laura?’
‘Your friend?’ He frowned.
‘More than my friend,’ Sophia insisted. ‘She is my confidante and the consoler of my many sorrows—and practically a relation, through Lord St Clair.’
‘I don’t know this St Clair fellow,’ MacDonald said. ‘But your friend is welcome to join us, since she seems to be as pathetic as yourself.’
We bundled ourselves in the carriage, staring across at the gentleman, who returned our stares with interest.
‘Thank God you are come, sir!’ Sophia cried. ‘Had you my letter?’
I coughed discreetly. ‘We never actually sent it, my dear, if you recall.’
‘True. True.’ She looked at him still more intently. ‘How, then, did you find us, sir?’
‘I know nothing of any letter. I was visiting your poor parents, who asked me to look in on you and your new husband, to see how you were getting on.’
After learning that she had been cast out of her rented villa, and her husband imprisoned, he set out to find her out of a sense of duty to his family.
‘And here you are.’ She beamed upon him. Indeed, we were both all smiles, little suspecting what the ultimate result of our rescue would be.
‘I am always eager to help any of my relations whenever they are in need.’
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I see that we have found in you a most tender-hearted and sympathetic friend.’
‘Aye,’ he said, frowning.
We turned our attention to the passing scenery, when a thought suddenly occurred to Sophia.
‘But where are you taking us, sir?’
‘To MacDonald Hall, of course: to my home.’
‘It sounds very grand,’ Sophia commented.
‘The very name conjures images of a great stone castle with golden arches at the entrance.’
For the first time our rescuer seemed in danger of smiling. If he did not quite achieve that feat, he relaxed enough to speak a little less harshly.
‘It’s a comfortable pile, indeed. My daughter is looking forward to meeting you.’
The rest of the journey was tedious and unexciting. The castle, however, when we arrived, was all that the home of the MacDonalds should be, even without the golden arches I had envisaged. The entrance hall was a grand, cave-like room, at the end of which MacDonald’s daughter, Janetta, sat beside an enormous stone hearth where a fire blazed cheerfully—the one cheerful note in an otherwise deliciously Gothic interior.
Janetta was a girl of about sixteen, a little short and plump, pretty enough in an unpretentious way. At her feet lay a great shaggy dog, warming himself before the fire; across from her sat an attractive young man a few years her elder.
Janetta rose to her feet, turning eagerly to greet us. Sophia would have rushed to embrace her, but was prevented by the dog, who jumped up at once and began to bark fiercely at us both. Janetta spoke sharply to the animal, who instantly sat down and ceased his noise, though he continued to eye us with a look
which was decidedly uninviting.
‘Dearest Janetta! We meet at last.’ Sophia embraced her with a trifle less passion than usual, as she watched the dog with some misgiving.
‘It is good to see you, Cousin Sophia.’
‘And this,’ Sophia turned to indicate me, standing two paces behind her, ‘is my bosom friend, Laura. We have experienced such vicissitudes together as have united our two souls forever.’
‘Have you?’ Janetta looked quite taken aback, but she recovered quickly and brought forward the young man beside her, adding, ‘This is my fiancé, Graham.’
‘What!’ Sophia cried, but with little enthusiasm.
‘Are you soon to be married, then?’ I asked.
‘This autumn, very likely,’ Janetta admitted with a shy smile.
I looked at them both suspiciously. In truth, I could discern no trace of the tender passion in either. There was no wild look in their eyes, no hectic flush upon their cheeks, and no incivility displayed to anyone around them. This was most strange and unaccountable.
‘It will be a happy occasion for all,’ MacDonald spoke up, with a look of dreadful satisfaction on his face.
‘This union has your approval then, sir?’ I demanded, wanting to know the worst right away.
‘It has been my greatest wish for them since they were children.’
Sophia and I exchanged a look of utter horror at this, and we knew at once why fate had brought us to this place: to liberate the hapless Janetta from a shameless arranged marriage.
Later that night, closeted together in Sophia’s room—which, by the by, was quite the most ornate bedchamber either of us had ever occupied in our lives—we put our heads together to hatch as pretty a plot as was ever conceived. We simply could not allow the chit to wed a man of whom her father approved.
It was not as easy a task as one might imagine. To own the truth, Janetta was not the most promising student in the art of romance. Of course she was very young and ignorant of many important matters, and inclined to be irritatingly prosaic—a trait which she no doubt inherited from her papa. We would do what we were able to remedy these defects, and began our campaign two days later.