To Win the Lady

by Mary Nichols

  Richard rose to see him to the door. ‘I take it you have seen something of Felicity Paget this last week?’

  ‘I have been privileged to be in her company on one or two occasions,’ he said stiffly. Then, realising that Richard had not asked out of idle curiosity, he added, ‘I hope you are not implying that there is anything improper in that. We have always been in other company and besides, I would not...’ His voice faded and colour suffused his face as he realised he was giving himself away. ‘You absented yourself, after all.’

  ‘I am not implying anything, my dear friend,’ Richard said, smiling so cheerfully that John began to wonder what had come over him. ‘I shall see you in York.’ A footman came forward with John’s hat and gloves and opened the front door for him. Richard watched him go down the steps and get into a curricle which stood in the drive, smiling as the vehicle lurched away, narrowly missing the gates as it turned on to the road.

  Richard went back into the library where he sat musing on the strange conversation he had just had with his friend. Could it be? And if it was, would it be better to delay his approach to Felicity once again or precipitate matters? But he had promised Georgie that he would speak to her sister and so that afternoon, dressing carefully in a buff coat of superfine and biscuit pantaloons, he ordered the Baverstock barouche and was driven to Richmond...

  All the horses except Warrior had been taken to their stations, those who had only a few miles to go being ridden gently to their places, the furthest being transported in carts, to the huge amusement of any who saw them on the road. The men who took them were to patrol their particular section and see fair play. Georgie had waved them off, calling, ‘Good luck!’ as they trundled out of the gates.

  Rowan Park seemed strangely empty and silent after they had gone, although there were still a few horses left to be looked after: mares and their foals, one or two yearlings and Bright Star, now well on the way to recovery. Two elderly grooms had been left behind to see to them, besides Jem who was to take Warrior to the Barley Mow, and there was little for Georgie to do except wander about looking into empty boxes and watch Royal Lady cavorting in the paddock with her sturdy little filly. It was too soon to say if the filly would make a racehorse, but she was beautiful. Would Rowan Park still be in existence as a breeding stable when she grew old enough to ride? Would there still be a Paget in residence then? So much depended on that wager to York and she wished it did not.

  She strongly disapproved of deep gambling; a flutter at a race was one thing, but this! She was as bad as those young bloods who spent whole nights in gambling hells and lost fortunes. How had she allowed it to happen? Could she have prevented it? No, she told herself; it was all tied up with her ambitions for Rowan Park and her love for Richard Baverstock. He had had faith in her and she must have faith in him. If anything could bring him victory it must be the knowledge that she believed in him.

  The race had attracted a great deal of publicity and she could imagine the crowds standing in the gathering dusk at the start, waving the colours of the riders. Richard had chosen deep blue and white stripes, Lord Barbour, purple laced with gold. There would be betting and sideshows, and flares and torches brought out to illuminate the scene as darkness deepened. There would be a platform for the starter and grooms and attendants surrounding the horses as they came to the line. And then they would be off, riding into the night. Some people might try to follow on horses or in swift phaetons, but they would drop back to be replaced by others who had stationed themselves along the route.

  How she would have liked to be part of that, caught up in the excitement, instead of sitting at home waiting, waiting. It would be at least a day and a half before news of the final result could reach her. She might as well go to bed and catch up on her lost sleep. But she could not. She dashed indoors, calling for Fanny to lay out her habit.

  The contestants had hardly left London, so she had plenty of time, but that was good; she could walk Warrior gently along and rest him when she arrived at the station. According to Richard’s calculations, he should be there a few minutes before midnight, with a third of the journey behind him.

  Fanny thoroughly disapproved and she made no attempt to hide it. ‘You can’t ride alone, Miss Georgie; it’ll be dark soon. And what are you putting them breeches on for? You’re never going to be seen out in them?’

  ‘I’m going to wear them under my habit.’

  ‘You’re riding astride. Oh, no, Miss Georgie, what will people think of you?’

  ‘I can’t take a side-saddle, now can I?’ she said, reasonably. ‘Major Baverstock will most likely put his own saddle on him, but one of the men will have to ride the horse back. Besides, it will be dark; no one will notice.’

  ‘I don’t see why you have to go at all. Why can’t you wait here?’

  ‘Oh, Fanny, I can’t. I’ll go mad.’

  Half an hour later, with her habit pulled up to allow her to ride astride, she set off on Warrior to ride to the Barley Mow, leaving Jem in charge of the stables, much to his chagrin. She rode slowly and carefully but it looked like being a moonlight night and Warrior was footsure; she had no qualms. At the head of the lane she drew rein, debating whether to take the road or ride across the heath. The road was only a narrow one and full of potholes and it might also be busy with spectators converging from miles around. She decided on the solitude of the heath and thereby missed her aunt whose chaise was approaching Rowan Park in a frenzy of galloping hooves.

  Chapter Nine

  Mrs Bertram’s state of mind was not improved when she discovered that the only people at Rowan Park were servants, and precious few of those.

  ‘Where are my nieces?’ she demanded of Mrs Thorogood who had answered her imperious rap on the door.

  ‘Nieces?’ queried the good lady. ‘Miss Paget has gone to the Great North Road, taking a horse...’

  ‘I did not meet her.’

  ‘I reckon she went by way of the heath. It’d be quicker. She was taking the Major one of his mounts.’

  ‘That pestilential race! Do you know I had the devil’s own job to find anyone to let me have horses? I was offered such sorry-looking nags as you wouldn’t believe and have been hours on the road.’ The race was not the only reason she was miffed, but she had no intention of divulging her more important errand.

  ‘You must be fatigued, ma’am,’ Mrs Thorogood said, trying to be helpful. ‘May I offer you refreshment? Fanny will make up a bed for you.’

  ‘Bed! I do not want a bed, not when my nieces are goodness knows where. Am I to assume Miss Felicity is with her sister?’

  ‘No, ma’am, I haven’t seen Miss Felicity since she left here to go to London with you.’

  Harriet sat down hurriedly before her legs gave way beneath her. ‘She’s not here?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Is anything wrong?’ The question was superfluous; there was obviously a great deal wrong. ‘Here ma’am, you’d best take a glass of brandy to restore you.’ She took a decanter from a side-table, poured a generous bumper and handed it to Mrs Bertram, then stood over her waiting to be enlightened.

  Harriet Bertram took the glass and sat sipping it, more to give herself time to think than because she felt she needed it. All the way from London she had been trying to convince herself that Felicity would have come home. Where else would she go when in trouble but to her sister? That she was in trouble her aunt did not for one minute doubt. How were they going to live down the scandal? She looked up at the woman, standing with the decanter in her hand as if intending to refill her glass the minute it was emptied. Or was she just curious? It was a curiosity she did not mean to satisfy. ‘Tell me exactly where Miss Paget has gone.’

  ‘Miss Georgie?’

  ‘Georgiana, yes.’

  ‘She was riding that great black stallion, going to the Barley Mow just north of Baldock.’

  ‘I have just come from there. The place is in a fair old mull, what with horses and conveyances of every kind and people filling the
streets. It’s impossible to move. Has my niece really gone there?’

  ‘Yes, it is one of the stages for the race.’

  ‘Has everyone run mad? She will be trampled underfoot.’

  Mrs Thorogood thought it prudent not to comment on this, though to some extent she was in agreement.

  ‘When are you expecting her back?’

  ‘Can’t say, Mrs Bertram; she’ll likely stay until the morning.’

  ‘All night!’ She grabbed the decanter from the woman’s hand and refilled her glass, spilling it in her haste. ‘And I suppose it is too much to expect that Fanny has gone with her?’

  ‘No, Fanny is up in her room.’

  ‘Did no one try to stop her?’

  ‘Ma’am, there ain’t any stopping Miss Georgie when she gets an idea in her head. Fanny tried...’

  Mrs Bertram was only too well aware of that. ‘What are we to do?’

  It was a purely rhetorical question, but Mrs Thorogood took it at its face value. ‘Shall I make you some supper, ma’am?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Mrs Bertram stood up pulled herself up to her full height, diminutive though that was. ‘I am persuaded that if I want to speak to my niece tonight I shall have to chase after her. Ask my driver to bring the carriage round to the door again, if you please.’

  ‘But it’s dark now.’

  ‘So it is.’ Not for a minute would Harriet Bertram admit that the prospect of riding through unfamiliar country at night daunted her. She was a soldier’s wife, used to travelling under difficulties. ‘My driver knows the road and the moon is full. Now go on, do.’

  Before the housekeeper could obey, they heard the sound of a horse on the gravel and Harriet flew most indecorously for the door. ‘She’s back; thank the good Lord for that.’

  But when she flung the front door open and stood on the top step looking down at the rider who was dismounting her heart fell into her boots. It was not Georgie but Viscount Dullingham.

  He looked up at her, smiling. ‘Why, this is an unexpected pleasure, ma’am. I had not thought to see you here.’

  ‘I came to visit my niece before leaving for France, my lord.’ She stood aside to allow him to enter, trying to calm her nerves. Of all the people in the world to witness her humiliation she would rather it were not Viscount Dullingham. Why, he was to be Felicity’s father-in-law. That was, if Richard Baverstock would have her after this. Oh, what a fix she was in! ‘You find us at sixes and sevens,’ she said, leading the way into the drawing-room and wondering if he had heard the sound of her carriage being brought to the door. How was she to get rid of him without being rude? ‘That foolish wager, you know...’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Forgive me for arriving so unexpectedly and so late, but I had been sitting at home thinking about that race and wishing I were nearer to the action. And then I thought, Why not hack to the Great North Road and see them riding by? I reckon if my son has the lead by the halfway stage he may very well keep it. Barbour is too fat and out of condition to maintain an early pace.’

  ‘Let us hope so,’ she said politely.

  ‘I came to ask Miss Paget if she would care to ride along with me. Where is she, by the way?’

  ‘I believe you have missed her, my lord. She left a little while ago.’ There was no mistaking the sound of her chaise now, and her driver whistling; he at any rate seemed to be happy about their swift return. ‘I was about to set off back to town myself. No doubt I shall encounter my niece at Baldock, where I intend to change my horses.’

  ‘Will there be any?’ he enquired mildly.

  ‘If there aren’t I shall stay there overnight and proceed in the morning.’ She hoped that would be possible; she hoped that Georgie would be able to allay her fears and she could post back to London in time to leave for Dover the following day with the Colonel.

  ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but you seem a little out of sorts. Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all, my lord, except disappointment at finding Georgiana not at home and me not able to spare the time to wait for her here.’

  ‘Then may I accompany you in your carriage? You see, Richard has left only the poorest of nags in the stables and the mount I used to ride here belongs to my nephew. It is the most uncomfortable I have ever encountered. William never did have an eye for a good horse.’

  How could she refuse him? And if she was honest with herself she would have to admit that she was glad of his company. It would be another matter when they reached Baldock but she didn’t suppose she would have any trouble losing him then. All she hoped was that Georgiana would be there and would have the answer to her dilemma. But it was a forlorn hope.

  His lordship’s hack was put in one of the empty stables and one of the remaining grooms instructed to look after him, and they climbed into the carriage.

  ‘Go as fast as you can,’ Mrs Bertram instructed her driver as his lordship handed her up and got in beside her.

  He raised an eyebrow; there was no doubt the lady was in a high state of agitation, probably something one of her nieces had done or neglected to do, but he thought it wise not to enquire. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him in her own good time. But he hoped the old carriage would stand the strain of being jolted over the rutted road.

  The heath was bathed in moonlight and there was very little cover except for a few stunted trees, but Georgie could not help thinking about the hold-up she and Viscount Dullingham had suffered here, and in broad daylight, too. The body had been removed, hadn’t it? It wasn’t still lying there, half consumed by grubs and flies. Where had it been exactly? She could not tell but managed to resist the temptation to hurry; she did not want to tire Warrior. A nice easy pace would warm him up ready for the gallop ahead of him.

  All the same, she was glad when she came out on to the narrow lane which would lead her to the back of the Barley Mow. For two or three miles it ran through a triangle of wood, which she knew extended from the lane she was on to the Great North Road itself and was quite dense in places. Here she lost the benefit of the moon and found herself riding in pitch-darkness.

  It would be catastrophic if Warrior were injured now. She dismounted to lead him, treading carefully, using every bit of meagre moonlight which filtered down through the branches of the overhanging trees. She was glad she did, for she almost stumbled over an overturned cart. A young lad was standing beside it, looking distraught. She stopped to ask him what had happened, although it seemed obvious that the vehicle had hit a tree root or something of the sort in the dark and overturned. Seeing her, he grabbed her arm. ‘Miss, you gotta help. Me ma...’ He pointed to the cart.

  ‘She’s trapped under there? Oh, my goodness.’ She stooped to try and see the woman and something very heavy struck her on the back of the head.

  She recovered her senses to find herself lying on a truckle-bed in a tiny room lit by a single candle which stood on a small table in the middle of the floor. She turned her head and found that it hurt, even more than it had after her fall in the park. She lay back and shut her eyes again in order to think. But her thoughts took her nowhere except to the conclusion that someone wanted to prevent her taking Warrior to Richard.

  Where was she? What had happened to the horse? Who had hit her? The answer which first came to mind was that it was Lord Barbour, but he must surely be in the middle of the race and being carefully watched. She felt sure that whoever was responsible had also been the perpetrator of the accidents at the stables. Richard had said there might be some skulduggery but she had hardly believed him. Now she was paying for her carelessness.

  After a few minutes her headache eased a little and she pulled herself into a sitting position. There was no one else in the room; whoever had put her there did not think she could escape. Leaving the bed and picking up the candle, she took it to explore the room. It did not take long; it was only about ten feet square, furnished with the table, a cupboard, a couple of rickety chairs and the truckle-bed.

  There was a window, but
the shutters to that were fastened on the outside, and there was only one door. She moved over to it and discovered it was very ill-fitting; she could see light through a crack. Putting her eye to it, she was able to see a little of the next room. It was similar to the one she was in except that it was lit by an oil lamp and had a stove on which there was a pan. She could hear voices and held her breath as someone moved across her line of vision towards the stove. It was the boy who had stopped her. He put something from the pan on to a plate and took it to the table. ‘Here, eat this. It’s all we’ve got.’

  She had been expecting the broad accent of a country child, for that was how he had spoken before and how he was dressed, but his voice now was cultured and she noticed that his hands were clean. This was no working child. She wished she could see more, but the crack in the door was so narrow, her field of vision was severely restricted. Of one thing she was sure. The only way out was through that room.

  What would Richard do when he arrived at the Barley Mow expecting to find Jem with Warrior, warmed up, ready for him? Would he hang about hoping a man and horse would soon arrive or would he carry on to the next stage on the same horse? Either way his chances of winning the race would be quite spoiled and he would be decidedly angry with her for letting him down. If she could free herself and find Warrior, she might find her way through the wood to the road and intercept him.

  She heard the scraping of a chair on the flags and a shadow blocked her view of the room. She just had time to return the candle to the table and fling herself back on the bed, when the door was opened and a man came in carrying a plate and a mug. But it was not the plate and mug which took her attention, but the man himself. It was Jem!

  He grinned at her. ‘Awake, I see.’

  She sat up. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘On a horse, of course.’ He put the food down on the bed beside her. ‘Best eat that; I know you’ve had no supper.’

  ‘What horse?’ she demanded. ‘And how did you get in front of me?’