Star-Crossed Summer

by Sarah Stanley

  As the chaise drew up outside Topweather’s premises, she saw a berlin drawn up by a lamppost further along the street. Mr Justice Baynsdon, perchance? The door opened next to her and Topweather’s bloated face peered in. ‘So, Mrs Alder, I trust the evening went well for us?’ he said, his eyes gleaming as he saw the bulging canvas bags on the seat opposite her.

  ‘As you can see, it went very well indeed, sir,’ she replied, ‘and I trust that this finalizes our association?’

  ‘If that is your wish, but there could be other nights as profitable as this; they happen from time to time.’ His hot gaze was fixed on the curve of her breasts.

  ‘I want it to end here, Mr Topweather.’ A sixth sense made her glance swiftly out of the chaise’s tiny rear window. A green carriage came slowly around a corner into Easterden Street, and if she was not mistaken Dickon’s solid figure was at the ribbons! Her breath caught and she looked swiftly at Topweather again. ‘Well, I have completed my side of the bargain, and so bid you farewell.’

  ‘Look, it’s foolish to abandon what can clearly be a profitable association!’

  Her frightened eyes were on the approaching carriage, and she slammed the door and called out to Billy to drive on just as Guy’s horses passed the window. Then Dickon came into view, but to her relief Billy roused the chaise team into action. For a terrifying moment she saw into the other vehicle. Guy was in evening attire, with a large topaz in his cravat, at least, she thought it was a topaz because it flashed yellow in the light from a street lamp. They stared at each other, but as he sat forward in astonishment, the chaise leapt away from the kerb. She looked from the back window and saw him leaning out to yell at Dickon to give chase. Topweather realized something was up, and melted away into the shadows, discretion always being the better part of his valour. Dickon, masterly as he was, proved no match for Billy Pointer, who wove through the streets like a demon needle, and pulled into the bustling yard of the Swan without any sign of pursuit. She alighted quickly, her reticule and shawl bundle in her arms. ‘Thank you, Billy. I wished to avoid—’

  ‘There’s no need to explain, Mrs Alder,’ he answered swiftly.

  She pressed a coin into his hand. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  He touched his hat and then stirred the horses into action again, skimmed past the red chariot that was for sale, and disappeared into Lad Lane. She turned thoughtfully toward the chariot, not noticing Mr Waterhouse nearby, enjoying a mug of ale. ‘An excellent bargain, madam,’ he observed.

  ‘I’m sure it is, sir.’

  ‘One hundred pounds gets you the chaise, and another sixty a pair of fine horses.’

  ‘I will consider it,’ she replied, for a notion had begun to form in her head. She had to get to the Dower House with her fine new wardrobe and how better to do it than in her own private vehicle? Especially if someone like Billy Pointer could be persuaded to leave London for the wilds of the seaside. She hurried up the gallery steps to her room, where she was brought to an abrupt halt on being confronted by an irate Madame de Sichel. The dressmaker had checked the inventory of Lady Harcotleigh’s wardrobe, and noticed the absence of an emerald silk gown and various accessories. When Beth entered, wearing the missing items, the dressmaker’s face hardened, and it was plain a very unpleasant scene was about to ensue. But Beth’s wits were still quick enough to save the situation. ‘Ah, here you are at last, madame. I thought you would never respond to my message.’

  ‘I received no message.’

  ‘No? Well, it doesn’t matter. I have to leave London urgently, and need to settle my account with you before I go.’

  The dressmaker became unsure. ‘Settle it?’

  ‘Why yes. You surely did not imagine I was making free with garments for which I had no intention of paying? I am pleased with everything, and will take it all.’ Madame de Sichel’s lips opened and closed, reminding Beth of the occupants of Tremoille House’s ornamental pool. ‘Is something wrong, madame?’ Beth enquired.

  ‘Er, no, madam,’ The dressmaker dimpled self-consciously. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Do you have the bill?’

  The woman handed over a sheet of paper that displayed alarmingly expensive reckonings, and Beth felt quite exultant as she counted out the total. Then it was her turn to direct a meaningful look. ‘There will be a receipt, of course?’

  ‘Oh, of course!’ The dressmaker went to the writing table in the corner, and used the Swan’s pen and ink to scribble the necessary acknowledgement and signature. ‘I trust you will honour me with your patronage in the future,’ she declared hopefully, and then sailed from the room, a different woman entirely from the gimlet-eyed Fury of moments before. As soon as the woman had gone, Beth hastened out to peer cautiously over the gallery balustrade for any sign of Guy. The now customary sunset splendour stained the sky, reaching down into the yard as a dull pink light. The inn was particularly busy because a number of coaches were due in or about to depart. There was no sign of Guy, but Billy had already returned, and was engaged in a heated argument with Mr Waterhouse. They were standing by the red chariot, shouting and gesticulating, although she couldn’t hear what they were saying because of the general noise. As she turned her attention to a Gloucester stagecoach, it suddenly dawned on her that she was lodging in a very obvious place. So many coaches from Wales and the West Country used the Swan that on reflection she was amazed Guy hadn’t come here already. She needed to leave London immediately. Tonight! The burgeoning thoughts of earlier returned as she looked at Billy still arguing with Mr Waterhouse. Judging by the choler of the disagreement, the post boy was almost certainly out of a job. She hurried along the gallery and down the steps, and then threaded her way toward the chariot.

  Billy’s wrinkled face, crimson with fury, was dwarfed by the large brown beaver hat he’d tugged low over his greying hair. ‘And I tell you, Mr Fancy Waterhouse,’ he was yelling, ‘that you owe me five shillings!’

  ‘Get away, you poxy little sod, four shillings is all I owe!’

  ‘Excuse me,’ she interrupted, and both turned to look at her in surprise.

  Billy snatched his hat off respectfully. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Alder?’ said the innkeeper a little testily, but still managing a smile of sorts.

  ‘It concerns the chariot and pair.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would like to purchase both, with a view to leaving for Scotland tonight, but I also need a permanent driver.’ She raised an eyebrow at Billy.

  He leapt at the chance. ‘Will I do, ma’am?’

  The innkeeper rounded on him furiously. ‘You work for me!’

  ‘Not any more, you scaly beggar! If this lady wants a driver, then I’ll go. Anything on God’s earth is better than working for crooks like you!’

  She interrupted again. ‘Mr Waterhouse, about the chariot?’

  He struggled to concentrate on her. ‘Very well, Mrs Alder, but it’s to be cash in hand.’

  ‘That’s agreeable to me,’ she replied. ‘I will take dinner here, and then settle my bill in full.’ This was the second time she’d uttered these golden words, and it felt as good now as it had before.

  The disgruntled innkeeper began to stalk away, but was halted when Billy called after him, ‘Four shillings are better than nothing. I’ll take them!’

  Waterhouse turned, his eyes like flint. ‘You’re breaking your contract by shoving off without notice!’

  ‘I haven’t got a contract, so don’t you try pulling that one. Four shillings, or I’ll report you. Don’t forget, I know more than you’d like about what goes on here.’ The implied threat carried weight, because the innkeeper fished in a leather purse and handed over the money. Then he continued to walk angrily away, venting his wrath on an unfortunate pieman who’d done nothing to warrant it.

  Beth looked urgently at Billy. ‘I meant the offer, Mr Pointer.’

  ‘I know you meant it, ma’am. And just Billy will do. What are your terms?’

  ‘Terms
?’ She thought back to the wages her father had paid for a coachman. ‘Twenty-six pounds ten shillings a year, a roof over your head, uniform and your meals provided,’ she said automatically.

  He seemed well pleased. ‘That’s good enough for me, ma’am!’

  ‘Billy, I’m anxious to leave tonight, not for Scotland, but the north coast of Devon. A place called Lannermouth.’

  ‘Why, blow me, I know it! A few years back I took an elderly lady and her son posting there. A new road leads down into a river gorge that ends in a sea creek. Pretty as a picture.’

  ‘Please remember I want everyone to think I am going to Scotland,’ she said. ‘How long do you think it will take to get to Lannermouth?’

  ‘Three or four days. It depends on the weather,’ he replied. She hoped he was right, because if she closed her eyes, she could already smell the salt sea air. She smiled warmly. ‘How long will you need to have a meal and get the chariot ready?’

  ‘We can be out of here in an hour and a half, ma’am, but it’s not good to be on the road after dark,’ he cautioned.

  ‘I know, and I’m quite happy to stop at the first inn you recommend. The important thing is to be out of here.’

  He searched her face. ‘Someone’s after you, eh? I’ll lose them for you, ma’am, don’t you fret about that. I know all the byways and inns.’

  ‘I have to pack all my belongings.’ She was thinking of her new wardrobe.

  ‘I’ll see that a good maid helps you, ma’am. After that, you have a good dinner, which is one thing the Swan does well, then we’ll kick our heels of London.’

  Beth returned to her room feeling able to place her complete trust in him. The feeling grew when a few minutes later a neat maid presented herself to help with the packing of the wardrobe. Two waiters carried in an old trunk that had been lying forgotten in an attic, and soon Beth’s new clothes had not only been folded away, but the trunk had been taken down some back stairs to the red chariot, and a boy paid to keep an eye on it. Billy had soon sneaked into the kitchens, from where he’d have been ejected had Mr Waterhouse known, and then went to attend to the pair of geldings that went with the chariot.

  It was later to prove fortunate that Beth decided to settle her now considerable bill before taking dinner, although she didn’t realize it at the time. She suffered the indignity of Mr Waterhouse’s excessive hair-splitting over the smallest thing, and when all was satisfactorily settled, she went through to the crowded, dimly lit dining-room. A waiter conducted her to a small table next to the inglenook fireplace, where copper and brass pans reflected the wavering flames of the candles. The windows all faced on to the yard, and the surrounding inn was quickly losing the last of the late evening light. Had it not been for the small candle in the centre of her table, the room would have been very shadowy indeed. Her dinner comprised vegetable soup, roast pork, peas and potatoes, followed by raspberry pudding, and was very good. There was a lively conversation at the next table, where half-a-dozen gentlemen, who’d dined well and consumed much wine, were discussing bloodstock, in particular the huge price paid that day for a two-year-old colt by Psalter. Beth was very interested because the colt was half-brother to Lancelot, and was from the Tremoille stud.

  The sensation of being observed overtook her so slowly that at first she hardly noticed, but as the feeling intensified she began to glance around. Her heart almost arrested as she saw Guy, leaning elegantly against the jamb of the door to the entrance hall, tapping his three-cornered hat against white silk breeches of superb quality. His clothes were those she’d glimpsed earlier, a black velvet evening coat and a muted gold waistcoat that was partially unbuttoned to allow his shirt frills to push through. The chestnut of his hair had become tawny in the uncertain light, and he presented a matchless picture of male elegance, so handsome and confident, polished and relaxed, that he might almost have been a portrait by Thomas Lawrence.

  She had been right, it was indeed a large topaz in his cravat, she observed numbly, as he straightened to cross the room toward her.

  Chapter Nine

  Reaching Beth’s table, Guy sketched a bow, disturbing the gently swaying candle between them. ‘May I enquire who you are tonight?’ he enquired softly, holding her gaze with that unsettling directness that made her feel almost naked.

  ‘You keep labouring under the false impression that we are acquainted, sir,’ she replied. Don’t show your fear, Beth, whatever you do, don’t show your fear.

  He sat facing her. ‘What a consummate actress you are. I salute you, but you are still the little thief I found by the roadside near Tremoille House. I told you I’d find you again, and I have. This establishment should have come to my mind earlier of course, being so prominent for coaches from Gloucestershire. Now then, Miss Tremoille, we have things to discuss,’ he said conversationally, appropriating her wine glass and taking a sip. He met her eyes again, and smiled a little. ‘You tantalize me, for you are the most enterprising young woman I have encountered in a long time.’ She was so conscious of his closeness that her skin seemed to tingle. She could smell his cologne, fresh and clean, and she couldn’t help watching his mouth. She’d kissed those lips in her thoughts, felt their passion and tasted their sweetness. He cast a spell over her, awakening her senses so that desire began to gather between her legs and in her breasts. His glance brushed hers, lazily, almost caressingly. ‘Have you nothing to say?’ he asked.

  ‘You frighten me, sir.’ That at least was the truth. His allure coiled around her, passing smoothly over her flesh, finding its way to places no man had found before. Never had she imagined she would be as attracted to anyone as she was to him. It was a physical pain so intense that it caught in her breath and brought tears to her eyes. Raw emotion cut a swathe through common sense, and she knew she was within seconds of throwing herself on his mercy. But did he have any? Folly beckoned in the fascination of his eyes, the silken softness of his voice, and the beguiling essence of his cologne. She looked away in an effort to break the spell. ‘Why are you hounding me like this?’ To punish me for robbery and murder? She willed him to have some other, unconnected reason, but feared the worst.

  Guy chose that unfortunate moment to remind her of his suspicions. ‘Please don’t ape the innocent, because that is something you definitely are not. You’ve been a blacksmith’s mistress and you’ve stolen a large sum of money. Whether you are also a murderess I do not know.’

  Alarm pierced her as she felt in danger of imminent capture. She had to get away from him, but how? She cast around desperately for a way of escape, but all that came to mind was the woman’s weapon of making a scene, which had worked in Caradine Street and might just work here too. ‘Leave me alone!’ she cried suddenly, and a hush descended over the dining-room. The gentlemen at the next table turned in their seats. Her voice rang out clearly in the silence. ‘If you do not stop pestering me, Sir Guy, I shall be forced to ask the landlord to have you removed!’

  For a moment she thought there was a glimmer of admiration in Guy’s eyes, and when he replied he was the soul of reason. ‘Miss Tremoille, I only wish to speak to you.’

  ‘I’m not Miss Tremoille, and I don’t wish to engage in conversation with you, sir.’ Her voice broke in distress, and she sought a handkerchief in her reticule. To her relief, a chair scraped at the next table, and one of the gentlemen arose. He was in his forties, and a dandy in the mould of Mr Brummell. A lace-edged handkerchief fluttered between the second and fourth fingers of his left hand, and he might have been described as handsome, were it not that a ridiculous hauteur required him to look down his nose at anyone to whom he spoke. Ridiculous or not, there was a decidedly chill glint in his pale-blue eyes.

  ‘I say now, Valmer, this ain’t quite the thing,’ he drawled.

  ‘If I require your interference, Newton, I’ll ask for it,’ Guy replied in a dangerously amiable tone.

  ‘Well,’pon me soul, your manners are appallin’. I’m afraid somethin’ will have to be done about t
hat.’ Newton nodded at his companions, who all got to their feet. Then he smiled at Guy. ‘The lady says she don’t know you, Valmer, and by all the powers you’ve made her cry.’ He took Beth’s hand and raised it to his lips graciously, before turning back to Guy. ‘So we say she don’t know you either, that makes six of us in complete agreement, against your paltry one. Dear boy, your presence here is superfluous.’

  ‘I have no desire to mix it with you, Newton, and I’m rather astonished you should be ill-advised enough to risk offending me. But then, you have the advantage of your merry men, which is more or less what I would expect of you.’

  Newton flushed, and then waved Guy away with waggling fingers. ‘Off you trot, Valmer, just make a dignified exit while you can.’

  ‘Have a care,’ Guy breathed, unwilling to endure much more.

  Beth spoke up quickly. ‘No! Please! I – I’d rather Sir Guy remained here and I left. It’s better that way.’

  Newton hastened to draw out her chair. ‘If that’s your wish, m’dear.’

  She felt Guy’s eyes upon her, and on taking the briefest of glances, saw his cool amusement. ‘Until we meet again, Miss Tremoille,’ he murmured.

  Getting up, she stammered her thanks to the gentlemen, and conversation broke out behind her as she hurried out to the yard, where to her unutterable relief Billy was ready and waiting with the chariot. Billy gave a start and called through the grille behind his box. ‘Mrs Alder?’

  ‘Yes. Leave now, Billy!’ she called back. ‘Hurry! Stop at the first good inn you know that’s off the beaten track!’ He took the light carriage swiftly into Lad Lane, and from there commenced a tortuous route toward the west, turning numerous corners until Beth had no idea where they were. But the important thing was that Sir Guy Valmer didn’t know where she was either. Nor would he be able to trace her, unless he spoke to Henry Topweather, of whom he knew nothing. With luck he would soon set off up the Great North Road in the hope of overtaking her.