by Mary Nichols
She wanted to riposte, but decided against it; any show of hauteur might make him suspicious of the truth. It would be better to remain silent. The coach rattled on through a countryside uniformly wet and uninviting. The trees dripped, the roads were covered in mud, the potholes filled with water. There was nothing worth looking at. The inside of the coach was gloomy and she could not see her fellow travellers clearly. She had had hardly any sleep the night before and the swaying of the vehicle was soporific, making her eyes droop. She allowed herself to doze.
She awoke with a start when they stopped to change the horses again. It was like that all the way to Northampton; wake, nod, sleep, but at least they had left London and her stepfather far behind them. She wondered what Lord Malvers would think of her if he knew the truth. He might be disgusted. On the other hand, he might treat her flight as a missish prank and be ready to turn her in. He might also think that, just because she was travelling incognito on a public coach without an escort, he could take liberties. Not that he had tried; so far he had behaved impeccably, but they had a long way to go and anything could happen. Could she keep up this masquerade right to the end? She had to, so much depended on it.
They arrived at Northampton at six o’clock, an hour and a half behind schedule. Alex opened the door and jumped down, turning to help Emma, who was endeavouring to retie the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘There might be time for something to eat and drink, before we go on,’ he said. ‘Though we must make haste. I’m told we are only to be allowed a quarter of an hour.’
They had barely seen to their comfort and ordered tea and bread and butter, the only thing available in the limited time, when they were recalled to their seats. Alex, who had given in to her insistence that she pay for it, wrapped the uneaten food in a napkin and followed them out to the coach. As soon as they were on the way again, he produced the package and offered it to the girls.
‘How clever of you to think of that,’ Emma said, helping herself to a slice of bread and butter. ‘I never would.’
‘I learned in the army never to abandon food,’ he said, glad that her wariness of him had dissipated a little. ‘We never knew when our next meal would be. We often had to eat on the march.’
‘Surely, as an officer, you were not required to march? Were you not mounted?’
‘Some of the time, but I liked to march alongside my men. How could I ask them to walk until they were ready to drop if I did not do the same?’
‘I am sure they appreciated that.’
‘So they did, miss.’ This was said by his servant. ‘If the Major could keep going, so could we.’
‘It must be exciting, going to war,’ Emma said.
‘Exciting,’ Alex mused. ‘I suppose it was sometimes. Sometimes it was terrifying and often just plain boring.’
‘Boring?’
‘Between battles, when we were waiting for something to happen or when we were on a long march from one encounter with the enemy to the next.’
‘What did you do then?’
He laughed. ‘Dreamed of home, wondering if those we had left behind were well. We planned our next strategy, cleaned our weapons, talked of armaments and supplies. Some of the men had their women and families with them and that made it easier for them. Those without families amused themselves in other ways: boxing matches, running races, hunting and fishing, playing cards.’
‘Gambling is an abomination, the ruin of so many lives.’
‘Certainly it can be so, but in moderation it can while away the hours.’
‘Oh, it can indeed do that, my lord. Hours and hours, whole days sometimes.’ She sounded so bitter, he looked sharply at her. Was that the reason she had fallen on hard times? Her own gambling or someone else’s?
‘You have experience of that?’
‘I…Never mind. Tell me about your men. Where are they now?’
‘Scattered to the winds. Some are buried where they fell, others are still serving, gone to America to put down the rebellion there, still more have come home to an England they hardly know. It would not be so bad if the country was grateful, if something was being done to alleviate their distress, but I see little evidence of it.’
‘What do you think should be done?’
‘Employment is what they need, Miss Draper, so they can look after their families and live in dignity.’
‘Is there no employment for them?’
He looked sharply at her. She must have been leading a very sheltered life not to know that unemployment was one of the main issues of the day. And wasn’t she off to take a job herself? He’d lay odds she had never worked before. ‘Not enough,’ he said. ‘And those whose work is on the land are doubly to be pitied considering it has hardly stopped raining all year. There will be little enough grain this harvest time and a poor harvest means poor wages.’
‘Is it the same in the towns?’
‘Nearly as bad. The price of bread will soar. If nothing is done, I fear for the working man.’ Was she simply making conversation, getting him to talk, or did she really not know how things were? A gentlewoman driven to be a companion almost certainly would. It would have been part of the argument for taking up such a post.
‘And woman,’ Rose put in.
He turned towards her. ‘Yes, indeed, Miss Turner. Do you have employment? Are you to be a companion too?’
‘No, my lord. I am going home to help my mother.’
‘Is your home in the Lakes?’
‘No my lord. It is in Chelmsford.’
‘Chelmsford—then what are you doing on a coach going to Manchester?’
‘Keeping Miss Draper company.’
‘And who will keep you company when you have to leave her?’
‘Oh, I shall not need company, my lord. I do not mind travelling alone.’
That gave him food for thought and for a moment he lapsed into silence. If their stations were equal, why did one girl need company and the other not? The answer was, of course, that they were not equal in rank at all. Miss Draper, if that were really her name, was far superior. Was one maid to the other? Then why were they dressed alike? His curiosity deepened.
Emma knew Rose had made a blunder. He was becoming inquisitive and there was a self-satisfied smirk on the face of his man. She did not know what to say to allay his suspicions. She really should not have allowed herself to become involved in conversation with him. What could she say to put him off? Perhaps it would be better not to say anything at all. She had been sitting forward but now, as they stopped for yet another change of horses, she leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. Perhaps he would take the hint.
Already they had been on the road for twelve hours and there were still many more miles to go before they reached Leicester where, she had been assured, they would be able to put up for the night. Perhaps they would part there; he might go on tonight without stopping or perhaps take a different coach in the morning. But thinking about that made her suddenly aware that she had been glad of his presence, of the way he had gallantly looked after them. He could command instant service at the inns and thought nothing of berating the horse-keeper on the standard of his horses; the very fact that he appeared to be escorting her made her feel more secure.
The latest horses were fresh and the rain had stopped so they made up a little of the lost time. It was ten o’clock and she was dog-tired when the coach pulled into the yard of the Three Crowns in Leicester. Lord Malvers helped her out and took her elbow to guide her into the inn, leaving Joe and Rose to follow. In no time at all his lordship had arranged for a room for her and went with her to inspect it.
‘The bed linen is not clean,’ he told the innkeeper’s wife, who had personally shown them up to the room. ‘Change it at once. And replace the water in that ewer. It is covered in scum. We will dine downstairs while you see to it.’
The woman bobbed a curtsy. ‘At once, my lord.’
Having laid down his orders, he turned to Emma. ‘Come, Miss Draper.’
A l
ittle bemused, Emma followed him downstairs, to find Joe and Rose cosily ensconced in the parlour close to the fire where he was regaling her with a gory story of war in Spain.
His lordship ordered a meal, but Emma was almost too tired to eat. Travelling by public coach was very different from going in their own carriage and taking their time about it, very different from going post chaise, though they hadn’t done that since her father died. She suspected her stepfather was not nearly as wealthy as he liked people to believe. And he could not touch her inheritance. Of course! That was it, that was why he was insisting on her marrying Lord Bentwater. They had done a deal over her fortune. How hard would they try to find her? If they caught up with her before she reached Mrs Summers, what would her present escort do? Hand her over, or help her? She was too tired to worry about it, too tired to take part in the conversation.
‘Miss Draper, I am keeping you from your bed.’
‘What? Oh, I am sorry, my lord. What were you saying?’
‘It is of no consequence. Come, I’ll escort you to your room. You need to sleep and we have an early start in the morning.’
She did not argue, but stood up and followed him from the room, Rose bringing up the rear. At the door of the room she turned to thank him, but he brushed her thanks aside. ‘Glad to be of service,’ he said. ‘I am just along the passage. If you need anything, send Miss Turner to wake me. I’ll be with you in an instant.’ He bowed and strode away.
The two girls entered the room and shut the door. The bed linen had been changed and there was fresh water in the ewer and the layer of dust she had noticed earlier had gone. Her bag and Rose’s bundle were on a chest below the window.
Emma sank on to the bed, while Rose unpacked their night things. ‘What do you make of him, Rose?’
‘I don’t know, my lady. In my book, men don’t do favours for nothing and we’ve landed ourselves very much in his debt. What is he going to ask in return?’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t want anything. Perhaps he is simply a knight errant.’
Rose’s reply was a sniff of disbelief.
‘Do you think he believes our story?’
‘Does it matter what he believes?’ She crossed the room with Emma’s nightgown and laid it on the bed.
Emma began unbuttoning her dress. ‘I found myself wondering what he would do if Sir George were to catch up with us before we reached our destination. Should I tell him the truth and throw myself on his mercy?’
‘No, my lady. You don’t know anything about him. He might take advantage. Just think, he is a soldier, used to soldier’s ways…’
‘But I’m sure he’s an officer and a gentleman.’
‘You only have his word for that. Does a gentleman travel with his servant and sit at the same table?’
‘I am travelling with you in the same manner.’
‘That’s different.’
‘How different?’
‘You are not pretending to be a titled lady. Take my word for it, he thinks you are a gentlewoman fallen on hard times and as such ripe for a little sport.’
‘Rose, I refuse to believe that.’
Rose shrugged and helped Emma out of her clothes and slipped her nightdress over her head. ‘Why did he suggest sending me to fetch him in the middle of the night, then?’
She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Oh, Rose, I would never have taken that as an invitation. How glad I am that you came with me.’
She went over to the door and turned the key in the lock and then dragged a chair against it for good measure. There was only one bed and they got into it together. Two minutes later they were both asleep.
Alex prepared for bed in a thoughtful mood. The more he saw of Miss Fanny Draper, the more he was convinced she was not what she seemed. She had started out being prickly as a hedgehog, determined to be independent, but that had lasted only until they reached the Peahen in St Albans. Who was she? Was she, as Joe insisted, a runaway? He had no idea how old she was, but she was not a schoolgirl, so what was she running from? A husband? He hadn’t seen a wedding band. The law? If so, what had she done? Was she simply an intrepid traveller, telling the truth, or a clever trickster, manipulating him into feeling sorry for her in order to part him from his money? If that turned out to be the case, she would find he was not such easy game as she imagined. It was a pity because she was too lovely to be a criminal and when she looked at him with those huge violet eyes, he found himself softening. Damn the woman! He thought he knew women in all their changing moods, had met enough of them in his time, but this one had him foxed.
Chapter Three
Emma woke when she heard someone rattling the door knob. She sat up, thankful that she had been warned by Rose and locked the door. She shook her sleeping maid. ‘Rose, there’s someone outside the door.’
Rose stirred and yawned and then, realising where she was, jumped out of bed, embarrassed to find herself in bed with her mistress, something that had not happened since Emma was small and needed comforting after a nightmare.
‘Miss Draper, Miss Turner, it is time to rise. The coach leaves in less than an hour.’ It was the innkeeper’s wife.
Emma gave a sigh of relief and scrambled from the bed where she had been sitting with her knees up and the covers drawn right up to her chin. ‘We will be down directly.’
They washed and dressed, packed their few things and went down to breakfast. Another day of travelling had begun. But before they left they had to pay for a night’s board and lodging. It cost them fourteen shillings each and this time there was no Lord Malvers to offer to pay. Not that she would have allowed it if he had. She was already too beholden to him for her own peace of mind, especially after Rose’s warning the night before.
‘Do you think he has overslept or gone on a different coach?’ Emma asked Rose when he did not put in an appearance at the breakfast table.
Rose shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Not at all. I am sure we can manage perfectly well without him.’ But she found herself looking for him as they walked out to the coach, already being loaded. It was not the coach they had arrived in; that had gone on the night before with those passengers who preferred reaching their destination to sleeping in a strange bed. This one had left London the morning before. She saw Viscount Malvers inspecting the horses and harness and talking to the coachman. Was he always that particular? she wondered.
He doffed his hat when he saw them. ‘Good morning, Miss Draper, Miss Turner. It is a much finer day today and we should make good time.’ He took their baggage from them and handed it to Joe to put in the boot, then he held the door for them. ‘In you go, we’ll be off in two minutes.’
Emma’s spirits rose at the sight of him. Rose was adequate as a travelling companion, but it was comforting to know there was a gentleman in the background ready and willing to smooth their journey. Rose had advised caution and she would be cautious but that did not mean she would disdain his assistance. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said, as he put his hand under her elbow to help her up. It was the second time he had done that and his grip was firm without being domineering, just the sort of gesture a gentleman would make to a lady. But she wasn’t a lady; at least, for the purposes of this journey she wasn’t. Had he realised the truth? Was that why he was being so helpful, expecting a reward for his efforts? But wasn’t that just what Rose had warned her about? She was so concerned with her inner debate, she hardly noticed that everyone else had taken their seats and they were moving out of the yard.
She had not been able to see anything of Leicester the night before, but in daylight she noticed that the town was a busy one. Carts and drays were making their way to market and they made slow progress through the congestion. The buildings were a mixture of very old and very new: good brick-built houses interspersed with dilapidated timbered buildings, whose upper storeys projected into the roadway, forcing high vehicles like the coach into the middle of the road.
‘Leicester is a very old town,’ he sai
d as an opening gambit, noticing she was leaning forward to see out of the window. She was near enough for their knees to be almost touching; when he leaned forward too, her bonnet was only inches from his face. It was a huge bonnet, long out of fashion, but then she was not fashionably dressed at all. The cloak, though clean, was worn and she was wearing the same striped dress she had worn the day before. He supposed it was hardly surprising when all the luggage she appeared to have was one quite small carpet bag. He was no expert on the subject, but he would have expected a lady, even lady’s companion going to a new position, to take at least one trunk and a hatbox as well as an overnight bag.
‘Yes,’ she said, leaning back a little. He had been too close for comfort, she could see every line of his face in detail, his healthy complexion, his searching blue eyes that seemed to be taking in everything about her, seeing past the surface to the person she was beneath the skin. ‘I believe the Romans were here.’
‘Yes. It was central to the Roman network of roads, on the crossroads from north to south and east to west. It still is today. It was invaded by the Danes, and later the Normans came and built the castle. And did you know Richard III’s body was buried here after he died at the Battle of Bosworth, though it was removed later and thrown in the river?’
‘No, I didn’t. How dreadful. But how do you know all this?’
‘I like to learn a little of the history of places I visit. It is a subject that has interested me ever since I found myself besieging ancient towns in the Peninsula. I hate to see the destruction of beautiful things.’ He paused and added softly, ‘Beauty should be preserved, do you not think?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She had intended to be short with him, to let him know she did not want to converse, but how could she be so uncivil? And he was an interesting man to listen to. ‘What else have you discovered?’
‘Lady Jane Grey came from here. You remember she was Queen for nine days?’
‘Yes, poor thing.’