by Mary Nichols
‘Sorry, can’t help,’ the woman said.
‘Then what am I to do? I cannot go on tonight.’
‘I can give you a blanket for the settle in here.’ The woman pointed to a padded bench against one wall.
‘Oh.’ She had not been prepared for that; Lord Malvers seemed only to click his fingers and they were given everything they needed. ‘I suppose that will have to do.’
‘It’ll cost you three shillings, three more for breakfast.’
Emma did not dare question what she thought was an exorbitant price for the use of a blanket. ‘I shall not require breakfast, thank you.’
She and Rose went to sit down while the woman went to fetch the blanket. There was no sign of Lord Malvers or his man and she wondered if they had continued on with the coach, which might take them nearer Lake Windermere. It had left, together with its new passengers, as soon as the horses had been changed. The feeling that, for the first time since leaving London, she and Rose were entirely alone and dependent on each other was a dismal one.
‘Miss Emma,’ Rose whispered, forgetting, in her concern, to address her as Fanny. ‘The southbound coach is due in at any time and there is room on it for me. If I do not take it, I must wait another twenty-four hours. We have been longer on the road than I thought and I am worried about my mother. I promised her…’
‘Oh, Rose!’ Could things get any worse? Emma wondered. This was no longer an adventure, it was a nightmare.
‘Please, my lady. You knew I wanted to leave at the end of the week and today is Saturday.’
‘Is it?’ Emma had lost all track of time. She seemed to have been travelling forever. Rose was looking at her expectantly. ‘Of course you must go, Rose. After all, you only undertook to bear me company to my destination and here we are. First thing in the morning I will enquire my way to Mrs Summers. Her direction is written on Mama’s letter, so she won’t be hard to find.’ It was said with a cheerfulness that did not deceive Rose.
‘Come back with me,’ Rose suggested. ‘I am sure we can find a corner for you at home until your stepfather relents.’
Emma realised immediately that it would not do. A labourer, a woman big with child, not to mention an army of small children, all sharing a tiny cottage—she could just imagine the confusion her arrival would cause. ‘Bless you, Rose, but I shall manage. You have done your duty admirably. And if you ever want a character…’
‘Your mother gave me one, my lady.’
The sound of another coach drawing into the yard brought both girls to their feet. Emma took seven guineas from her purse and pressed them into Rose’s hand. ‘You will need this.’
‘It is too much, my lady. I can travel outside.’
‘Certainly not. I would give you more, if I could.’
They went out to the yard where Rose paid the coachman for her ticket to Manchester and turned to say goodbye. The two women hugged in tears and then Rose climbed in and was borne away. Emma stumbled back into the inn to find the innkeeper’s wife standing looking about her with a blanket and pillow in her hand. ‘Thought you’d changed your mind, miss.’
‘No, I will spend what remains of the night on your settle. I need to be up betimes anyway.’ She took the blanket and pillow and retired to the farthest corner of the settle. Now the coach had gone and no more were expected, the room was quiet. Even the noises in the yard outside ceased as the horses, fed and watered, settled down in their stalls. The landlady turned down the wicks in the oil lamps, leaving the room in semi-darkness.
Emma put the pillow into the wing of the settle, laid her head upon it and shut her eyes. She did not expect to sleep, there was too much on her mind. She would not allow herself to dwell on the fact that she was quite alone in a strange place with only a few shillings in her purse; better to concentrate on something positive, like planning what she would do when daylight came. First, find a pawnbroker and get what she could for her necklace, then enquire the way to the Windermere Road and find Larkrise House. By then it should not be too early for callers. If Mrs Summers refused to see her, or, seeing her, refused to help…No, she must not even contemplate that.
Alex, having seen Joe into the coach ahead of Rose, had done what he had done many times before when on the march; he had bedded down in the straw of the stables. Miss Draper was safe in the inn’s parlour, not very comfortable, it was true, but even he could not rustle up a bed when every one in the inn was already occupied. The poor girl was exhausted and would probably doze. He would wait around in the morning to see if she was fetched as she said she would be and, if she was, all well and good; he would go on his way. If not, he would make her tell him the truth, even if he had to shake it out of her. He smiled to himself, remembering that outing at Manchester—had she really twisted her foot, or was that a ruse to have his arms about her? Ruse or not, he had enjoyed it, had felt the slight shudder that had passed through her and knew she had not been indifferent to him. And later, in the coach, when he kissed her…He hadn’t meant to, not at first; all he had intended was to offer to help her find employment. Should you kiss somebody simply because they exasperated you? Or was it himself he was exasperated with? Whatever the cause, it had been a heart-stopping experience.
He had kissed a great many women in his time, mostly Spanish beauties who were paid with food or a ride in one of the carts that followed the march. None had touched his heart, he supposed, because he was still thinking of his brother; if Lawrence had ever loved his wife, he had soon become disillusioned. Alex had no illusions to start with. Having survived heartwhole, he had suddenly had his peace of mind shattered. Miss Fanny Draper had breached all his defences with a kiss that was like nothing else that had gone before. He could not explain it. That was what exasperated him.
He lay in the straw, listening to the snuffling of the horses, and tried to analyse it, but was unable to come to any conclusion except he must have fallen head over heels in love for the first and last time in his life and that was something he would not admit, even to himself.
He slept at last and it was the stable lads coming to feed, water and groom the horses who woke him. If they were surprised to see a man with his hair full of wisps of straw and his coat hanging over a post, they did not say so. When he asked, they pointed out a trough where he could wash his face and continued with their work.
Half an hour later, having shaved without a mirror, put a comb through his hair and crammed his hat on top, he was once more reasonably presentable. Taking a deep breath as if he were going into battle, he picked up his portmanteau and made his way through the yard and into the inn. But there was no battle because there was no sign of Miss Draper.
‘Oh, she left an hour ago,’ he was told by the innkeeper’s wife.
He had not expected that and his heart plummeted with disappointment. Had he been weaving fantasies about her when, after all, she had told him nothing but the truth? He smiled wryly at his own folly. ‘Did someone meet her?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Don’t know. There’s a deal of coming and going in the yard at any time of day, but always more of a mornin’. People going about their business, don’t ye know. She could ha’ bin met for all I know.’
Now what should he do? Wash his hands of her and set off for Windermere? He ought not to delay going to his uncle. After all, it must have been a week since the message was first sent to his mother, and though he could not have done anything to hasten his journey on the road, except perhaps travel post chaise, there was no excuse to dawdle now. He was torn between duty and desire and duty won. ‘I need to hire a gig,’ he said. ‘I will return it tomorrow or the next day.’
When he returned the equipage, he would look for her. The town was not large and someone, somewhere, must know where she had gone. Ladies usually knew when other ladies were looking out for a companion. Come to that, his aunt might know.
‘I’ll ask my husband. I think he will be able to accommodate you.’
‘Thank you. I will have breakfast w
hile I wait.’
His mind made up, he ate a hearty breakfast, then, having paid for it, went out to the yard where a small pony and trap awaited him.
Emma stood outside Larkrise House and looked up at its façade. It was a substantial villa set in a small garden on the outskirts of the town. But the garden looked overgrown, with leaves and bushes dripping moisture, the rows of windows looked dusty, the curtains were drawn across and the paint on the front door was peeling. No smoke rose from its chimneys. It had once been a fine solid house, but its neglected air filled her with apprehension. She took a firm hold of her carpet bag and climbed the dirty front steps and used the tarnished brass doorknocker. The sound echoed forlornly.
After several more abortive knocks, she went down the steps and walked round to the back. No one came in answer to her knock there either. The house was uninhabited and had been for some time. Neither she nor her mother had envisaged that possibility—nor that her pearls would be next to worthless.
After persuading a reluctant pawnbroker she had not stolen them and had every right to dispose of them, he had offered her five guineas and a ticket that would allow her to redeem them, provided she brought seven guineas to him within a month. She had pointed out they were worth more than that, but his answer had been unequivocal. ‘Paste,’ he said. ‘Not worth five guineas, not even that if truth be known.’
‘But my father bequeathed them to me. He would never…’ She stopped, remembering Sir George’s penchant for falling into debt, which had led to him purloining most of her mother’s jewellery. Mama had said he knew nothing of the pearls, but supposing he had found them and had them copied? She looked at the man, who stood holding the string up to the light. Then he bit hard on one of them.
‘No doubt of it,’ he said. ‘Do you want to leave them here or not?’
‘I will leave them.’
He counted out five guineas into her hand and wrote out a ticket, which she put in her purse with the money. Her last asset was gone and that had proved not so much of an asset as she had hoped. And now here was a further disappointment—more than that, a catastrophe.
Fighting tears, she returned to the road, looking back at the house, wondering if Mrs Summers had died or simply moved house. She wished she had not let Rose go. She wished she had not quarrelled with Viscount Malvers. He was the most annoying, conceited, top-lofty man she had ever met, but he had offered to help her. It was too late now. She would have to go back to the town and take lodgings, while she made up her mind whether there was any alternative to going back to London and throwing herself on the mercy of Sir George. Except, of course, she did not expect him to show any mercy.
‘You looking for Mrs Summers, my dear?’ The voice, coming as it did from the other side of a hedge, startled her. Then a head popped up. It belonged to a white-haired lady with rosy cheeks and friendly blue eyes.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘She moved. Two year ago, it would be now, when her brother started ailing. Went to housekeep for him.’
‘Oh, I had no idea. Do you know where she lives now?’
‘At Waterhead on the road to Ambleside. I think it’s called Highhead Hall.’
‘How far is it?’
‘Eight mile or so that way.’ She pointed along the road leading out of the town. ‘There’s a carrier goes every morning, but not on a Sunday.’
Emma contemplated going back into town and putting up another night in a hotel, but she was already on the road and anxious to reach the end of her journey. Not until then could she make any decisions about what she ought to do. ‘Then I must walk. How do I get there?’
‘Do you reckon you are up to it? It’s a fair step.’
‘I think so.’ She smiled to show a confidence she did not feel. ‘I’m as strong as an ox.’
‘Then take this road to Bowness on Lake Windermere. Go through the town and when you come to the lake, turn right and follow the road northwards, keeping the lake on your left. Waterhead is naught but a small village, you will find it easy enough.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘Good luck to ye.’ The head disappeared.
Emma took a deep breath and picked up her bag, which she had put down while talking, and set her feet firmly upon the road.
It was pleasant walking at first. Although still cloudy, the weather was fine for a change and the countryside verdant; all she had to do was avoid the water-filled potholes. After trudging up one hill and down another, only to have to do it again, her bag began to grow heavy and the pleasure palled. There was little traffic, and most of it seemed to be going in the opposite direction. In any case, she was not sure she dared accept a lift.
She heard the smart trot of a pony behind her, but, almost too weary to turn, trudged on. It slowed down to her walking pace, which made her look up and then she found herself looking into the smiling face of Viscount Malvers.
‘Oh, you don’t know how pleased I am to see you,’ she blurted out, as he stopped and leaned down to offer her his hand.
She put her bag behind the seat, took the hand and climbed up beside him. He flicked the reins and they trotted forward.
‘What happened to you?’ he asked, when, after several moments’ silence, it became apparent she was not going to volunteer the information. ‘I thought you were safely with your employer. Did you find you did not suit, after all?’
‘Nothing like that. Did you think I was going to take you at your word and ask for your help?’
Seeing her trudging along the road, weariness in every contour of her body, had filled him with pity. He had to remind himself that pity was no basis for marriage and falling in love with a mysterious stranger the height of folly. Nevertheless his heart had jumped at the sight of her. ‘It crossed my mind.’
She was beginning to regret greeting him so thankfully, as if he were her saviour. She must remember he had taken advantage of her half-asleep state in the coach and…No, better not remember that; it was too disturbing. She would give him no opportunity to repeat it. ‘Then let me relieve your mind. It appears my employer has moved house. I am on my way there.’
‘Why did she not meet you as you expected?’
‘She was detained, but sent a message where she was to be found.’ She was surprised at how easily the lie slipped off her tongue. And none of it would have been necessary if her mother’s husband had had an ounce of humanity. She hated him, not only for what he expected of her, but for disposing of her pearls and leaving her with worthless copies. Her hate was so raw, and the business of the pearls so new to her, she was ready to take her fury out on any man who crossed her path, however well intentioned.
‘And where is that?’
‘Why are you quizzing me?’
‘My dear Miss Draper, I am not quizzing you, simply wishing to know whither we are bound.’
‘You, I collect, are going to Lake Windermere. I do not remember demanding to know exactly where, as if it was of any business of mine.’
‘I merely wanted to know where you wish to be delivered.’
‘Like a parcel.’
‘No,’ he murmured in an undertone. ‘Baggage.’
He did not realise she had heard him until she said sharply. ‘Well, you may set this baggage down anywhere in Bowness, my lord, preferably near the shores of the lake. I can find my own way from there.’
‘As you wish.’ So much for his pity. He ought to know better; wounded soldiers, unemployed ex-soldiers, men whose wives had given up the struggle to wait for their return and gone off with someone else, did not want pity. You could not eat pity, you could not sleep on a bed of pity, or warm yourself by pity’s fire. It was a lesson he had learned very early on in his career and it had been reinforced since his return. This proud, independent woman was no different from his men. Except she was beautiful and she intrigued him.
He flicked the reins at the mare and clicked his tongue to make her go faster, but was obliged to slow her again while they were passing through a small
hamlet, where women and children were out on the streets. Then on they went. Neither spoke. Both looked grimly ahead.
As they approached the little town of Bowness, water could be glimpsed in the distance and some white sails. ‘Anywhere in Bowness?’ he queried mildly.
‘Yes.’
He took her almost to the lakeside and drew the little horse to a halt. She did not wait for him to jump down and come round to help her, but scrambled down and retrieved her bag. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
He came swiftly to her side, putting a hand on her arm to detain her. ‘Are you sure you know where you are going?’
‘Yes.’ She tried to sound positive. ‘Thank you, my lord, for your help.’
‘No doubt we will meet again.’
‘Do you think so?’ For a moment, her eyes brightened and then the veil dropped over them again and shut him out.
‘Yes, I am sure of it. This might be the largest lake in England, but the villages and hamlets around it are not so big one can lose oneself in them.’
‘But you, my lord, are expected to go home to Norfolk, are you not?’
‘Yes, when I have seen my uncle and aunt.’
‘Then goodbye, my lord.’
He watched as she set off down the road. ‘Au revoir,’ he murmured to her back. She had disappeared from sight before he remembered he should have apologised for his behaviour in the coach. No wonder she had been so uncommunicative. If he had said he was sorry and asked her forgiveness, she might have told him where she was going; they might have parted as friends. He climbed back into the gig with a heavy sigh, wondering why that was so important.
Emma waited out of sight until she was sure he had gone, then emerged and retraced her steps to the edge of the lake and then turned north. Low in spirits as she was, not only because of her situation, but also at having to say goodbye to Lord Malvers, the pretty scenery made her feel more cheerful. As the road wound round the lake, she glimpsed boats: sailing boats, some with white sails, some with brown, some flying coloured pennants, rowing boats and a ferry taking people across to the other side, where woodland and hills and fleecy clouds were reflected in the water. At the water’s edge fishermen sat over their rods. Ducks and diving birds busied themselves searching for food. To her right as she walked, the hills rose above her, where sheep and goats grazed in fields criss-crossed by stone walls. Here and there were magnificent mansions, which commanded views across the lake and were reached by winding paths. She wondered if Mrs Summers lived in such a one.