The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  Lady Hester, accepting her brother’s defection in good part and becoming resigned to her nephew’s matrimonial plans, chose now to turn her attention to Elizabeth’s affairs. The latest news from Berkeley had shown Mrs Hamerton and Miss Clara to be going along famously, so why must Elizabeth go jauntering off to visit them just now? Soon there would be shooting parties and a great deal of informal entertainment going forward at Anderley. It would be a great pity for the girl to miss these promised treats. Luckily she did not seem to expect any answer to her plaintive monologue, and when dinner was done happily accepted Elizabeth’s suggestion that she should write to her grandmother to confirm the promised visit while she and Miss Trenchard settled down contentedly to a game of cribbage.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three more days dragged wearily by, long lonely days in which to dwell on a grey and desolate future, and to make matters even more depressing it rained without ceasing. Faithfully Elizabeth pursued her allotted course of study. It gave her the faint satisfaction of carrying out the Earl’s wishes, even though he would never know of her meek devotion, and it had the added virtue of occupying her mind for at least some part of the day. She spent hours contemplating her situation, vainly seeking some way out of the tangle of her own creating. But there were two insuperable obstacles to any happy solution. The Earl had promised that she need not fear further importunities, and he would certainly keep his word. And even if she could ever summon up the courage to tell him frankly that she had mistaken her own heart, she could never, never confess the shameful truth. “Something that I overheard led me to believe that Lucy was your mistress, and of course I couldn’t possibly marry a man like that.” A fine way to set about convincing a man that you truly loved him!

  She took to devising the most improbable sets of circumstances in which, by means unspecified, she and her guardian were alone together with everything explained and forgiven. Even shipwreck on a deserted island was not too ridiculous for her consideration, though whither they had been voyaging or how it came about that they two alone survived the disaster were unimportant details with which she did not trouble her powers of invention. These were, in any case, wholly absorbed in what happened next.

  And she took to sleeping with one hand on a green jade ball beneath her pillow. On the night that Ann had told her the truth she had taken it from its place of banishment in the bottom drawer of the jewel cabinet, cradled its coolness between her palms and pressed it to a burning, tear-stained cheek. When she said farewell to Anderley she must leave it behind, but for these few remaining days she would take what comfort she could from the thought that his fingers had touched the lovely thing; that when he had sent it to her, it had been sent in love, and with the wish to make her his wife. But that last thought was only productive of more tears until finally she sobbed herself to sleep with the Chinese ball clutched against her breast.

  It was sheer coincidence that the very next day she discovered the knack of the puzzle that had so defeated her at Greystocks despite Ann’s patient explanations. The first time it happened she thought it was just a lucky accident and was much afraid that she would not be able to do it again. But her fingers seemed to go cleverly about the task almost of their own volition, and there was a completed ball in her hands again, its carved dragon regarding her surprised face with enigmatic oriental calm. Perhaps it was a good omen. Insensibly her depression lifted a little.

  In this slightly happier mood she accompanied Miss Trenchard on the long-delayed drive to Little Cropton, and made a creditable attempt to enter into her companion’s delight in its antiquities. But it was difficult to keep her mind from her own problems for long. The silver gilt Tudor chalice reminded her that the great Queen Elizabeth had died a spinster, while the tomb which enumerated the virtues and progeny of that long-dead mistress of Cropton Manor only served to press home the point that never, now, would she have children of her own. She had not thought that she had cared greatly for children, but Mally had taught her to know better. It was sad to say farewell to those fugitive fair-haired babies who had played one morning in the sunken garden at Anderley and held up grubby hands to catch the rainbow drops from the fountain. She set her lips firmly, and offered to help Mary make rubbings of the interesting brasses, even smiling a little over a memorial to a lad who died in 1753 and who ‘knew arithmetick, geometry and astrology perfectly’, and on their return home spent the rest of the day in sorting out her possessions and directing Edith as to which should be packed for her journey and which left behind as unsuitable for a simple country visit. It was a lowering occupation which did nothing to raise her spirits. She could not forbear casting wistful eyes on one or two specially loved gowns and wondering if she would ever see them, let alone wear them, again.

  Friday brought a note from Ann, who had been afflicted with the toothache but was now much recovered except for a swollen face, which she did not want to flaunt abroad. She begged her friend to visit her and help beguile the tedium of her imprisonment. This Elizabeth gladly did. The rain had stopped at last so that she was able to ride over to Greystocks, and despite the nuisance of being obliged to take a groom, the exercise did her good. Ann, relieved of the acute pain of the toothache, was in hilarious mood, and they spent a cosy afternoon in planning the decorations for a ball to mark Hugh’s coming of age in September. Elizabeth did not say that she was unlikely to be present on this auspicious occasion. Tomorrow would bring the Earl back to Anderley, and after that she guessed that her stay would be brief indeed. His prolonged visit to Millthorpe surely indicated that he found her continued presence in his home quite intolerable.

  Lady Hester complained of a slight headache that evening and did not wish to indulge in her usual game of cribbage, suggesting instead that Elizabeth and Mary should give her the treat of a little music. Elizabeth, well aware that her own performance was no treat to anyone, least of all a lady with a headache, turned an imploring gaze on Mary and that kindly creature obligingly went to the pianoforte. She was no mean performer, having a soft clean touch and an insidious trick of sliding from melody to melody so that one never wearied. Lady Hester listened peacefully until her head nodded forward and she dozed off. Elizabeth drifted over to the window and stood with her brow pressed against the cool glass gazing out into a garden brilliant in the moonlight, absently tracking grotesque shadows to their sources until a familiar melody caught her attention. Mary was playing a waltz—the waltz that M. d’Aubiac had played the first time that she had danced with the Earl. Tears of foolish nostalgia gathered in her eyes, and since there was no one to see she made no attempt to force them back, so that for a moment or two she could not be certain whether she had really seen the queer creature on the terrace or whether its eccentric movements were a mirage produced by her tear-blinded gaze.

  It was crippled in some way, for it was drawing itself forward on its forelegs and one hind leg was trailing helplessly. After two or three of these convulsive movements it would collapse and lie flat as though gathering strength for further efforts before renewing its painful progress. Strange that it should be making for the house and the brilliantly lit windows of the drawing-room instead of seeking the shelter of the dark shrubberies. And then the thing raised an agonised human face, a face that she recognised, and she was struggling frantically with the stiff window catch and running out on to the terrace.

  His goal so nearly won and help in sight, Hanson had lapsed into brief unconsciousness, but some inner necessity, above and beyond the clamouring of his pain-wracked body brought him to his senses quickly enough. He wasted no time on expressing surprise at finding himself stretched out upon a sofa in his master’s drawing-room, nor upon the anxious faces of the three ladies surrounding the foot of the sofa, nor even upon poor gasping Harrison, who had found John’s inert weight a sore burden, even with the help of the two younger ladies. He directed a strained gaze at Lady Hester, and gasped out, “It’s Mr Garrett, m’lady. Run amok. Fetch his lordship to me straight, for G
od help me, I cannot go to him.”

  Mary’s eyes rounded in dismay, but Lady Hester remained calm. “His lordship is at Millthorpe. If you will explain just what is wrong I will have a message carried to him immediately.”

  If it were possible for a man already ashen grey to go even paler, John did so then, and a groan was wrenched from him that not all the pain of his own injuries had evoked. “Millthorpe!” he bit out. “That’s where he’s making for, unless I miss my guess, to blow up the mill dam.”

  Even Lady Hester was visibly shaken by this startling announcement, but checked her anxious questioning since John was painfully giving an account of having followed his charge on a wild cross-country chase after the manager of Coldstone quarry had come to him with a tale of a large quantity of gunpowder stolen from the explosive store. Garrett, forever hanging about the place, had naturally come under suspicion, and this was strengthened by his subsequent disappearance. But nobody could imagine what he wanted with the stuff until John remembered his earlier obsession with the mill dam and his vain attempt to open the sluices.

  It seemed rather a forlorn hope, but it was the only possibility that anyone could think of, and John had saddled up and set out at once, feeling reasonably hopeful of overtaking his man, who, in spite of his long start, was on foot and heavily burdened. He had not done so. But Garrett, with the alerted instincts of the hunted, must have become aware of the pursuit and had promptly taken steps to counter it. He had holed up in a tree overhanging the track along which John was riding—“my eyes everywhere but where they should have been,” John threw in ruefully—and had descended like a bolt from the blue upon man and beast, dragging John from the saddle, the horse bolting. Then they had fought—the issue never a moment in doubt, since not only was Garrett an exceptionally powerful man, but in his university days he had been a notable exponent of the manly art.

  “Just played with me,” growled John, with a reluctant, twisted grin. “Even said, polite like, that he didn’t mean me no harm but he wouldn’t have me interfering, and sent me to grass with as pretty a left hook as I’d like to see landed on somebody else’s jaw,” and his fingers reached up to explore the puffed, blueish bruise that was Garrett’s mark. “What he didn’t reckon for, if he meant no harm, was me breaking my leg through falling awkward-like across a stone. I made what shift I could to hobble along with a stick, but there was no bearing it”—apologetically—“so I just had to crawl. And that’s the best part of an hour ago, and him well on his way to Millthorpe by now.”

  Lady Hester was prompt to take command. “Send one of the grooms here at once, Harrison,” she said briskly, “and another for the doctor for Hanson’s leg. There’s no time to write a letter so send me an intelligent lad who can carry a message properly. And hurry, man,” she ended impatiently. “What are you waiting for? This business is urgent.”

  “Milady,” stammered poor Harrison, pop-eyed with consternation, “there’s not a soul in the place to send except old Gentry, and he so crippled with the rheumatism he can scarce move faster than poor Mr Hanson here. They’re all away to Millthorpe for the feast. And indeed, my lady, I’d go myself, but I’ve not crossed a horse since I was a nipper and I doubt I’d make a poor job of it.” He was almost tearful about it, his face crumpled in lines of utter woe at the thought that for once he was quite incapable of carrying out his employer’s commands with his usual smooth competence.

  Lady Hester, who had completely forgotten the Millthorpe feast, bit her lip irresolutely.

  “Never mind me, my lady,” said Hanson. “I’ll do well enough now I’ve no need to move. But someone must get word through to Millthorpe. If that dam goes it’ll mean ruin to the standing corn, not to mention the stock that’s grazing the water meadows, and maybe even one or two luckless souls swept away and drowned. It’s not as though it was the usual kind of mill pool. They made it by damming the Essenthwaite beck where it runs through a little gorge. After heavy rain it builds up until there’s a proper little lake there, and after the last three days I reckon it’s pretty full right now.” His eyes sought Elizabeth’s in unspoken appeal.

  As a child Elizabeth had once been taken by her grandfather to see the Severn bore, and the frightening sweep of that relentless wall of water had made a deep impression on her young mind, an impression strengthened by many a grim tale of the damage it could do. The thought of such a wave rolling down this peaceful valley was quite horrible.

  “I’ll go, John,” she nodded at him with a cheerful grin. “Garrett—is that the name?—and an attempt to blow up the mill dam. Mary, will you come and help me change? Harrison, can you and Gentry manage to saddle a horse between you? I’ll take Jackstraw—he’s the fastest—but mind you pull the girths tight.” She turned to smile at the worried Lady Hester. “Try not to be anxious for me,” she said gently. “You can see that someone must carry the message, and there is no one else. I promise to be very careful.”

  But when she saw the animal that Gentry had saddled for her, even Elizabeth felt some qualms. “Seeing as it’s a matter o’ life and death,” the bright-eyed ancient informed her, “I took and saddled Brigadier. That there Jackstraw,” scornfully, “ain’t ’ere no more. ’is Lordship giv’ ’im away to the doctor the day after ’e threw you—along wi’ a fair warning about ’is tricks, o’ course. Wouldn’t give the nasty brute stable room for so much as another day, ’e said. Now Brigadier, ’e’d never serve you such a trick. And if so be you’ve a fancy to go ’cross country to save time, why, ’e’s a capital fencer, too.”

  The horse looked simply enormous in the moonlight. He was, in fact, just on seventeen hands, the Earl’s favourite hunter, and Elizabeth had never ridden him because she had judged him far too big and strong for her. But there was no time to waste in changing. She must just make the best of it and pray that she didn’t fall off, for she would certainly never be able to mount that equine cliff unaided.

  But by the time that she had ridden down the avenue she knew that the old man had chosen well. The leashed power beneath her was completely responsive to her guidance. Brigadier’s manners were perfect, his mouth like silk. With growing confidence she turned his head towards Millthorpe, thankful for the brilliant moonlight, for, whatever the risk, she must make speed, or she might as well never have set out. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the light she increased the pace to a full gallop. Brigadier might not be quite so fast as Jackstraw, but he had a pretty turn of speed for all that, and it did not seem long before they were passing the heather bank where Jackstraw had thrown her, and there was Anderley Old Tower, a ghostly finger pointing in the moonlight. Then she was coming up to the beautiful wrought-iron gates of Greystocks, and for a brief moment she wondered if it might not be wiser to summon help here. But two miles of tree-darkened avenue lay between gate and house, and the need for haste was predominant.

  From now on it was new country. She knew the general direction of Millthorpe, and as Mary had sensibly pointed out, there would be plenty of light and noise to guide her to her actual destination. Brigadier raced on, making nothing of the light burden on his back, on and on through the night, his rider’s every faculty alert to pick the safest way, until finally she left the road for the narrow lane that climbed steeply to the high moors where Millthorpe lay in the shelter of the encircling hills. Here she must steady Brigadier, for the going was rough, the lane deep-rutted by the heavy woolwains, and a stumble might lame her horse and bring the whole enterprise to ruin. She was nearing her goal now and within a few more minutes was clattering into the deserted village street. In the fields away to her right she could see a large building from which there issued, as Mary had foretold, noise and light aplenty. The only difficulty was that she could see no access gateway and she was in no mind to ride round looking for it. Deliberately she gathered Brigadier together and drove him at the tall hedge, felt the surge and lift of his leap and the thrust of his powerful quarters. Then they were safely over, and into a cornfield. Well—a break
ing dam would do more damage by far than one horse in a cornfield. The farmer would just have to be compensated, that was all.

  Several people were standing about the door of the great barn, cooling off after their exertions, and turned at the sound of the pounding hoofs, gazing open-mouthed at the sudden apparition of huge horse and dishevelled rider. Elizabeth’s hat had fallen off as they leapt the hedge and her hair was tumbling about her shoulders. A voice from the shadows announced in startled accents, “Why! It’s his lordship’s Brigadier,” and hands reached up to catch the reins as she drew to a halt and half slid, half fell from her lofty perch.

  “His lordship?” she gasped breathlessly. “Yes, Miss, in here,” said an unknown voice, and a sturdy arm was offered for her support as she stumbled a little, stiff from the long tense ride.

  The Earl was standing with his back to her, but seeing the amazed faces all turning to gaze in her direction, swung round to seek the cause of the interruption. For one brief second she saw the grave countenance flash into eager delight. Then the glow faded and he was striding towards her.

  “What is it, Miss Kirkley? What has happened?” he demanded imperatively. Hastily she poured out her tale. There was no need to fill in details. Before she was half done the Earl was racing for the door, calling instructions as he went. Everyone was to keep back. In inexperienced hands explosive was tricky stuff. He would tackle Garrett alone. But they must send messengers at once to the valley farms to warn of impending danger.

  Men were scurrying in all directions. A huddle of startled women and talkative, excited youngsters gathered near the barn door, scarcely knowing what to expect. The Earl of Anderley took one look at his steaming horse, said, “Brigadier! Thank God!” and swiftly stripped off Elizabeth’s saddle, vaulted on to the horse’s back and galloped down the track that she had made in the corn. She saw the great chestnut rise smoothly to the hedge, and then horse and rider were gone. Presumably the dam and the danger lay in that direction. Once more Elizabeth acted in direct defiance of his lordship’s orders. She forgot there was no gate. She simply gathered up her long skirts and ran as fast as she could after him.