by M C Beaton
‘I think,’ said Hannah, ‘that the best thing is for me to call on your uncle when we reach Dover and point out to him that you have a prettier and more willing younger sister. Would that answer?’
Abigail shook her head dismally. ‘I have not seen him for four years or more, but I remember him as being choleric and made even more so if his will is crossed.’
‘I will think of something,’ said Hannah bracingly. ‘I, Hannah Pym, do swear this. You will not have to marry Mr Clegg if I have any say in the matter. Now, I suggest you should keep as much as possible in the company of Captain Beltravers. The company of a good man is always a useful education for a young girl. Leave it all to me.’
Abigail rose and shyly leaned over and kissed Hannah on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
Benjamin came into the room just after Abigail had left. ‘We have a difficult task, Benjamin,’ said Hannah when they were alone. ‘By the way, did you pay that gambling debt I heard you had incurred?’
‘Of course, modom. What is this task?’
Hannah succinctly outlined Abigail’s problem.
Benjamin sank into a chair and stretched out his long legs. Hannah frowned. Benjamin, like the good footman he ought to be, should never sit down in her presence, but as he was obviously thinking hard, she decided to ignore the social lapse.
‘Why,’ said Benjamin finally, ‘if I were you, modom, I’d find out the address in London of Miss Abigail and send sister Jane money for the stage to Dover, saying as how she’d be a better wife for old Clegg. If she’s as beautiful as all that, this Clegg should be delighted.’
‘You are a genius,’ cried Hannah. ‘Get me pen and ink and paper. There is an up mail coach due any moment now and I can send it off.’
She busied herself writing, enclosed some paper money, sanded the letter, sealed it and handed it to Benjamin, who ran off with it to catch the mail. Hannah felt a glow of satisfaction. It seemed a long time since she had taken any decisive action.
Hannah went down to supper. The others were already there, Abigail looking suspiciously red about the eyes again and Mrs Conningham sitting between her daughter and the captain and occasionally darting sharp little looks at each.
Before the first course was served, Deborah and William arrived, cheerfully sure of a welcome, and sat down, Deborah saying they had decided it would be no end of a lark to go with the stage to Dover in the morning.
The idea of travelling in such exalted company took Mrs Conningham’s mind away from the captain and her daughter. A loud cheer from outside the inn heralded the arrival of Benjamin. He was very much a hero in the town.
‘What made you decide to go to Dover?’ asked Hannah.
‘We were bored,’ replied William, ‘and besides, I am sure if we stayed, Puritan Ashton would be round to give us a jaw-me-dead.’
‘Lord Ashton did not appear a Puritan to me,’ said Hannah. ‘A Puritan would not encourage a young lady to match him in a horserace, nor would he kiss her.’
‘That was just Ashton’s irritating way of trying to teach Deb a lesson,’ pointed out William, and his sister glowered.
‘Why! Here is the very gentleman,’ said Hannah, looking across the dining-room to see the arrival of the earl. He was dauntingly resplendent in a single-breasted coat of black velvet with a ruffled shirt worn under a richly embroidered satin waistcoat. His knee breeches, also of black velvet, were fastened with gold buckles, as were his shoes, and he wore a dress sword, a large ruby gleaming on the hilt.
He sat down next to Hannah and refused any supper. ‘I came here to warn you,’ he said. Deborah looked disappointed. She had been sure he had come to see her again. ‘Warn us about what?’ asked William.
The earl sighed heavily. ‘Not you. I did not even know you were here. It is to Miss Pym and her servant that I bring my warning. This evening, I visited friends, the Langfords, and there met a certain Lady Carsey.’
‘But you did not tell her I was here!’ cried Hannah.
‘Thanks to Benjamin’s well-talked-about exploits in the prize-ring, I am afraid she knows.’
Benjamin closed his eyes and prayed fervently to the God in whom he only half believed to spare him from that dreadful woman.
‘We cannot go to Dover now,’ said Hannah. ‘She will hire thugs to stop the coach. She will do something.’
‘You cannot be frightened of a mere woman,’ said William.
‘I am not suggesting Lady Carsey herself is the danger,’ said the earl, ‘but the villains she may hire.’
‘Then instead of going to Dover, we had better go back to London,’ said Hannah.
The earl frowned. ‘You leave a further difficulty. If the coach is attacked, the coachman and guard will be left alone but not the passengers. Villains are notorious fools and may decide that the captain here is Benjamin in disguise and that Mrs Conningham is you, Miss Pym.’ Mrs Conningham let out a faint shriek.
‘So,’ went on the earl, ‘would there be any problem in you all residing with me for a few days until she loses the scent?’
Mrs Conningham forgot about her waiting brother-in-law, not to mention her daughter’s suitor. To stay with an earl in his home!
‘I could send an express to Uncle Henry,’ she said eagerly, ‘and tell him of our delay.’
‘And what of you, Captain?’ asked the earl.
‘I was returning to my regiment before I was due,’ said the captain. ‘A few more days will not make any difference to me.’
Abigail was sitting with her hands clasped and her eyes shining, looking as if she had just been reprieved from the scaffold. Hannah was glad that Mrs Conningham was obviously too excited and honoured by the earl’s invitation to notice the happiness in her daughter’s face.
‘Well, William and I don’t want to stay with you,’ said Deborah.
The earl smiled at her sweetly. ‘You were not even asked.’
William thought furiously. He felt he was being left out of an adventure. He was disappointed not to be going to Dover after all, for he had just remembered the name and address of an old friend who resided there. And then he had a marvellous idea and his eyes began to dance. While the earl was talking to the others and saying he would go home and send carriages for them, he whispered to his sister, ‘Get Miss Pym’s tickets for the coach before you leave.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a great plan,’ muttered William. ‘Do it and I promise you the adventure of a lifetime.’
Deborah grinned and the earl looked at the twins suspiciously.
The earl then left to make the arrangements. ‘We had all best go to the booking-office and cancel our tickets,’ said Hannah. William pressed Deborah’s foot with his own under the table. ‘My brother and I have a mind to go to Dover, Miss Pym,’ said Deborah. ‘I will be glad to pay you for your tickets.’
‘My dear Lady Deborah,’ said Hannah, aghast, ‘what if that monstrous woman has hired someone to hold up the coach?’
‘They won’t be looking for us,’ said Deborah with a laugh. ‘After all, does my brother look like a servant?’
‘No. But nonetheless …’
‘Oh, please do, Miss Pym,’ said William, ‘for we are determined to go.’
‘Very well.’ Hannah opened her reticule and took out two tickets. ‘You will need to change Benjamin’s,’ she pointed out. ‘It is an outside ticket. I meant to change it to an inside one, for the lad got a cruel soaking travelling on the roof.’
‘We shall change it.’ Deborah took the tickets and handed them to William.
‘And none of you tell Ashton where we have gone,’ warned Deborah. ‘He is nothing to do with us.’
The captain shrugged in a way that indicated he did not care what they did and gave his promise, followed by Abigail and then her mother, who was only interested in getting to the earl’s home. Hannah demurred for a bit but was overcome by the twins’ protestations that they would be careful.
‘Now what was that all about?�
�� asked Deborah as she and her brother made their way home.
‘Don’t you see? It’ll be a prime lark.’ William’s eyes glowed in the light from the carriage lamps. ‘You dress in something plain and spinsterish and I will borrow a livery from one of our footmen. Lady Carsey’ll think we’re Miss Pym and Benjamin. We’ll give her such a fright.’
‘But the general opinion appears to be that Lady Carsey will not attack the coach in person,’ said Deborah doubtfully.
‘So?’ demanded William. ‘Two villains? Three? And with us both armed?’
For the first time in her life Deborah began to feel weak and womanly. She had followed William over hill and style and hedge since she could toddle. She had ridden with him on the hunting field, shot with him and shared his every exploit. And yet something in her quailed at the thought of confronting two, possibly three, armed men. But she could not bring herself to say so, for here was the ideal opportunity to help William forget that odious Clarissa. Clarissa would never dream of having adventures. Clarissa would scream and faint. So she fought down her misgivings and joined in the plans William was making.
The earl’s guests had all retired for the night, but not one of them was asleep. Captain Beltravers stretched out in his comfortable bed and looked idly round at the rich if antique furnishings of the room. The bed in which he lay was a Jacobean one, ornately carved. The fireplace had a huge stone overmantel and pillars of knights in armour. The sheets were of the finest linen and scented with lavender. A brisk fire was setting shadows dancing around the room and sparking golden light from the brass-bound jugs of water which stood on a toilet-table, also laden with the finest pomades and soaps. The great house was hushed. Only the rich could afford that pleasant and tranquil quiet.
The captain reflected bitterly that he himself could have purchased a small but neat manor and could have lived in relative comfort if he had chosen to do so. His notoriously tight-fisted father had died shortly after the death of the captain’s wife and child. The captain had promptly sold his childhood home, where he had never been happy, and the lands that went with it. He found himself possessed of a small fortune, but with no will to do anything with it. The death of his wife and beloved child had left him a shell of a man. But he had cried at last over their passing and with those tears had come calm relief. He was deeply grateful to Abigail Conningham.
He thought of her with affection. She should not be forced into a marriage with a man twice her age, a man she had never even met. She would make a good wife. He stared up at the embroidered canopy above his head, seeing not it, but a vision of a trim, shining house, and coming home in the evening and finding someone like Abigail waiting.
He was sure he could easily persuade that wretched uncle of hers to forget his plans for her. But he was rushing too far ahead. He would need to get to know her better. No one could replace his Mary in his heart, but Abigail had been right – he was sick to death of a military life and ready to begin a new one.
Abigail lay awake as well, wondering feverishly if Miss Pym had thought of anything. After all, it was so easy to say ‘I will help,’ and not do anything.
She thought of the captain rather dismally. He would never think of her other than as a friend. He was still wrapped up in the memory of his wife. But this stay at the earl’s was a blessing. She would walk with him and talk with him and store up each precious memory to succour her in the bleak days and years that lay ahead. She shifted restlessly. The glory of Ashton Park could not make up for the prospect of Dover. She wondered whether Miss Pym was asleep or not. She got up and found a wrapper and crept out into the corridor. She would just scratch at Miss Pym’s door and if there was no reply, she would return to bed.
Mrs Conningham was awake also, memorizing each rich item in the room to tell her friends when she returned to London. To the earl, his ancestral home might seem bleak and badly in need of modernizing, but to Mrs Conningham it was all that a stately home should be: ancient retainers, great carved beds, suits of armour, and long dark twisting corridors hung with ancestral portraits. The maid who had prepared Mrs Conningham for bed had been so old, she had made Mrs Conningham feel quite youthful. Of course, it was a pity Abigail was taking things so badly, but she would soon settle down, as Mrs Conningham herself had had to learn to settle down after her parents had chosen a husband for her. There was too much sensibility and romanticism in this new century. Love and marriage should never be mixed up. A woman’s duty in life was to bear as many children as possible and keep a comfortable home.
Mrs Conningham’s fears that the captain might have any romantic interest in her daughter had been allayed. He had been polite, almost formal, towards Abigail at supper, nothing to fear there. Like most of the British public, Mrs Conningham despised the British army. Many inns carried signs saying, ‘No redcoats.’ She composed herself for sleep. The earl had promised to send her letter to Henry telling him of the delay. She hoped Jane was behaving herself and looking after the other children.
Hannah Pym tossed and turned. Her conscience was bothering her. She had not had an opportunity to tell Abigail of that letter to sister Jane. And now, if Jane left immediately as instructed, she would be in Dover before her mother and Abigail. And what of Lord William and Lady Deborah? She had allowed them to go off into possible danger without warning the earl. She should never have given that promise.
She rang the bell beside the bed and Benjamin, who was in a little bedchamber adjoining her own, came staggering in sleepily, dressed in his night-shirt.
‘Benjamin!’ said Hannah, sitting up. ‘I cannot sleep. Jane Conningham will be in Dover before her mother and sister. I should never have interfered. And what of Lady Deborah and her brother, William? Why did I promise Lord William I would say nothing!’
Benjamin scratched himself lazily and then let out a cavernous yawn. ‘I think,’ he said blearily, ‘that Miss Jane Conningham, if she be like other sisters, might have an interest in pinching her sister’s beau. I would not trouble about it. And as for Lord William and Lady Deborah, why, I didn’t promise to say nuffink, now did I?’
‘Oh, Benjamin, how true. Write a note and put it under the earl’s door. Who’s there?’
There came a timid scratching on the bedroom door. Benjamin opened it. Abigail blushed scarlet at the sight of the footman in his night-wear and Benjamin darted behind a chair, using the back of it as a shield. ‘You may leave us, Benjamin,’ said Hannah, ‘and pray write that letter before you fall asleep.’
Benjamin grabbed Hannah’s travelling writing-case and darted off to his own room.
‘Now, Miss Abigail,’ said Hannah, ‘how may I be of service to you?’
Abigail sat down gingerly. ‘I wondered whether you had time to hit on an idea.’
‘Yes,’ said Hannah, ‘but I do not know whether it will do any good. I have sent money to your sister, Jane, with instructions she is to make her way to Dover at all speed.’
‘But why?’ wailed Abigail.
‘The way I see it,’ said Hannah, ‘is that Miss Jane, having thought you a fool for not wanting to accept Mr Clegg, may try to get him for herself.’
Abigail sat frowning and then her face cleared. ‘Oh, but of course she will. She is like that. And she is most monstrous jealous of me. I must tell Mama.’
‘No, you must not,’ said Hannah firmly. ‘Only think. She might send another letter ahead to say that you are pining to see Mr Clegg or some such thing. People do not like to be crossed, particularly matchmaking mamas once their minds are made up.’
‘You have given me hope,’ said Abigail.
Hannah felt a stab of conscience. Abigail’s eyes were full of admiration. But the idea had been Benjamin’s. But were she to tell Abigail that, Abigail might decide it to be a disastrous plan. In straitened circumstances she might be, yet she still belonged to a class who considered servants had no brains to speak of.
‘And now I think we should both get some sleep,’ Hannah affected a yawn. She wanted
to make sure Benjamin had written that note to the earl.
‘You are so lucky to have a footman,’ said Abigail wistfully. ‘We had two, then one, then none. It does lower one’s consequence so dreadfully not to have a footman. But I am surprised your maid does not travel with you.’
‘Got the cold,’ said Hannah.
Abigail rose and look her leave. Hannah went through to Benjamin’s bedchamber. He said he was just finishing the note. Hannah retired satisfied. She had done all she could do. Benjamin was a good lad, and better than that, he was a footman.
People set more store by footmen than they did by maîtres d’hôtel, house stewards, masters of the horse, grooms of the chamber, valets, butlers, under-butlers, clerks of the kitchen, confectioners, cooks or any other of the miscellaneous assortment of servants that usually graces a large establishment. For footmen were definitely the lotus eaters of the servant class. Hannah’s admonitions to Benjamin that a footman’s duties included humble housewifery reflected on her own skills as a first-class housekeeper. Once the butler had gone, along with some other servants who were never replaced, Hannah had had the management of the footmen at Thornton Hall and had made sure they did their fair share of the work. But in grand households, footmen were there simply as a reflection of the wealth of the master. They were chosen as carefully as horses, for height, strength and appearance. The other servants on their time off dressed like ordinary civilians, but footmen hardly ever put off their grand livery, usually being as proud as peacocks and preferring to strut the streets in the glory of plush breeches, braided coat and powdered hair, rather than stoop to dressing like ordinary mortals. A lady with a footman in attendance, Hannah knew, made people think that she must come from a household full of servants, for in hard times, the gorgeous footmen were the first to go.
Before Hannah finally went to sleep, she wondered uneasily whether Lady Carsey planned any attack and hoped the Earl of Ashton could get the irrepressible twins off the stage-coach before they ran into danger.