Satyr’s Son: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Family Saga Book 5)

by Brant, Lucinda

  “I—we—Mrs. Warner and I—could not in good conscience allow you to go off on your own,” he confessed. “Our minds will be much easier if I see with my own eyes that you are put on the coach, secure an inside seat as was paid for, and that you have everything you need for a pleasant journey.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is very kind,” Lisa replied, stifling a yawn into her gloved fist. She forced herself to be more awake than she was. “I must confess to being apprehensive about the journey, but more so about finding our way at the inn. So your thoughtfulness is appreciated. When we are settled on the coach, I am certain we will be less anxious and be able to enjoy the scenery once the sun is up. Will the Bell Savage be busy at this hour?”

  “Busy? Upon my word, it will be, very much so,” the physician replied gravely, warming to his topic. “The night coaches will be drawing up in the yard at this hour, while the day coaches and their fresh horses are setting off in all directions. The inn itself is a sizeable establishment which advertises forty guest rooms and over a hundred horses in its stables. Not only are there coaches coming and going, but wagons loaded with all manner of merchandise for the counties, piled so high they require teams of eight horses to pull them along. And those with more money than sense hire their own private vehicles to take them where they please…”

  Lisa wondered how the physician could be so wide-awake, for surely he’d had very little sleep after a full afternoon and dinner with the trustees of the Fournier Foundation. And she knew he always spent a few hours in the evening writing up his notes or designing some new experiment or other in the garret laboratory. But here he was at three in the morning as if it were the middle of the day, and as always with her, garrulous. She did her best to concentrate on what he was telling her.

  “And if all that isn’t enough to dazzle the eyes and ears of even the most jaded traveler,” he said, still on the topic of the Bell Savage Inn. “There are the stable hands shouting to one another across the yard as they spring into action when a coach arrives, and those employed at the inn who come and go with baggage and refreshment for the travelers and the coachmen. And there are the team of boys, who for a tip, dash about directing persons to their correct vehicles, assist with carrying portmanteaux if you let them, and who will try and sell you an orange for the journey at an extortionate price. When the sellers of oranges and apples, hot pies, and bread are hawking their produce out on the street at half the rate!” He was pensive. “It is such an exceedingly busy and noisy place it is not surprising accidents often occur… Many years ago, before I married the second Mrs. Warner and moved to Gerrard Street, I had a practice at Ludgate Hill… I received the corpse of a boy from the Bell Savage, still warm. He’d been pinned between a heavily-laden wagon leaving the yard and the wall, and was crushed in the archway… Lower torso flattened, both legs broken, feet severed by the wheels… Died almost instantly. Thank God. They said he was ten years old, small for his age, but it was my opinion he could not have been more than six years old. Perfect skull with excellent teeth, and with the secondary set yet to erupt and still in his jaw. Young William’s skull still assists me in my lessons…”

  “Was the visit from the trustees and the dinner a success, sir?” Lisa asked, hoping to change the topic from talk of corpses and perfect skulls. For while she was used to such conversation with her breakfast, Becky was not. The girl’s eyes were round with horror, and if she had been drowsy with sleep when they set off in the hackney, she certainly was not now. “Do you think they were suitably impressed…?”

  “Visit? Dinner? Trustees? Aye!” Dr. Warner replied, suitably diverted. “I had a most productive discussion with my colleagues, Drs. Willan and Blizard. I could see they were more than a little envious of the facilities I offer my anatomy students. Which bodes well for their report. And Dr. Bailey is a most distinguished physician, with the manners of a gentleman. I had heard it so, but to be in the presence of the man himself proved the rumor. And no wonder! He was once the personal physician to none other an exalted personage than the fifth Duke of Roxton, a most formidable old aristocrat—”

  “—husband of the Duchess of Roxton, to whom Aunt de Crespigny was lady-in-waiting?”

  “The very same. You can imagine how well received this news was by Mrs. Warner. It was most gratifying for us both to have such a gentleman to dine at our table, and one familiar with His Grace’s family. Naturally he was circumspect about his years with the Duke and could not be drawn on the subject—indeed he was most diffident—despite Mrs. Warner’s best efforts to have him recount one or two small anecdotes.”

  “I am sure Cousin Minette did her best, sir,” Lisa said with as much seriousness as she could put into her tone, all to stop herself rolling her eyes imagining her cousin’s efforts at the dining table to entice Dr. Bailey to talk about his years as the physician of a duke, and not just any duke, but the one duke her cousin’s mother had served. And no doubt Cousin Minette had found the appropriate moment to tell him and the other trustees all about her own connection to that ducal house. That would not have endeared her to anyone.

  Dr. Warner sat forward with a smile. “And I must share with you something about that estimable young gentleman with the profile of a Roman Caesar who took it upon himself to speak with you in the drawing room, that I am sure will impress you as it did me.”

  “Yes, sir?” Lisa asked, again doing her best to appear grave. Only this time it was because she felt her face warm at the mention of he who had still to tell her his name, though she knew Jack called him Harry. She did not suppose Dr. Warner had discovered his name… “What did you learn?”

  “Only that he has met Dottore Lazzaro Spallanzani himself!”

  Lisa was deflated, and puzzled.

  “Dottore—Spallan—Spallanzani…?”

  “The very man! Imagine!”

  “I wish I could, sir. You will have to tell me more about him.”

  “Spallanzani is a most brilliant teacher and one of the greatest minds of our time. His theory of the spontaneous generation of microbes is most illuminating. But his greatest works are in the areas of fertilization and the processes of human digestion. He was made a Fellow of our Royal Society for his contributions to science.”

  “And a most worthy honor it would seem from his scientific labors,” Lisa offered, not being able to contribute any scientific knowledge to the discussion. A glance at Becky, who had a look of disgust at the words human digestion, and she was forced to stifle a smile. “And one of the trustees had the honor of meeting him, you say?”

  “Not one trustee but two. While on the Grand Tour, both young gentlemen took it upon themselves to visit the good dottore. Although it was the gentleman with the visage of a Roman coin who was the catalyst for the visit. He has a keen interest in the scientific and the medical.”

  “Which is perhaps why he is a trustee of the Fournier Foundation…?”

  “Indeed! Yes! No doubt,” the physician replied buoyantly, only to become suddenly grave. He sat forward and asked conspiratorially, “He did not, by any chance, tell you his name…?” When Lisa shook her head, he added with a nod, “I did not think so… But Mrs. Warner did wonder, and wished me to ask you… She noticed he wore a ring—”

  “—set with a carnelian stone engraved with a coat of arms.”

  “The very one! Mrs. Warner recognized the coat of arms immediately as belonging to the Hesham family, of which the Duke of Roxton is its head. She said she would know it anywhere, for she had seen it painted on the side of the Duchess of Roxton’s carriage when she visited her mother upon occasion—”

  “He is a member of the Duke of Roxton’s family!?” Lisa blurted out before she could stop herself.

  “That is the most likely explanation for him wearing such a ring. Who else but a family member would dare to do so otherwise? And if that is so, it would explain his connection to Dr. Bailey, and be a reason why he is a trustee—Ah! Here we are! Now, before you step outside, you must take this,” he
said and handed her a package that Lisa had not noticed but which had been beside him on the seat. “Your new writing box—”

  “My new writing box?” Lisa interrupted, mind still reeling with the knowledge about the owner of the carnelian-set gold ring, and wondering at the precise nature of his relationship to the Hesham family. “Pardon, sir, but Mrs. Warner said I had to leave it behind at Gerrard Street, it being too valuable—”

  “She did. But I have countered her decision, for it was the wrong one. You must and will have your gift. It is a most beautiful writing aid, and this journey is the perfect opportunity for you to use it, too. I took the liberty of stocking it with a few sheets of paper, and your quills, and filled the inkwells—Ah! What is this! Dear me! Dear me! There is nothing to upset you, dearest girl,” he said with a nervous laugh when Lisa threw her arms about his neck and hugged him, muffling her thanks into the upturned collar of his coat. He patted her shoulder, sat back, and put the writing box wrapped in a cloth bag into her gloved hands, adding with a smile. “No tears, Lisa. You are to enjoy your time with your school friend. Do you hear me?” When she sniffed and nodded he smiled and flicked her flushed cheek, then dug in a pocket of his coat. He next pressed into her hand a small velvet pouch. “You may have need of this for the journey. Use it wisely. Now quickly put it away, in a pocket under your petticoats if you have one on—”

  “Sir, there is too much in here,” Lisa said in a small voice, feeling the weight of the bag. When he waved his gloved hand, she quickly dug in under her cape for the slit in her petticoats that let her find the pocket tied about her waist. She put the pouch away and withdrew her hand to grip the writing box, and said with a watery smile, “Thank you, sir. You are too kind, and too generous.”

  Dr. Warner leaned in to whisper near her ear. “There are some fifteen shillings and a few pence. Tip the driver and the guard the going rate, a little more if they do you a kindness. Procure refreshment for you and Becky—”

  “But, sir, Cook gave us apples and oranges, and we have bread, almond biscuits, and orange cake. Becky has it in her satchel. We won’t need—”

  “If you do not have need of it now, you may have need of it later…”

  Lisa blinked at him. There were tears in her eyes. “It is too much, sir.”

  He smiled and surprised her. “It is not nearly enough for all the hours you’ve spent in my dispensary aiding and comforting patients. Do not ever think I have been unaware of your efforts. In the dispensary and,” he added with a chuckle, as the door to the hackney was wrenched open, “at breakfast when I am at my most loquacious! Now, let me see you both to the Southampton coach.”

  The yard of the Bell Savage was every bit as noisy and as busy as the physician had described. The noise more thunderous and jarring, the movement of animals, people, and vehicles more hectic and frenetic, if that were possible. They had been set down in the middle of the inn’s yard. Both girls immediately looked up at the tallness of the buildings with two floors of open galleries running along both sides. People were coming and going along their length, and guests were hanging over the balustrades watching the activity below, all under the honeyed glow of a hundred tapers.

  Such was their preoccupation that they would have been lost had not Dr. Warner taken Lisa by the arm, and she in turn hooked her arm through Becky’s. They then moved snake-like through the hustle and bustle of passengers and servants seemingly going in all directions, following four young boys carrying Lisa’s and Becky’s trunks between them, and making a path as they went, shouting at the top of their lungs to Make way! Make way!

  Soon they were standing before a large coach with its roof strapped with luggage, and the outside passengers crowded about eager to climb aboard. The horses were being attended to, the coachman’s box still without its driver, so there was still time for the two girls to be settled. Inside the coach were already seated three individuals, a husband and wife, and between them a young boy, not much older than poor Young William when he had lost his life and his skull became a teaching aid for Dr. Warner.

  The physician was talking to the head porter and that gentleman was listening with all the gravity of one being addressed by a duke. He glanced over at Lisa and Becky standing to one side of the physician, nodded, and then Lisa saw Dr. Warner press something into the palm of the man’s hand—no doubt a coin for his cooperation—and him nod and smile and doff his hat in understanding. Then Lisa and Becky’s trunks were put aboard, but not up on the roof with the rest of the luggage, but inside the carriage under the seat where Lisa and Becky were to sit. With their luggage carefully stowed and the seat back in place, Lisa and Becky were invited to board. It would not be long before the coachman was up on his box, and with the outside passengers seated, their journey would begin.

  Becky scrambled up inside, Lisa turning to give Dr. Warner another hug of thanks.

  “I’ll write, so that you know we arrived safely.”

  “Do that, my dear. If you have the time. But do not waste it in writing to us. Enjoy every minute of your stay. It could be the one and only time you have the opportunity to mix in such exalted circles, and to visit such a wondrous place as Treat, if Mrs. de Crespigny’s descriptions are to the life. Remember everything you see and do. Write that down. Share it with us when you return. Mrs. Warner can hardly wait to hear all about it.”

  Lisa smiled and nodded, swiftly kissed his cheek and with a quick look over her shoulder, she climbed up into the coach. The door was shut on her back before she was seated, she setting the writing box in its cloth bag on the seat beside her between her and Becky. There were to be no other inside passengers, and so they had the luxury of space, for which Lisa knew she had the good doctor to thank. She nodded to the couple and their son, and they nodded back, but were so dour-faced, and she too tired and overwhelmed to engage in conversation that she remained mute. Instead, she concentrated on what was happening outside, both she and Becky giving a jump of fright when the passengers began to climb up on the roof, and the carriage to rock to and fro with the movement. The couple across from them smiled knowingly but said nothing, as if it were not new to them.

  Lisa looked for Dr. Warner, but he was lost to the jostling crowd of passengers, those eager to board, and those having been set down to be on their way. No doubt the physician was wanting to return home as soon as possible, to his breakfast, his newspapers, and his day in the dispensary, and perhaps before his wife knew his whereabouts. Lisa was sure he had come to see her off with Cousin Minette none the wiser. And for that Lisa would ever be grateful. She wondered when he would be notified if his application for funding had been approved or rejected. And that made her think about her handsome gentleman with the profile of a Roman Ceasar and his connection to the Hesham family. It did not surprise her to think he was a member of a ducal house. He had the bearing, the manners, and the arrogant self-assurance—and from his clothing and accoutrements, the wealth, too—of a duke. But the Duke of Roxton was the premier duke in the kingdom. He did not just have wealth and power, he was the epitome of both. And that deepened the mystery of her gentleman’s connection to such an illustrious nobleman. But most of all she wondered if she would ever see him again. As if wanting tangible proof that he would seek her out, she put her hand to the writing box, and that provided her with some comfort that she had not seen the last of him.

  But uppermost in her mind as the final preparations were being made on horses, carriage, and coachman, was that she was on her way to be reunited with Teddy. That still seemed a dream, despite now sitting inside a coach about to depart the Bell Savage. That thought made her smile and she snuggled into her corner of the interior, still aware of the racket and activity outside in the busy yard, but it slowly fading into a homogeneous drone. The thumps above her head had ceased, so the outside passengers were also ready to be off. Then finally there was movement of the coach as the horses set to, and the vehicle lurched forward, the driver maneuvering the horses behind a line of carriages all
waiting to move off under the archway. They would then go their separate ways out into the environs of Ludgate Hill, then further into the streets of a city that never slept, the Southampton stagecoach heading southwest into a countryside that was new to both girls, and eagerly anticipated.

  Finally, Lisa and Becky were on their way.

  WHEN LISA WOKE, the coach had left the city behind. She had no idea as to how long she had slept, though she had a vague awareness of the carriage coming to a standstill upon several occasions, of thumps above her head, and of people scrambling down and then up again. But she had been too tired and drowsy with sleep to fully wake. Becky was still asleep in her corner, but the couple across from them were wide-awake, the boy leaning against his mother, who had her arm around him, with his eyes closed.

  Lisa was still tired, but awake enough to take a peek out the window at the morning sky, which was streaked with clouds. Yet it was a lovely sunny day, with no hint of rain. This boded well for travel along dry roads, and for the passengers holding on above her head atop the roof, who would continue to have dry clothes, rain not adding to their woes of traveling in the open air.

  The fresh green of summer was everywhere to be seen along the roadside, in the hedgerows, the open spaces of rolling hills, and in the forests farther afield. Surprisingly to Lisa, the road was not deserted of people. But there was every reason for it not to be, as the coach was trundling along the London to Portsmouth road, one of the busiest thoroughfares in the kingdom, and it would remain on this road until Guildford, and a change of horses. That town was still hours away yet. Most of the travelers they passed were on foot and headed towards the city. Possibly they had walked all night. A few men on horseback passed by. And then the coach moved around to overtake an open wagon being pulled slowly by eight horses, and which was full of carousing men.