Runaway Miss (5 page)

The horses’ swift canter slowed to a trot, as the road became awash and the potholes disappeared, so that the wheels frequently ran into them and everyone on the coach was thrown from side to side. A flash of lightning and a roll of thunder so startled the horses they set off at a mad gallop. Emma reached for the strap and hung on grimly and the young bride opposite her flung herself into her husband’s arms and cried out in terror. They could hear the outside passengers shouting, which included some words not fit for ladies’ ears and then a thumping on the roof above their heads as if all twelve of them were trying to shift their positions. And still the horses galloped on, dragging their cargo with them.

At last the driver regained control and they resumed their steady pace, but the young lady opposite Emma would not be consoled, even though her husband soothed her over and over again. ‘It’s all right, dearest, you are quite safe. And I do believe the rain is easing. We shall soon be in Dunstable. There, there, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.’ He smiled nervously at Emma as he spoke.

She leaned forward. ‘Pray, do not distress yourself, madam. I admit I was a little nervous myself, but the worst is over. Do dry your eyes and look out of the window. I believe the sun is trying to come out.’

The young lady lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder and smiled weakly. ‘I am s…sorry to be s…such a watering pot. I have never travelled in a public coach before and never without Mama.’

Emma leaned forward, smiling. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. Neither have I.’

‘Then you are very brave.’

‘Not brave, stubborn and too proud to admit to being fearful.’ That, she supposed was true, especially with regard to her present situation, otherwise she would never have set out on this adventure.

They stopped for a change of horses, but did not leave the coach, though Alex climbed down and put his head in the door. Water was dripping off his hat and his shoulders were soaked. ‘Is anyone hurt?’

‘No, we are all in plump currant,’ Emma said. ‘But you are very wet.’

‘Oh, I have been a great deal wetter in my time, ma’am. I shall soon dry when we stop for something to eat.’

‘When will that be?’

‘At Dunstable. We should have been there by now, but it would have been unwise to hurry the horses when you couldn’t see where you were going.’

Emma smiled. ‘They certainly hurried themselves when it thundered.’

‘Yes, and a devil of a job it was to bring them to order. Horses that shy at a rumble of thunder should not be allowed to draw a public coach. I mean to have a word with the proprietor and hope the next set are more reliable.’ With that he disappeared and Emma saw him cross the yard and enter the inn. He came back just as they were ready to set off again.

The remainder of the stretch to Dunstable, through rolling countryside between the Chiltern Hills and Dunstable Downs, was uneventful and they clattered up the High Street and turned under the archway of the White Horse at half past one in the afternoon. Thankfully they stretched their stiff limbs and made a dash for the inn where they were joined by the bedraggled occupants of the outside seats.

The end of May it might have been, but the spring had been so cold and wet, the proprietor had lit a fire in the parlour and soon steaming coats and cloaks were draped around it. Emma looked about for Lord Malvers, but he was nowhere to be seen, though his man, his dark hair plastered to his scalp, had made himself comfortable in the corner nearest the fire and was tucking in to a plate full of chicken, potatoes and gravy. The young man and his bride were in earnest conversation with the innkeeper and were soon conducted upstairs. No doubt they had bespoke themselves a private room.

Emma found a table and they sat down to wait to be served. They had just handed in an order for ham pie and potatoes, the cheapest thing on the menu according to the man who took the order, when the Viscount returned. He had changed his coat and brushed out his hair, though the rain had made it curl even more. He approached Emma. ‘May I join you?’

She could hardly refuse. ‘Please do. We have already ordered our meal.’

‘Ah, I see, that means I am not to be allowed to pay for it.’ Nevertheless he seated himself beside them.

‘No, my lord, you are not. We are perfectly capable of paying our own way.’

‘How independent you are!’

‘You are mocking me.’

‘Indeed I am not. I admire your spunk.’ He turned as the waiter brought the girls’ meal and took his order for pork chops, roast chicken, a fruit pie and a quart of ale.

‘Spunk, my lord?’

‘You do not seem at all distressed by your recent alarming experience.’

She was taken aback for a moment, thinking he must know who she was and had heard about Lord Bentwater’s proposal, but then realised he was talking about the runaway horses. ‘Oh, that. It did not last above two or three minutes and we did not turn over, did we?’

‘No, but it was a near thing.’

She smiled. ‘A close-run thing.’

He laughed. ‘Yes, if you will.’

‘It must have been far worse for those of you travelling on the outside in the rain and wind.’

‘A mite uncomfortable,’ he said laconically.

The waiter came back with a tray loaded with food and Emma’s eyes widened at the sight of it. Her ham pie had barely filled a corner. She watched as he attacked it with gusto.

‘And you need not have endured it if you had not given away your inside seats.’

‘I hope you are not going to bore me with your gratitude all the way to Kendal, Miss Draper. A good deed once done should be forgotten.’

‘By the doer, yes, but the recipient should be thinking of ways to make all right again.’

‘Allowing me to bear you company has made it right.’ He
had noticed her looking longingly at the food on his plate and guessed she had very little money. Putting down his knife and fork, he pushed his plate away. ‘Do you know, I am not as hungry as I thought I was. I shall have to send most of the chicken back to the kitchen and I hate waste.’

Rose looked at Emma and Emma looked at Rose, each reading the other’s thoughts. ‘So do I,’ Rose said, knowing Emma would never stoop to admitting such a thing. ‘And it is like to be some time before we stop again. If you have truly eaten your fill…’

‘Oh, I have. Here, let me help you to a morsel.’ And he divided what was left in the dishes between their two plates. ‘But do hurry up. We were so late arriving we are not being given the full hour to eat. Apparently, the schedule is more important than our digestions.’

They had eaten half of it when they were recalled to their seats. Almost reluctantly Emma left the cosiness of the warm room and the company of a gentleman she found strangely beguiling and made her way out to the coach, now with a different team of horses. Followed by Rose, she took her place and was taken aback when Lord Malvers’s servant climbed in and sat opposite her. Lord Malvers joined them and they were away again.

‘You have no objection to my travelling inside with you?’ he asked.

‘My lord, you must think me very particular and singularly lacking in conduct to object to anyone who has paid for his seat.’ She gave a little laugh and added, ‘Twice over.’

‘Then I shall take it you are content with my company.’ He smiled to put her at her ease, but she was wary of him, he could see it in her eyes, such big, expressive eyes. He turned to her companion. ‘What about you, Miss…I am sorry, you have the advantage of me.’

‘Turner,’ she said.

‘Well, Miss Turner, do you think you can suffer me to share your carriage?’

‘My
carriage! Goodness, sir, what would I be doin’ with a carriage?’

‘Quite right. Prodigious expensive things they are to keep.’

‘Is that why you travel by public coach, my lord?’ Emma asked him, knowing he was throwing darts at her by teasing Rose. It behoved her to come to the maid’s rescue.

‘You think it miserly of me?’

‘I would never accuse you of miserliness, my lord. I was simply curious.’

‘Again?’

‘Touché
.’ She laughed. ‘You do not have to answer me.’

‘No, but there is not much else to do is there? The countryside is too wet and bedraggled to be worth our attention, so we must fall back on conversation. Unless, of course, you prefer silence.’

‘No, my lord. By all means let us converse.’

‘Then I will tell you I did not bother to keep a carriage and horses in town and as my journey was urgent I had no time to go home for it.’

‘Home being in Norfolk?’

‘Yes. Buregreen. It is on the borders of Norfolk and Suffolk, quite near the sea. There are three farms, mainly arable, but with a fair acreage of grazing. Before the war they were productive, but last year the harvest was not good owing to bad weather and this year the climate has been the worst anyone can remember. I doubt there will be a yield at all.’

‘And yet you left it to go to London? Are you not happy at home, my lord?’

‘It is the place I most wish to be, but my mother, bless her dear heart, thought I should find me a wife.’

‘You are not married, then?’

‘No, Miss Draper, I am not. I never had the time or incli
nation for it.’ It was spoken so emphatically she wondered why he was so adamant.

‘And the London Season bores you.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You said so yourself, earlier today. Not to your taste, you said. Do you think you will find a bride in the Lakes?’

‘A mermaid, you mean, half-fish, half-woman.’

It was a moment before his meaning registered and then she laughed. ‘Do you always tease, my lord?’

‘Only if I think it will make you smile. It is better than being sombre, don’t you think? Life is too short to take seriously.’

‘We cannot always be laughing. There are times…’ She stopped, afraid to go on. He was looking at her with his head on one side, his blue eyes watching her, waiting for her to give herself away. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction.

‘Yes,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘Times of war, times of bereavement and loss, times when the situation of the poor breaks one’s heart and one is left fuming at the callousness of a society that lets them suffer. It is thinking of such things that demand solemnity.’

‘You evidently think very strongly on that subject.’

‘Yes. Don’t you? Or perhaps you have never had to think about it.’

He was fishing, she decided. ‘Of course I think about it and I wish I could help them, but it is not in my power.’

‘No, you are
only
Miss Fanny Draper, isn’t that what you told me?’

‘Yes, because that is my name.’

‘My dear girl, I am not disputing it.’ He waited for her reaction, an angry accusation of impertinence, not only for the way he had addressed her, but for doubting her honesty. For a fleeting second he saw it in her eyes and then it was gone.

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.’