Emily Goes to Exeter

6

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,

Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast

Is that portentous phrase, ‘I told you so.’

Lord Byron

Mr Fletcher’s leg proved a bad weather-vane. The storm was raging as viciously as before when the travellers met in the kitchen. Emily was subdued. She had put on her wool gown again after giving it a good brushing, muslin having proved too cold for even a well-fired English inn. It was all very well to wear delicate muslins and silks when there were gentlemen to charm, but who was there to charm among this odd assembly? Certainly not Lord Ranger Harley, unfeeling brute that he was. He must know she was delicate. He had seen her faint at the very sound of his name. Hannah had pointed out to Emily that her faint was probably due to overexcitement and lack of food, having noticed that ‘Edward’ had eaten nothing on the journey until they reached Bagshot.

Emily was feeling martyred and rather enjoying it. She looked at her pink, burnt fingers with a certain amount of satisfaction. How her parents would exclaim at her treatment. There would certainly be no question of their frail and beautiful daughter marrying such an ogre. But then that old uncomfortable thought crept into her mind. Lord Harley showed no signs of wanting to marry her. As she began to clear away the dirty dishes, she cast him a sidelong look. He was sitting at his ease at the head of the table. He was wearing a black coat with silver buttons and a ruffled shirt. His black hair shone in the lamplight and his black eyes were lazy and amused. Lizzie, too, was helping to clear up. She had collected a heavy pile of dishes. Lord Harley promptly jumped to his feet and took them from her. He never would have thought of doing that for me, sulked Emily, stalking off into the scullery.

‘It looks as if we are allocated dishwashing duties this morning,’ came Lord Harley’s voice behind her. ‘I observe you have burnt your fingers. You had best let me wash and you dry.’

‘It is nothing,’ said Emily mournfully. ‘I am become accustomed to pain.’

‘Mortification is good for the soul,’ he said heartlessly. ‘When you return to your pampered life and that chuckle-headed governess of yours, you will appreciate all the cosseting as never before. You will tell your future husband times out of number of your dreadful adventures on this particular journey, for no more adventures will happen to you.’

‘And what makes you think that?’ demanded Emily, watching him take off his coat and roll up his sleeves.

‘You are not the kind to have adventures,’ he said. ‘You think too much about yourself. People who think of others somehow make for themselves an adventurous life.’

‘But I do think of others!’ exclaimed Emily, cut to the quick.

He gave her a gentle push aside and lifted a bucket of hot water from the floor and poured it into the sink. ‘Who, for instance?’

‘For instance,’ whispered Emily, ‘poor little Mrs Bisley. She must not marry that captain.’

‘And how do you think that can be prevented?’

Emily’s eyes shone. ‘You could challenge him to a duel.’

‘I do not duel with such as Captain Seaton. In fact, I go to extreme lengths to avoid duels.’

He handed Emily a dish to dry.

‘So,’ said Emily, rubbing the plate vigorously, ‘you are afraid, my lord.’

‘What heroes of the corner chimney-seat you ladies are! If you yourselves were in danger of having a yard of cold steel or a bullet through you in the early hours of the morning, it might change your attitude. Besides, I do not wish to seem to brag, but I am an expert shot and a tolerably good swordsman. Although I have been in many battles, strange as it may seem, I do not relish killing, nor, for that matter, should I kill someone in a duel, would I relish having to flee the country.’

‘Well, you think of something,’ said Emily pettishly.

‘Intimacy, Miss Freemantle, will work its own charms. I have great hopes of Mr Fletcher.’

‘But Mrs Bisley is promised to the captain. It would not be at all convenable for her to give him his marching orders.’

‘You are hardly in a position to discuss the conventions. Not for one moment did you spare a thought for my feelings.’

He turned round from the sink and looked at her mockingly. Emily’s eyes were round with surprise. ‘But you haven’t got any!’

‘Just because I have decided I have had a lucky escape, Miss Freemantle, I am not devoid of feelings. For example, my poor heart aches for Mrs Bisley … so vulnerable, so charming, so feminine …’

‘And so old,’ said Emily waspishly.

He looked at her with amusement and went back to washing dishes. Emily surveyed his elegant back. She had a longing to throw a plate at his head.

She continued her work in grim silence and yet felt almost sorry, although she did not know why, when the dishes and pots were all cleaned and put away.

Hannah, Mrs Bisley and Mrs Bradley were all preparing dinner. ‘Why do we not keep town hours?’ said Emily. ‘We could have a later dinner and not have to start work as soon as breakfast is over.’

‘There’s nothing else to do,’ said Hannah placidly. ‘Do you want to help here or will you do the bedchambers?’

‘I will do the bedchambers,’ said Emily.

‘I’ll be along to help you soon as I’ve finished,’ said Mrs Bradley.

Emily went upstairs. She started with the Blue Room. Hannah Pym never left anything lying around, and so all Emily had to do was empty out the washing-water, which she did by opening the window and pouring the contents out into the storm. She raked out the hearth and carried the ashes downstairs. Mr Fletcher met her and said he would take the ashes outside to supply some grit for the paths the men were digging.

She went back to the Blue Room and got the fire ready and set for lighting in the evening. Then she went to the Red Room. The bed there was made up and the fire cleaned. All she had to do was dust. Lord Harley’s clothes were hung away in the wardrobe. Two books lay beside the bed. She picked one up. It was in ancient Greek and she put it down with an exclamation of disgust. She had been hoping to find a novel she could borrow. There was a miniature beside the bed. She picked it up. The face of a very pretty woman looked out at her. ‘So that’s your opera dancer,’ she said aloud.

‘No, not my opera dancer,’ said an amused voice from the doorway. ‘My mother.’

Emily blushed, feeling like a snooping serving maid. He was leaning against the doorjamb watching her. She was conscious of his masculinity, of a sudden sharp awareness of sexual tension, of the large bed behind her, and of the dead silence created by the muffling snow outside.

‘It is fortunately very tidy in here,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘I had better check the other rooms.’

She approached the doorway. She had to pass very close to him. Her eyes flew up to meet his, wary and cautious. He raised his hands and she shrank back.

‘Fear not, Miss Freemantle,’ he mocked. ‘My solitaire is coming undone.’ He retied the black silk ribbon that confined his thick black hair at the nape of his neck and then smiled at her.

She darted past him and went into a small narrow room next door. Captain Seaton had the luxury of sleeping alone. His room was like a pigsty – clothes thrown here and there, ash spilling out of the fire, water spilled on the floor, and the blankets half pulled off the bed.

‘Leave it,’ said Lord Harley from behind her. ‘Let the pig stew in his own muck.’

‘It must be very soul-destroying to be a chambermaid,’ said Emily.

‘I think a local girl would count herself fortunate to have a job which did not involve work in the scullery.’

‘Perhaps. It is all very lowering. You do not seem to mind.’

‘I am older than you. In my day …’ Lord Harley paused, thinking he sounded ancient. ‘In my day,’ he went on firmly, ‘we were expected to do everything a servant could do and better. That applied to the ladies as well. These days, I doubt if the new breed of married lady has ever seen the inside of her own kitchen.’

‘I have been in mine – many times,’ said Emily proudly.

‘To filch cakes from the cook? That is not the same thing. I shall help you with the remaining rooms.’

He saw the rising colour on Emily’s face and realized she did not want to be alone with him in any bedroom. The silly wench probably thinks I might rape her, he thought. ‘And while we are doing that,’ he went on, ‘you will help me write a small play for our friends.’

Diverted, Emily exclaimed, ‘A play? Why?’

‘If we all sit around at dinner and, after dinner, drinking too much, quarrels will break out. Amateur theatricals are just what we need. We need a little play, and one which involves all of us.’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You, of course, Miss Freemantle, will be the heroine.’

Emily’s eyes lit up. ‘We could have a play based on the inn. I have run away with my mother, that’s Mrs Bisley, and with my old nurse, that’s Mrs Bradley, from my wicked uncle …’

‘And that is I?’

‘No, no. Captain Seaton, I think. He descends on the inn and produces a gun, and my brave swain, Jack, wrests it from his hand …’

‘And who is Jack?’

‘Oh, dear, I suppose it will have to be you, my lord, only it would be so much better if you were younger and had golden hair.’

‘Like Mr Peregrine Williams?’

‘Like …? Oh, yes, I suppose so. And the coachman can be the coachman, and the guard, the guard, and Mr Burridge and Mr Hendry can play themselves – passengers, I mean.’

‘And what of Mr Fletcher?’

Emily bit her lip. He watched her expressive face with amusement.

Then her face cleared. ‘Mr Fletcher can be the family lawyer, of course, and he … I have it! He has discovered that the wicked uncle forged Mrs Bisley’s late husband’s will and that he actually has no longer any power over her because Mrs Bisley has all the money. Mrs Bisley is so grateful that she marries the lawyer and …’

‘And Miss Emily marries her Jack?’

‘Yes, yes, but only for the purposes of the play,’ said Emily.

‘You have forgot Miss Pym.’

‘So I had. Miss Pym can be the stage manager and find costumes for us.’

‘I think I would like everyone to have a part,’ said Lord Harley.

‘Oh, dear, who can Miss Pym be?’

‘She is a respectable lady,’ said Lord Harley, ‘to whom Captain Seaton once promised marriage, but instead he ruined her after having spent all her savings.’

Emily jumped up and down and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, famous! When can we begin to write our play?’

‘Just as soon as we have done the bedchambers. We will then go to the kitchen and tell the others.’

Hannah’s odd eyes gleamed green when she heard about the proposed play. A bit of fun was what was needed to bring Mrs Bisley out of her worries about her predicament. Besides, what of Lord Harley and Miss Freemantle? Emily’s eyes were shining and Lord Harley was looking at her with indulgent amusement.

The landlord, appealed to, produced sheets of paper. Emily was excused from kitchen duties, and she and Lord Harley retreated to the coffee-room hearth. The rest of the travellers, even Captain Seaton, were highly delighted at the idea of the play.

Mr Burridge and Mr Hendry elected to set up the end of the coffee room as a stage. It was decided that everyone should wear whatever clothes that seemed appropriate for the part.

Emily began to write busily in a clear hand and Lord Harley copied down what she had written on to different sheets of paper. The whole play or playlet was only to last for about twenty minutes. Captain Seaton said he had a gun. He would point it, unloaded, of course, as someone fired a gun off-stage to produce the desired effect. As he wrote busily, Lord Harley wondered if Emily realized that she had written a touching end to the play where brave Jack clasps the heroine in his arms and kisses her. He thought ruefully that she was probably imagining this fellow Peregrine in the role.

Then it was discovered that the coachman could not read and that even Mrs Bradley was going to have difficulty with the words, but that was solved when it was agreed on that they should make up appropriate lines for themselves.

It was a merry dinner with everyone eating and trying to memorize lines and discussing what they would wear. Even Mrs Silvers put in an appearance, saying, despite her rosy cheeks and air of good country health, that she had forced herself from her sick-bed just to see the play.

It was only when the play began that the exasperated Emily, cast in the role of Lady Gwendoline, realized that her fellow players were determined to play their roles in their own way. Brave Jack was played by Lord Harley as a mincing fop to great effect. The audience of the landlord and his wife were laughing heartily. Then the coachman, elated by his first appearance on the boards, made a long speech about the life of a coachman, the guard told him not to be such an old windbag, the coachman threw up his fists and said he would draw his cork, and Lord Harley, briefly dropping his role of fop, had to separate them. Hannah Pym, remembering the deception of that under-butler, began to berate Captain Seaton in very convincing tones and with such fire and passion that the landlord leaped to his feet and shouted, ‘Huzzah!’

Mrs Bradley then burst into speech, telling the company how she had nursed Lady Gwendoline from a babe. The short play began to show alarming signs of running as long as any Haymarket tragedy.

Captain Seaton made a good villain. He had placed a black patch over one eye and leered and cursed with great aplomb. ‘You will return with me,’ he roared, brandishing the gun. Mr Burridge slipped ‘off-stage’, ready to fire his own gun harmlessly out of the coffee-room window into the snow to make it sound as if the captain had actually fired his own.

Emily looked at the captain in startled amazement. Why would no one keep to the script? Instead of pointing the gun at herself and her ‘mother’, he was pointing it straight at Mr Fletcher.

‘I will kill you all,’ he snarled. Hannah was also watching. In a flash, as Captain Seaton pressed the trigger, Hannah seized a heavy pewter tray and held it up in front of Mr Fletcher. There was a deafening report and Hannah’s hands jerked as a bullet struck the tray and ricocheted off it to bury itself harmlessly in a beam in the ceiling of the coffee room.

Lord Harley snatched the gun from Captain Seaton and muttered, ‘Get to your room. I shall speak to you shortly.’

‘But I didn’t know,’ blustered the captain. ‘Someone’s playing a sore trick on me.’

‘Go!’ ordered Lord Harley, and Captain Seaton went. Lord Harley said to Hannah, ‘Are you all right?’

Hannah nodded, her eyes dancing. ‘Another adventure,’ she hissed. ‘Go on with the play.’

The others seemed so stage-struck, so determined to play their parts, that Hannah was sure very few of them had noticed the shooting. Mr Fletcher made his speech about the forged will. Lizzie curtsied and thanked him most affectingly, and then Mr Fletcher startled everyone by stepping out of his role and clasping Lizzie to his bosom. They stood like that, gazing into each other’s eyes, until Hannah coughed loudly and the couple broke apart.

Lizzie turned to Brave Jack. ‘And to you, sir,’ she said, leading Emily forward, ‘I give my daughter.’

Lord Harley smiled down into Emily’s suddenly frightened eyes. ‘Forgot it was me, didn’t you?’ he whispered. He took her in his arms and kissed her, quick and hard, on the lips. The cast applauded themselves, and the landlord and his wife applauded the cast. Emily was shaken. That kiss had burnt, had branded, had caused an upheaval of her senses. Then she recollected that shot. She clutched Lord Harley’s sleeve. ‘What are we to do about Captain Seaton? He tried to murder poor Mr Fletcher.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘We do not want to alarm the others. Miss Pym knows, but she is keeping quiet.’

Lord Harley went quickly up the stairs to where the captain was sitting sulkily on his unmade bed.

‘Well, Seaton?’ demanded Lord Harley, ‘What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I do not know what happened, my lord,’ said the captain truculently, ‘and that’s the truth. I practised with that gun before dinner and Mr Burridge agreed to fire his own out of the coffee-room window. My gun was not loaded, I swear.’

Lord Harley looked at him with loathing. ‘You have brought this on yourself. You will leave Mrs Bisley and Mr Fletcher alone, do you hear? If you so much as approach either one of them again, I will shoot you myself.’

Captain Seaton got to his feet, his fists swinging. ‘And I am going to teach you a lesson, me fine buck.’

He lunged at Lord Harley, who dodged the blow and then struck Captain Seaton a smashing punch on the chin with his full weight behind it. The captain fell backwards on the bed.

‘I will say it once more,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Do not go near either Fletcher or Mrs Bisley again, or it will be the worse for you.’ And, nursing his bruised knuckles, he made his way downstairs.

He found Hannah in the kitchen. The rest were still in the coffee room celebrating the success of the play.

‘Did you talk to the captain?’ asked Hannah.

‘Yes,’ he said, rubbing his knuckles. ‘What a nasty fool that man is. How could he hope to get away with it?’

‘It might have been hard to prove murder,’ said Hannah. ‘All he had to do was swear he did not know the gun was primed.’

‘We must keep a close watch on the captain. What are you doing now?’

‘I am preparing a cold collation for supper.’

‘You appear to have been deserted by your helpers.’

‘Leave them for the moment,’ said Hannah. ‘I think, however, that we should keep them busy with amusements. If all they are going to do is sit around the coffee-room fire and drink, quarrels are bound to arise. Satan will always find mischief for idle hands.’

‘Then let us confound Satan. What do you suggest?’

Hannah wrinkled her brow and pulled her nose. ‘Charades might cause more ructions. I have it! Hunt the slipper.’

‘I do not see how anyone can try to murder anyone playing that,’ said Lord Harley with a grin.

He retreated to the coffee room, where his suggestion was greeted with cries of delight. ‘What will be the prize?’ asked Old Tom, the coachman.

‘No household duties tomorrow,’ said Lord Harley promptly.

‘The only one who cannot play,’ pointed out Emily, ‘is the one that hides the slipper.’

‘Then let me do it,’ offered the landlord. ‘I can hide it somewheres where I swear none of you will find it.’

Only Captain Seaton, who had rejoined the group, grumbled it was all tomfoolery.

It was decided to use one of the ladies’ slippers, so Lizzie ran upstairs and came back with a pretty red-leather beaded slipper, and handed it to the landlord. He told them to give him half an hour and disappeared.

Captain Seaton sidled up to Lizzie when Lord Harley’s back was turned to him. ‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ he said. ‘You know you are promised to me and a lady never breaks a promise.’

The laughter died out of Lizzie’s face. ‘We will discuss it some other time,’ she said hurriedly and moved away to talk to Mr Hendry, the shabby gentleman who had been one of the two outside passengers.

Emily noticed that even Mr Hendry had a tender look on his face as he talked to Lizzie. He was well enough in his way, she thought, plain and honest-looking and simply dressed and younger than Mr Fletcher, but Emily had set her mind on making a match of it for Lizzie and Mr Fletcher.

The captain waited until they were all busy talking to whisper to Mr Fletcher, ‘You just watch it, you popinjay. Mrs Bisley is going to marry me and so she says, so stop sniffing around her, you churl.’

‘Odd’s fish!’ cried Mr Fletcher, enraged. ‘Cannot you see the lady would like to have none of you?’

‘What’s going on there?’ demanded Lord Harley sharply, and the captain moved away from Mr Fletcher.

The landlord eventually reappeared, rubbing his hands. ‘You’ll never find it,’ he said. ‘Reckon Miss Pym’ll have all her helpers on the morrow.’

They all rushed off to search the rooms. Only Lizzie hesitated. She would have liked to play the game with Mr Fletcher, but felt that by doing so she might be putting Mr Fletcher’s life at risk. The captain had looked so menacing when he had been talking to him. She went off with the delighted Mr Hendry. Emily had somehow expected Lord Harley to pair off with her, but he had gone off with the coachman. She started to search in a half-hearted way and then with more enthusiasm. It was such a small slipper, it could be anywhere. She even took down pint-sized pewter mugs from their hooks in the taproom and looked inside. It was hard work searching. There were so many nooks and crannies in the inn. Then she decided to try her own bedchamber. She turned everything over and looked under the bed and under the blankets, but there was no sign of the slipper. She was very tired. Bursts of laughter from various parts of the inn showed the others were showing no signs of flagging. Emily decided to lie down for just a little. Ten minutes’ rest was all she needed. She lay down on the top of the covers. Her eyes closed almost immediately, and soon she was fast asleep.

Hannah came in a quarter of an hour later and stood in the doorway, looking at the sleeping Emily. She looked very beautiful and innocent in sleep, thought Hannah. Hannah still nursed hopes of a match between Lord Harley and Emily. She turned quickly and went downstairs and searched about, not for the slipper, but for Lord Harley. She found him in the dining-room, looking in a jug on top of the china cupboard.

‘My lord,’ said Hannah. ‘I cannot leave the kitchen for long, for I have some cakes and bread in the oven. Would you be so good as to fetch me my reticule from the Blue Room? It is lying on the armchair by the fireplace.’

‘Certainly, ma’am,’ he said, looking at her thoughtfully. He wondered what she was about. Miss Pym, he knew, was still servant enough to fetch her own reticule. Still, he made his way up to the Blue Room and then stood, as Hannah had recently done, surveying the sleeping Emily.

So that was it. He grinned. There was no more determined matchmaker than a spinster. He would not play her game, although young Miss Freemantle looked very beautiful and appealing. He walked to the armchair and picked up Hannah’s reticule.

She sighed a little and smiled in her sleep. He went to the bed and looked down at her. Her bosom was rising and falling gently. Her skin was very fair, and dark lashes with auburn tips were fanned out on her cheeks.

On a sudden impulse, he sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the lips.

Emily was dreaming that Lord Ranger Harley was kissing her. She moved her body sinuously in her sleep and wound her arms around his neck. Startled, Lord Harley kissed her more deeply, pressing his hard lips into her soft beguiling pink ones, feeling her small hands caressing the nape of his neck under his long black hair.

Then her body went rigid and her eyes flew open. He immediately released her. She sat up with her face flaming and dealt him a resounding slap across the cheek.

‘How dare you!’ hissed Emily, her eyes blazing.

‘If you were not enjoying my kiss,’ he said furiously, ‘why did you wind your arms around my neck and kiss me back?’

‘I was dreaming,’ said Emily. ‘I was dreaming of Mr Williams.’

‘If you are in the habit of kissing him like that,’ said Lord Harley, suddenly as furious as she, ‘then I suggest you marry him as soon as possible.’

He turned and strode from the room, carrying Hannah’s reticule. He went straight down to the kitchen. Hannah was bent over the fire, stirring something in a pot.

‘Miss Pym,’ said Lord Harley, handing her the reticule, ‘do not try to arrange a match for me with Miss Freemantle.’

‘I?’ exclaimed Hannah.

‘Yes, you. She made an enchanting picture, lying there like that, as you very well knew. I am not going to marry Miss Freemantle. She is a silly little girl of no attraction whatsoever.’

‘Then,’ said Miss Hannah Pym tartly, ‘I do not know why you are becoming so exercised. The very sight of her must have filled you with loathing.’

‘Pah!’ said Lord Harley and went out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him.

Up in the Red Room, Lizzie was saying to Mr Hendry, ‘I am so very tired. I do not think I can search anymore.’

‘You are too frail a lady to have to work like a servant in this inn,’ said Mr Hendry. ‘I would that I could protect you from all ills.’

He had odd light-grey eyes that were suddenly intense. Lizzie realized she was standing with her back to the bed and that he was advancing upon her. ‘Why, Mrs Bradley,’ she called, suddenly seeing that fat figure in the passage. ‘Come and join us in the search.’

‘Reckon it won’t do much good, m’dear,’ said Mrs Bradley, but looking curiously from Lizzie to Mr Hendry. ‘Landlord says as how he’ll only give us the one hint. It’s hanging, he says, where leather hangs.’

‘The tack-room?’ suggested Mr Hendry.

Now the landlord had said firmly that the slipper was in the inn, but Mrs Bradley said, ‘There’s a good idea, Mr Hendry. Why don’t you go across to the stables and have a look and Mrs Bisley and I will take a rest.’

Mr Hendry went with obvious reluctance.

‘I don’t know if it’s the money you got or that dainty way of yours, Mrs Bisley, but the men are around you like flies around the jam pot,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘You should be more like our Miss Emily. She got a good hard streak. Pretty as a picture, but not the type of lady to drive the men romantical.’

Emily had been about to enter the room for she had heard their voices, but as she heard the full import of Mrs Bradley’s country logic, she shrank back. Her lips trembled. How she longed to be home again with dear Mama and Papa and dear Miss Cudlipp. How she longed to be fussed over and petted.

As she moved away, she heard Mrs Bradley say, ‘As to this here slipper, landlord says it’s hanging where leather should hang. Where might that be, do you reckon?’

Emily went on down the stairs, turning the problem of the slipper over in her mind to stop her from thinking about anything else. She went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked Hannah.

‘I’ve made some broth from a bit of scrag end hanging in the larder. Thank goodness, the larder is well stocked with meat. I shall prepare a bowl of it for you to take through to Mrs Silvers.’

‘I resent waiting on that lady,’ said Emily haughtily. ‘She looks perfectly well to me.’

‘And to me,’ agreed Hannah.

‘Then why …?’

‘Because I doubt if she usually gets one day’s rest from one year’s end to the other,’ said Hannah. ‘So humour her.’

Emily suddenly jumped to her feet. ‘Leather!’ she exclaimed. ‘Hanging where leather should be!’

She ran through to the larder and looked up into the darkness of the ceiling where joints of meat hung on hooks. She ran back to the kitchen and seized a chair and carried it into the larder and stood on it. And there, high up among the joints, Lizzie’s slipper was hanging.

Emily took a hooked pole and lifted it down, crowing with delight. Hannah came in. ‘I’ve found it!’ said Emily. ‘No work for me tomorrow. I shall spend the whole day in bed. If I only had a novel to read.’

‘Well, go and tell the others it has been found and then come back and get the soup for Mrs Silvers,’ said Hannah.

Emily’s loud announcement that she had found the slipper received a lukewarm reception, the others having become thoroughly tired of looking for it.

She returned to the kitchen and picked up the tray that Hannah had prepared and took it into Mrs Silvers. ‘Just set it down on the table beside the bed,’ said Mrs Silvers faintly. Emily did as she was bid and then her eyes fell on a small pile of books on the window-seat. ‘Books,’ she cried in delight. ‘Are there any novels among them?’

‘I think so,’ said Mrs Silvers. ‘Guests leave books from time to time.’

Carrying a candle over to the window-ledge, Emily eagerly studied the titles and then sighed with pleasure. There was a three-volume novel entitled The Castle of Doom. She looked inside the volume. The steel engravings were about the most lurid she had ever seen. ‘May I borrow these?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ said Mrs Silvers, now sitting up in bed and slurping soup.

Clasping the precious books to her bosom, Emily left the room and ran up the stairs. Half-way on the stairs, she met Lord Harley, who was coming down. She glanced at him and then the full memory of that sensuous dream sent a tide of hot embarrassment flooding through her body. She gave an odd ducking motion of her head, darted past him, and on up to her room.

Lord Harley tried to put her out of his mind. He should never have contemplated marrying one so young in the first place. In the coffee room, the coachman and the guard were once more at loggerheads. They were drinking dog’s nose, a wicked drink consisting of beer laced with gin, damned in London as a ‘whore’s drink’, even in the Coal Hole Inn in the Strand, which was famous for the concoction. The coachman and the guard tried to fight each other, but both were so very drunk that all they managed to do was swipe the air in the general direction of each other. Resisting a temptation to knock their heads together, Lord Harley went out into the storm and across to the stables to see that the horses were being cared for. They were only coaching horses and had nothing to do with him, and yet it was part of his upbringing to see that the horses were warm and well fed before going to bed.

Lizzie and Mr Fletcher had retreated to a cold corner of the taproom, away from the fighting in the coffee room. ‘You must be very careful,’ said Lizzie quietly. ‘Captain Seaton tried to kill you.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, very sure. Miss Pym seized that tray and the bullet hit it instead of you. I wish this storm would end so that we could get away and be safe.’

He took her cold hands in his. Hannah Pym peered round the door. She saw them sitting holding hands and shut the taproom door quietly and then stood with her back against it. Things were progressing nicely and she did not want anyone to go in and spoil the budding romance.

‘When you say you wish we could get away,’ said Mr Fletcher in a voice that trembled slightly, ‘I could find it in my heart to wish you meant you and me … together.’

Lizzie blushed and hung her head. ‘I cannot press my suit,’ said Mr Fletcher, ‘for I have only a very little money and everyone would say I was pursuing you for yours.’

‘No one who knows you could think that,’ said Lizzie shyly. He tightened his grip on her hands.

‘Oh, my poor heart,’ said Mr Fletcher desperately. ‘I do so awfully want to kiss you.’

‘Then kiss her, you fool!’ muttered Hannah, who was listening outside the door. She saw Mr Hendry approaching and held up her hand. ‘You cannot go in there, Mr Hendry. I have just washed the floor.’

‘But I thought I saw Mrs Bisley go in there with Mr Fletcher.’

‘No, you are mistaken,’ said Hannah, a militant gleam in her eye.

Inside the taproom, Mr Fletcher closed his eyes and leaned towards Lizzie. His first kiss fell on the side of her mouth, his second on her nose, until, with a shy little laugh, she put her hands on either side of his face and guided his lips to her own.

As soon as Mr Hendry had retreated, Hannah pressed her ear to the door panels. Silence. Beautiful silence, thought Hannah with satisfaction.