She fell into an uneasy sleep and awoke as Hannah Pym climbed into bed beside her.
‘I apologized to Mr Fletcher,’ said Emily sleepily, ‘and gave him the wig as a present, which he accepted most graciously.’
‘I knew you would,’ said Hannah.
‘Why?’ asked Emily.
‘Because I have discovered this day,’ said Hannah firmly, ‘that although you have been badly spoilt, underneath it all, you are a young lady of resource, courage and humour.’
‘Really!’ said Emily, experiencing a glow of pleasure.
There was no reply. She twisted about and looked at her sleeping partner, but it seemed that Hannah Pym had fallen neatly and quietly asleep.
Along the corridor, Mrs Bradley and Lizzie lay side by side in a big four-poster bed.
Lizzie turned on her side and Mrs Bradley’s voice sounded in the darkness. ‘Reckon you’ve made a mistake with that captain, m’dear.’
Lizzie sighed and said faintly, ‘I cannot do anything now. I gave my word. Oh, Mrs Bradley, I wish it would snow and snow and snow so that we might never reach Exeter.’
‘All it takes is a little courage,’ said Mrs Bradley comfortably. ‘Now, me, I ain’t got none, but if I was you, I would ask that Miss Pym for help. Her could take on a whole battalion of Napoleon’s soldiers.’
‘My late husband,’ said Lizzie, ‘was a strong man. He made all the decisions for me. I never even had a thought of my own. But you know how it is. My family were so proud of him. Everyone kept telling me I was lucky to have such a fine upstanding man as a husband, and so … and so …’
‘You felt it downright wicked to think anything else,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Children might ha’ helped.’
‘Oh, but I have two sons, twins, of twenty-two. They work in the business. I mean, they are both lawyers. Everyone says they are the image of their father.’
‘Not comfortable for you. What did they think of the captain?’
‘They do not know,’ said Lizzie in a low voice. ‘Captain Seaton said it was no concern of theirs and that they might be angry at the idea of me remarrying so soon. He arranged everything and I just went along with it.’
‘You got a tidy bit o’ money then?’ asked Mrs Bradley.
‘Yes, I am fortunate in being comfortably off.’
‘How’s that come about? Thought your dear departed would ha’ left most to the sons.’
‘There were marriage settlements. I have my own money.’
‘And that’s what the captain wants, mark my words. Not that they all wants money. That Mr Fletcher would take you if you hadn’t a penny.’
‘Do you think so?’ asked Lizzie, her voice lightening. ‘I feel so comfortable with him. He asks me what I think. Most strange in a man.’
‘There’s still some good’uns around. Now go to sleep, there’s a love.’
Lizzie fell almost immediately into a deep sleep and dreamt she was travelling on the stage on a sunny warm day with Mr Fletcher sitting beside her, holding her hand.
In the Red Room, Mr Fletcher cautiously raised himself on one elbow. ‘Are you awake, my lord?’
‘Only just,’ said Lord Harley amiably.
‘I think it was noble and generous of Miss Freemantle to present me with that fine wig.’
‘It was the least she could do,’ said Lord Harley cynically.
‘No, I think not. She has obviously led a pampered life and she is so very beautiful, and in my experience beautiful young ladies think their beauty is enough to offer the world. And yet she made her apology with such sincerity and grace.’
‘Mark my words, Miss Freemantle was still shocked from her ordeal in the storm. She will no doubt be restored to her spoilt self on the morrow. I wish this storm would blow itself out.’
‘I think there is a change in the weather coming. I can feel it in my left leg,’ said Mr Fletcher.
‘Let’s hope your left leg is right. What a day. Running after that stupid female and then having to dislodge Mrs Bradley from the bath.’
‘Why, what happened?’
Lord Harley told him and then began to laugh, not over Mrs Bradley’s predicament but becaue he remembered how infectious Emily’s laughter had been outside the kitchen door.
Mr Fletcher began to laugh as well, until a thud from the next room and the captain’s voice roaring, ‘Quiet!’ effectively reminded him of his worries and his laughter died.
‘There is something nasty about that fellow,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Watch how you go.’
‘I shall. I shall indeed. What a gross individual.’
‘And I suspect a cruel one,’ said Lord Harley slowly. ‘Do not let yourself be alone with him.’
‘If he tries anything, I shall trounce him,’ said Mr Fletcher.
‘You cannot trounce a knife in the back,’ said Lord Harley.
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.’