Lord Harley was thinking, if this is the effect she has on me when I simply hold her lightly at the waist, what would it be like if I kissed her now? I have kissed her before, but I would like to find out what it would be like if she kissed me back willingly. The more sensible side of his mind chided him for his folly. He was too old and experienced to ally himself to nothing more than a pretty face.
He fairly rushed her along until they caught up with the others, who were standing admiring giant icicles hanging from a roof. As they moved on again, Lord Harley neatly moved alongside Hannah. Mr Fletcher turned to take Lizzie’s arm again but found to his chagrin that Mr Hendry had been there before him. He offered his arm to Emily and both of them walked along in a disappointed silence.
After some time, Hannah suggested they turn back. The sun had gone in and the sky was turning grey again.
As they entered the inn courtyard, Emily, smarting at the way Lord Harley was ignoring her completely, dropped Mr Fletcher’s arm and bent down and scooped up a handful of snow.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Mr Fletcher.
‘Watch!’ said Emily gleefully.
Lord Harley was nearly at the door of the inn. Emily made a snowball and threw it with all her force. It caught him on the back of the neck. He swung about and saw Emily laughing at him.
‘Minx,’ he said, beginning to laugh himself. He made a snowball and flung it back at her.
‘Haven’t done this since I was in petticoats,’ said the coachman gleefully. He made a snowball and threw it at the guard.
Soon they were all indulging in a snow fight, shouting and laughing like children. Everyone was throwing snowballs. Hannah Pym threw snowballs overarm like a cricket bowler and Lizzie was shying the smallest snowballs anyone had ever seen.
And then Mr Fletcher let out a cry and put his hand to his head and collapsed on the snow, blood streaming down his face. Lizzie screamed and ran to him.
Lord Harley pushed her gently aside and loosened the lawyer’s neckcloth and felt his pulse. He then looked on the ground near where Mr Fletcher had fallen. There was a large snowball with a piece of something sticking out of it. Lord Harley examined it carefully and then his face grew grim.
‘I told you, you churl,’ he said, staring at the captain, ‘what I would do to you if you did not leave Mr Fletcher alone.’
‘What are you talking about?’ roared the captain. ‘I didn’t go near him.’
‘You didn’t need to,’ said Lord Harley. ‘You put a large jagged stone inside a snowball and threw it at him.’
‘That’s a damned lie!’ yelled the captain. ‘You’re persecuting me. You all hate me.’
And to everyone’s consternation, he sat down in the snow and began to cry.
‘Help me in with Mr Fletcher,’ commanded Lord Harley in tones of disgust. Mr Burridge and Lord Harley carried the slight body of the lawyer between them. Lizzie followed them up the stairs and insisted on staying with Mr Fletcher until a doctor could be found.
Hannah entered the bedroom quietly half an hour later. Mr Fletcher had recovered consciousness. Lizzie was sitting beside the bed, holding his hand.
‘I would like to ask the pair of you if you plan to wed,’ said Hannah.
Mr Fletcher made a feeble noise of protest, for he still had fears of looking like a fortune hunter, but Lizzie said defiantly, ‘Yes.’
‘I wish you both all happiness,’ said Hannah, ‘but I beg you, Mrs Bisley, to make an announcement of your engagement at dinner. Once Captain Seaton realizes all hope has gone, then he will trouble Mr Fletcher no further.’
‘I will do it,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘Where is the captain now?’
‘Down below with Lord Harley, still protesting his innocence. Did you notice that great bruise on his chin this morning?’
‘Yes,’ said Lizzie. ‘I wonder what happened?’
Hannah was about to say she was sure Lord Harley had punched the captain, but then decided against it. Lizzie was too tender-hearted and might rush to the captain’s side and ruin everything.
‘I think he fell over when he was drunk,’ lied Hannah. ‘Don’t forget to make that announcement at dinner.’
The doctor arrived just after she had left and advised Mr Fletcher to stay in bed, after bandaging his head.
The rest of the party assembled around the dinner-table. Lizzie got to her feet and, in a trembling voice and without looking at Captain Seaton, announced her engagement to Mr Fletcher. No one knew what to say, for it was hard to offer hearty felicitations when the rejected lover was seated at the table. Mrs Bradley pressed Lizzie’s hand and said, ‘Well done, m’dear,’ and everyone else murmured some sort of congratulations, except the captain, who glowered into his wine. It began as a silent meal, for everyone was thinking about Captain Seaton at the same time as they tried to pretend he wasn’t there. The captain was indulging in what appeared to be a massive fit of the sulks. Emily found herself wishing the staff had not turned up, so that they could all be back in the friendlier atmosphere of the kitchen.
But the coachman, Old Tom, could not bear a silence for long. ‘You ladies and gents may think this here storm is a great occurrence, but us coachees is used to disaster and adventure. Yus. Why, I mind when I had a fight on me hands. I’ll tell you how it happened. ’Twas when I was driving the Exeter Defiance, the coach what belonged to Mrs Anne Nelson. That lady owned several of the Flying Machines, but it was me what took the Defiance on the Exeter run. Well, as you know, them toll-keepers is supposed to pay over the tolls they collect every Monday morning. But this here toll-keeper at Ilchester was a gambler, and so he had been using the money to play dice. So the trustees told their clerks to serve notice to the guards o’ the coaches not to pay the toll-keeper any money. Now that there toll-keeper, he was desperate for the money, and so to make sure he got it, he closed the toll-gates afore the coach arrived. As we was coming up to Ilchester toll, Jim Feathers here, he blew on the yard o’ tin, but them gates stayed tight shut. Well, what was we to do? Coach had to get through. So we paid this robber the three shillings. But he was in league with the other toll-keeper further on, so he got a pony and trap and rode ahead o’ us and told that there toll-keeper to bar the gates there.
‘I wasn’t having none o’ that. Enough’s enough. I got me tool-box and climbed down to chisel the bolt off the gate and them two toll-keepers come at me, one o’ them swinging a gurt pike. Jim Feathers here, he come up with the gun and smacks the one wi’ the pike over the head with the butt and I land me bunch o’ fives in the face o’ the other. There ain’t no stopping the Exeter coach.’
‘It is stopped well and truly now,’ pointed out Hannah. The coachman paid her no heed.
‘I never race my cattle,’ he said, ‘but there’s some can’t resist temptation. Now Harry Lyndon was the best coachman in the whole length and breadth o’ Engand and he was on the Portsmouth run and famous for being sure and steady. But one day at the Wheatsheaf at Liphook, disaster fell. He’d been a calm man all his life and was getting on in years, but just as he was changing his horses, two coaches passed him, one, the Hero, and the other, the Regulator, and as they passed him, one coachman cocked a snook at him and the other stuck out his tongue. Now Harry had a fresh team of thoroughbreds hitched up and he was determined to show these cheeky young fellers, as he called them, a thing or two. So he sprung ’em. He passed the Regulator as it was going up Rake Hill. Now he had t’other rival in his sights and he sprung them horses more than ever until a poor soldier on the roof was being thrown up and down like a shuttlecock on a battledore. There was a lady inside the coach screaming like a banshee, but Harry could see nothing but his rival and he drew alongside o’ him at the top of Sheet Hill.