Читать книгу Talk of the Ton - Mary Nichols - Страница 9

The girl, sitting on a rickety chair in the potting shed watching the young man lovingly tend a delicate plant he had been nurturing, wore a pair of breeches tucked into riding boots, a cream-coloured shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a sackcloth apron. Her hair was tucked up beneath a scarf. The clothes were old and a little shabby, but that did not disguise the fact that they were well cut and had once, many years before, been the height of male fashion.

‘I wish I could go plant collecting,’ she said wistfully, watching his deft fingers. They were blunt and dirty, but she had become so used to that she didn’t even notice, any more than she was aware of her incongruous garb and the fact that her own fingernails were far from pristine.

‘So you can. The heath is covered in plants, if you look carefully.’

‘No, I meant exploring in foreign countries, climbing the Himalayas or trekking through China or riding a donkey in Mexico.’ Her interest in botany had been fired when, as a small girl, she had watched Joshua Pershore, their gardener, working in their garden. ‘Plants are like people,’ he had told her. ‘Look after them and they will reward you with years of pleasure.’

She had asked him if she could have a patch of garden all to herself and he had shown her how to prepare the soil and sow seed and divide plants to make more. She had watched her garden grow, excitedly noting the first snowdrop, the delicate petals of roses and the way the bulbs died down each year and sprang up anew the next spring. And when she discovered that Toby also shared her passion, it forged a bond between them that sometimes carried them into the realms of fantasy.

She dreamed of emulating the great plant hunters like Sir Joseph Banks, who had travelled with Captain Cook and transformed the Royal gardens at Kew from a pleasure ground to a great botanic garden with specimens from all over the world. And there were others whose exploits and discoveries had fired her interest, men like Francis Masson, and David Nelson, who had been both with Captain Cook when he was murdered by hostile natives and later on the ill-fated voyage with Captain Bligh when he had been cast adrift with him in an open boat when the crew mutinied. That feat had made sure the captain’s name went down in history, though David Nelson lost all his specimens.

‘You’ll have to marry a rich husband and then perhaps he will take you.’

‘I’d rather go with you.’

‘Then you will have a long wait. It takes a great deal of blunt and that’s something I haven’t got. I need a rich sponsor who will pay for everything, and where I am going to find one of those I do not know.’

‘Then why talk about it?’

‘I can dream, can’t I?’

‘Yes, and so can I.’

He looked closely at her. She was unaware how beautiful she was with hair the colour of a glossy ripe chestnut and brown eyes set in a classically oval face. She had a small straight nose and a determined chin and he loved her. Not that he could ever tell her that; she was far and away above him and he, the son of the estate steward, did not aspire to such dizzy heights, for all the freedom his father was allowed in running the Harley domain. ‘Is that all you dream of? Don’t you think of things like come-outs and balls and being courted by all the young eligibles in town?’

‘Mama is always talking about giving me a Season,’ she said.

‘I have contrived to delay it until now, but Livvy turned seventeen last month and she says she will bring us both out together and I suppose I will have to agree for Livvy’s sake. According to Mama, it is not the thing for the younger sister to marry before the elder, everyone will think there is something wrong with me.’

‘So there is if you are averse to balls and tea parties and being sought after by all the beaux of the ton.’

‘I want to do something practical, something I’ll be famous for. The woman who discovered a new plant, hitherto unknown to man.’

‘Pigs might fly!’

‘That’s what you dream of and I know you mean to try and make it come true.’

‘I’m a man.’

There was no answer to that and she stood up and brushed crumbs of soil from her breeches. ‘I must go. My uncle James is coming on a visit and I have to change.’

‘The Duke of Belfont,’ he murmured. ‘I should think he’d have a fit if he could see you now.’

She laughed and hurried out of the building and along the path that led back to the house.

It was all very well to dress eccentrically in the confines of the grounds around Beechgrove—breeches and a shirt were far the most practical attire for gardening—but she knew that it was hardly the apparel for a nineteen-year-old brought up in polite society. Her mother had long since given up remonstrating with her, asking only that she never appeared in public thus dressed and certainly not before her uncle, the Duke of Belfont. Uncle James never forgot his rank and took his role as guardian very seriously. To Beth and her sister he was a stern disciplinarian, though Mama said that was only his way and he wanted to do his best for his nieces. And today he was coming to make the arrangements for that dreaded come-out.

‘Harri, can that be Elizabeth?’ James was standing in the back parlour of Beechgrove, which looked out on the terrace from which steps led to well-manicured lawns and flower beds bright with the yellow of daffodils and the amber of gilly flowers. Beyond that, though it was hidden by a shrubbery, he knew there was a walled kitchen garden and a row of greenhouses and outhouses. It was from that direction the figure on the path had come.

Harriet left the tea tray over which she had been presiding to come and stand beside him. ‘Yes, I am afraid it is.’

‘Good God!’ He watched as Beth strode down the path, head thrown back, arms swinging; if it were not for her feminine curves, he would have taken her for a boy.

‘She likes to help in the garden and that is by far the most practical mode of dress. She is decently covered and can move about without snagging her garments on thorns and suchlike. We should be for ever mending if—’

He turned towards her. ‘Are you telling me you allow it?’

‘Yes, so long as she stays in the garden and we have no guests.’

‘Then it is as well I am here. The sooner she is installed at Belfont House and taught how a young lady should dress and behave the better.’

‘James, she knows perfectly well how to dress and behave. You are being unkind to her.’

‘And how do you suppose a prospective husband would react if he could see her now?’

‘But there is no one here, certainly not a prospective husband.’

He sighed and returned to his seat. ‘Oh, Harri, why did you not marry again? You would never have had this trouble if there had been a man in the house.’

‘I am not having trouble, James. You are making a mountain out of a molehill. And I did not wish to marry again. And as for a man, why would I want one of those, when I have you?’

He laughed suddenly; it lightened his rather stern features and made him look more like the boy she had grown up with, before he had unexpectedly been forced to take on the role of Duke and head of the family. ‘And what about Olivia? Is she dressed like the potboy?’

‘No. She has gone riding dressed in her green habit.’ She smiled. ‘Very decorous it is too.’

He accepted a cup of tea from her. ‘Then what about bringing them to Belfont House for the Season? You used to come every year before I married Sophie.’

‘You needed me to act as your hostess, but, now you have Sophie, you don’t.’

‘Come as our guests. Sophie will enjoy your company and we can give the girls a Season to remember.’

‘Thank you, James. Let’s put it to the girls over dinner.’

Put it to the girls, he mused, as if they would be allowed to veto the suggestion. He decided not to comment.

When the two girls appeared at the dining table, they were dressed decorously. Beth’s gown was in deep rose-pink silk with a boat-shaped neck, which emphasised her smooth shoulders and long neck. The waistline, in its natural place, was encircled by a wide ribbon. Her hair had been brushed and coiled on top of her head. Livvy was in a blue gown that almost exactly mirrored the colour of her eyes. It was trimmed with quantities of matching lace. They curtsied to their uncle. ‘Good evening, Uncle,’ they said together.

He bowed slightly. ‘Elizabeth. Olivia.’

‘Oh, we are in for a scolding,’ Livvy said, as they took their places at the table and the maids moved forward to serve them. ‘His Grace is being formal.’

In spite of himself, James laughed. ‘Not at all, but you are both young ladies now and must be treated as such.’

‘Does that mean we are to be given more freedom?’ Beth asked.

‘What can you mean, more freedom?’ he queried. ‘You are not confined, are you? You may come and go within reason. I go so far as to say you are allowed far more licence that most young ladies in your position.’

Beth realised that he had seen her coming back to the house, in spite of the care she had taken to come in by the kitchen door and take the back stairs to her room. It probably meant her mother had been scolded about it and she was sorry for that. How she hated the unnatural manners of society, which dictated how she should behave. If she had been a boy…She smiled to herself; she would be Sir Something-or-other Harley, baronet and master of Beechgrove.

It was a large solid house, built a century before in rich red brick. She loved it, she loved everything about it, its nooks and crannies, the huge kitchens, the gleaming windows, the mix of old and new furniture, the surrounding gardens, particularly the gardens, which people came from miles to see and admire. Beth had jokingly suggested they ought to charge them for the privilege, but her mother had been horrified at the very idea. It was their duty to be hospitable, she said.

‘You are smiling,’ her uncle commented, while her mother picked at the fish on her plate. ‘Will you share the joke with us?’

‘I was thinking what it must be like to be a boy.’

It was the wrong thing to say because it reminded him of what he had seen. ‘Elizabeth, you are not a boy, you are a young lady, and wearing male clothes will not make you one. Where did you get them from?’

‘I found them in the attic. I believe they belonged to Papa before he went into the army. He must have been quite slender then, for they fit me well enough.’

That was what she reminded him of when he had seen her in the garden: her long-dead father. She had the same proud walk; had Harriet noticed it too? Was that why she had allowed it, to bring back a little of the husband she had lost or perhaps conjure up the son she had never had but had always longed for? ‘I think it is time you had a Season and learned what is expected of you,’ he said. ‘You, too, Livvy. Naturally, I shall sponsor you both.’

‘Oh, that means every impoverished bachelor in town will be all over us,’ Beth said. ‘The famous Harley girls, nieces to the Duke of Belfont, on the marriage mart, the objects of every rake, gambler and spotty young shaver who fancies his chances. It will be hateful.’

‘You must have a very poor opinion of me if you think I will allow that to happen,’ he said. ‘You will be protected from the undesirable—’

‘And from anyone in the least bit interesting too.’

‘Not at all. Credit me with a little compassion.’

‘Beth, please don’t be difficult,’ Harriet said.

‘I am sorry, Mama, but you know how I feel about the false way husbands are chosen. I want to be in love with the man I marry. Who he is, and how rich he is, is unimportant.’

‘You will not be forced into marriage, Beth,’ James said gently. ‘The idea is simply to introduce you to society and to allow you to choose for yourself. Your mother married for love, I married for love—I do not see why you should not do so too.’

‘Within reason,’ she added, suddenly thinking of Toby. He was so easy with her, but then they had known each other since they were tiny children, had as good as grown up together, and the difference in their status was unimportant.

‘Within reason,’ James concurred, as if he could guess her thoughts.

‘I should like to be married,’ Livvy put in. ‘He must be handsome, of course, and not too old, but rich enough to have extensive stables. Horses must be his passion.’

James laughed. ‘Then we shall have to see if we can suit you. But there is no hurry, you are still very young.’

‘And Beth must be accommodated first.’

‘That would be best,’ their mother put in.

‘Then I do hope you are not going to be difficult, Beth,’ Livvy said, turning to her sister. ‘I do not want to let my perfect partner slip through my fingers because you are prevaricating.’

Beth longed to suggest that they should go without her and leave her to her gardening and her dreams of becoming a famous botanist, but she knew that would upset her mother, so she said nothing. They spent some time discussing the arrangements, when they would travel and whom they would take. Jeannette, her mother’s maid, would accompany them, of course, and Miss Andover, known as Nan, who had been the girls’ governess but had agreed to take over the role of maid to the girls. They no longer needed a teacher and she had decided it was better than being pensioned off. Their coachman would drive them and Edward Grimble, the young groom, would ride Livvy’s mare, Zephyr. She positively refused to go without her horse and her mama would not let her ride her all the way to London herself.

‘What about you?’ James asked Beth. ‘Do you wish to have your mount brought to town?’

Beth wished she could suggest Toby rode her horse to London, then at least she would have some sensible company, someone to talk to. They might even go to Kew Gardens together, but she knew it was too much to ask. He would not leave his work in the garden; nature could not wait on her whims. ‘I will be quite content with a hired hack, Uncle, thank you,’ she said. Wealthy as he was, and however extensive the stables at Dersingham Park, his country seat, he did not keep many horses in London.

‘Then shall we say ten days from now? You will be there right at the beginning of the season.’

‘And shall we be invited to the coronation?’ Livvy asked.

‘Oh, Livvy, surely you do not want to attend that,’ Beth put in. ‘All that dressing up in the heat of the summer and standing about for hours and hours and for what?’

‘To see the King and Queen crowned, of course.’

‘If her Majesty is allowed anywhere near the ceremony,’ Beth added. She held no brief for the Royal family, what with the King’s numerous affairs and his efforts to discredit his wife so that he could divorce her and not have her acknowledged as Queen. He had failed in that and Caroline was still the Queen, though King George refused to have anything to do with her and she lived in a separate establishment. Now the question was, would she be crowned with him?

‘You will be going, Uncle James, won’t you?’ Livvy queried.

‘I shall have no choice, not only because every aristocrat in the land will be expected to attend, but I am on his Majesty’s staff and involved in the arrangements.’ It was why he had been obliged to leave his country estate earlier than usual to take up residence in London.

‘In that case, why take on the extra responsibility of bringing us out?’ Beth asked.

‘That, my dear Beth, will be a pleasure and a privilege.’

Beth felt she was being propelled willy-nilly into something she knew was going to be a disaster. She would have to pretend to enjoy herself or her mother would be hurt and her uncle annoyed, yet it was not in her nature to be anything but honest; pretending would come hard. And she would be leaving Beechgrove just when everything was coming into growth, all the plants and seedlings being planted out, and the rare specimens that Toby had been nurturing would be showing their worth.

‘But, dearest, they will all still be here at the end of the Season,’ her mother said when she tried to explain how she felt. Harriet had come to her daughter’s room to say goodnight as she did every night and was sitting on the bed beside Beth. It was a precious time when they talked companionably together and problems were ironed out. ‘It is not as if you are going away for ever. Even if you find a husband, you will still come home to be married from here.’

‘I cannot imagine finding a husband among the fops who lounge about town ogling the young ladies being paraded like cattle at market.’

‘They are not all like that. I met your papa during my come-out Season and he was certainly not a fop. He was handsome and intelligent and not at all affected.’

‘You were lucky.’

‘Who is not to say you will not be lucky too? And if you meet no one to your liking, then there is no harm done. You will be out and that will make it easier for you to go out and about when you spend another Season in town.’

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘Tomorrow, we shall go into Sudbury and have Madame Bonchance make up travelling clothes for us. The rest of our shopping can wait until we arrive. The Duke has offered to pay our bills. Is that not kind of him?’

‘Why? We are not poor relations, are we?’

‘No, not exactly poor, dearest, but nothing like as rich as your uncle. Not rich at all, if truth be told. I have never bothered you with things like that before, but now I must confess that the money your dear father left us has been sadly depleted by the needs of the estate and his investments have not performed as well as they might. We need to be frugal.’

‘Does that mean we have no dowries?’

‘Oh, nothing as bad as that. James will provide your dowries, that has always been understood.’

‘Would it not be better to forgo the come-out and let me earn a living?’

‘Good heavens, no! Whatever made you think that? It would not look well at all, especially for your uncle. He would not have it said he was too close to look after his sister’s children.’ She paused suddenly, a small frown creasing her brow. ‘Has Toby been filling your head with nonsense about working for a living?’

‘No, not at all, Toby’s not like that. He has always behaved properly. But, Mama, he has to work, so does his father and all the servants and they seem content enough.’

‘I doubt it. And it is not the same thing at all. They were born to it, they know that is their lot in life, but you never were. I am beginning to wish I had said nothing to you…’

Beth flung her arms about her mother. ‘Oh, Mama, we have always been able to talk to each other and I would hate it if you felt you could not tell me things.’

Harriet kissed her daughter’s brow. ‘Then let us be thankful for what we have. And, Beth, there is no need to say anything to Livvy…’

‘No, of course not. Our secret.’

Her mother left and Beth blew out the candle, but she did not fall asleep immediately. She could not stop thinking about her mother’s confession and wondering how much of a difference it would make to her life. Would she have to accept an offer of marriage simply because it came from a rich man who could maintain Beechgrove in the old way? And if she did not, did it mean that some of the servants would have to be let go? Mama had not replaced the last chambermaid who had left to be married. Would Toby have to go? Her private dream, the one in which she offered to finance his plant-hunting trip on condition he took her with him, was no more than that: a pipe dream. It made her want to cry, not only for herself but for Toby too. Would a rich husband serve the same purpose? She thumped her pillow angrily. The time had not yet come when she would stoop to that.

The Duke, after riding round the estate with Mr Kendall, left about midday and in the afternoon the girls accompanied their mother to the dressmaker in Sudbury, their nearest town, and bespoke travelling gowns and accessories for their journey to London, which they were promised would be ready in good time.

It was the following day before Beth was able to escape to the potting shed where she expected to find Toby at work. He was nowhere to be seen.

She was about to turn back to the house, but changed her mind. She had come to talk to Toby about the latest developments in her life and she did not want to go back without unburdening herself to him. She set off for Orchard House, where he lived with his father on the edge of the estate.

‘Is Toby here?’ she asked when Mr Kendall answered the door himself. He was a well-educated man who had been estate manager since before her father died, and Beth knew her mother set great store by him, trusting him implicitly. In his turn, he worked assiduously to keep the wheels of Beechgrove turning. Beth had assumed it was an easy task, but, since her mother’s revelation, she knew he must be finding it increasingly difficult. Poor Toby would never set off on his travels unless a miracle happened. She was as sad for him as she was for herself having to go through the charade of choosing a husband.

‘No, Miss Elizabeth, he’s gone.’

It was then she noticed the bleakness in his grey eyes and the downturned mouth. What had happened? ‘What do you mean, gone?’ she asked.

‘Left. Gone on his travels. To Calcutta.’ It was obviously not something that pleased the man who faced her.

‘But how could he? The day before yesterday he was saying he did not know how he was ever going to manage it. What has happened?’

‘Miss Elizabeth, I think you should go home.’

‘I will when you have told me what this is all about. How can he have packed up and gone at a moment’s notice? There are any number of things waiting to be done in the garden and glasshouse, he surely would not have left them to someone else.’

‘He has. Pershore’s lad has been given instructions.’

‘I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t go like that, certainly not without saying goodbye to me. And his instruction would have been to me. He would trust me to follow them implicitly.’

‘It’s all for the best,’ he said wearily.

It was then that enlightenment dawned. Toby had been banished; it was not his choice. ‘Who sent him away?’ she demanded. ‘And why?’

‘Go home, Miss Elizabeth, please. It is not fitting you should be here. Put your questions to your mama.’

What did her mother know of it? A little seed of suspicion began to grow in her mind. ‘I will. Thank you, Mr Kendall.’

She could hardly wait to see her mother and dashed up to her boudoir and flung open the door. Her mother looked up from the letter she was writing to confront a daughter whose dark eyes blazed angrily. ‘Beth, what is the matter?’

‘Toby has gone.’

‘Yes, I know. He has always wanted to travel to find new plants and the opportunity arose—’

‘Very suddenly it seems,’ Beth interrupted her. ‘So suddenly he was not even allowed to say goodbye to me.’

‘It was for the best.’

‘That’s what Mr Kendall said. I want to know what he meant.’

‘Sit down, Beth, and calm yourself.’

Beth took a deep breath and sank on to a stool close to her mother’s chair. ‘I am calm.’

Harriet smiled. Calm her daughter certainly was not, but she was waiting for an answer and deserved one. ‘You know Toby has always said he wanted to go plant hunting?’

‘Of course I do, I was the one who told you that.’

‘Well, he has been given the opportunity to go and it was too good to miss.’

‘But, Mama, he’s gone without me.’

‘Of course he has. You did not seriously think you would be allowed to go with him, did you?’

Beth stared at her. ‘He’s been sent away from me, hasn’t he? I wondered what you meant when you asked me if he had been filling my head with ideas about working for a living. You were afraid I might…What exactly did you think I might do, Mama? Elope with him?’

‘No, of course not,’ Harriet answered so swiftly that Beth knew that she had unwittingly hit the nail on the head. ‘But you must admit you have been seeing a lot of him and I believe it is because of him you are so against having a come-out…’

‘That has nothing to do with Toby.’

‘Nevertheless, a little time apart might be beneficial…’

‘And what did Toby say?’

‘He understood.’

‘The traitor!’

Harriet smiled. ‘No, he was being sensible.’

‘Why didn’t he say goodbye to me? Did you forbid him to?’

‘No, that was his decision. No doubt he will write frequently to his father and Mr Kendall will give us all his news.’

Beth’s thoughts suddenly took a sharp turn. ‘But where did the money come from? After what you said…’

‘Beth…’

‘Uncle James! The Duke of Belfont is rich enough to buy people.’ She laughed harshly, a sound that made her mother wince. ‘It was all so unnecessary. I did not need separating from Toby. There was nothing untoward going on, or likely to. I have known him since I was a tiny child and he is like a brother to me. Did you not understand that?’

Harriett sighed, knowing that she had been wrong to confide her unease to James. Her brother had done what he thought was best, but they had made a real mull of it between them. ‘I’m sorry, Beth, truly sorry, but you must realise—’

‘Oh, I realise, Mama. I realise I am to have no say in how I live my life at all.’ And with that she fled to her own room, where she flung herself down on her bed and sobbed.

If she could not make her mother understand, who could she talk to? There was only one other person and that was Toby. But Toby had gone, left her without a word. Why had he been so easily persuaded? Oh, she knew that he had always wanted to go plant hunting and the temptation to accept whatever it was he had been offered must have been very great and she could hardly blame him for it. But why go without explaining himself to her or even saying goodbye? That was what hurt most, the abruptness of it. Uncle James must have been very persuasive. Had he given Toby to understand she knew about the offer beforehand? Did Toby think she did not care?

If it had been done openly, she could have been part of the planning, the deciding what luggage and equipment to take, the boxes and barrels for keeping plants in, the beeswax and special paper to preserve the seeds and prevent them going mouldy in the dampness of the ship’s hold on the journey home. They would have talked about the ship he would sail on, the area he would explore, the kind of plants he hoped to find, the journal he would keep and the reports he would send regularly to her. And he would have told her exactly what to do to look after the plants he had left behind. She would have waved him goodbye with a cheerful heart if that had been the case.

How far had he got? He wouldn’t have sailed yet because it would be necessary to stop off in London and equip himself and book a berth on a ship—no doubt an East Indiaman, which regularly made the journey back and forth between England and India. Could she catch him before he sailed, just to speak to him, to tell him that, if he had been banished, she had had no prior knowledge of it, to ask for instructions and say goodbye? She imagined his face lighting up at the sight of her. He would take her hand and lead her on board to show her his quarters and the equipment he had brought with him, and when the ship sailed she would return to the quay and watch until the vessel was out of sight.

The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed. All she had to do was find out the name of the ship, take the stage to London and hire a cab to take her to the docks and there he would be! She knew she could not go with him, but it would be some compensation to be there when he set out and reassure him that she did not condone what her mother and uncle had done. Her tears dried on her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet and hurried down to the drawing room, where she found the newspaper she had seen her uncle reading after dinner two nights before.

She sat down and quickly scanned it for the shipping news. And there it was. The Princess Charlotte had arrived at the East India docks with a cargo of tea, spices and ornamental objects, and was due to depart again as soon as it had taken export goods, passengers and stores on board. The East India Company prided itself on its fast turnaround. But supposing, when she got there, Toby wasn’t sailing on the Princess Charlotte? What then? It would be a wild goose chase and she would have to turn round and come home. But what an adventure!

She sat, staring at the newsprint until the words danced in front of her eyes. Princess Charlotte sailing on the afternoon of the following day—dare she go? What would her mother say? But it wasn’t as if she was running away or anything like that, she was simply going to see a friend off on a journey, and then she would be back, almost before she was missed. Ought she to take a companion? But who? Miss Andover would treat her like a naughty child and report her to her mother, and none of the servants would agree to go with her for fear of losing their place. It was go alone or not at all.

She folded the paper and replaced it where she found it on the fender where it would undoubtedly be used for lighting the fire next morning, and hurried back to her room where she fetched out her purse and counted out the money she had. Her uncle had given each of the girls five guineas in order to buy fripperies before their trip to London and Beth had not spent hers. She also had the better part of a quarter’s pin money, which her mother had put into her hand at the end of March. It ought to be enough for the coach fare and a little to eat. She would not need an overnight stay because she would be coming straight back; coaches to and from Bury St Edmunds and Norwich called at Sudbury all the time. She smiled suddenly, wondering what her uncle would say when he knew his generosity had inadvertently made her journey possible.

How she managed to behave normally at dinner—which was taken at five o’clock, that being a compromise between town and country hours—she did not know. Afterwards she sat in the drawing room with her mother and Livvy, who was full of what she intended to do and see in London, most of which involved riding in the park, visiting Tattersalls to see the horses and going to the races and what young men they might meet. If anything could make Beth decide to go ahead with her plan, that was it. Once they arrived at Belfont House, there would be no more adventures. As soon as she could, she excused herself, saying she was tired and went up to her room. An early night was called for if she was to be up betimes.

It was a long time before she fell asleep, her mind was whirring with what she meant to do. If it had not been for her uncle sending Toby away in that high-handed fashion and that dreaded Season in London, which she looked upon as the end to all her freedom, she would never have contemplated it. It made her feel a little better about what she was doing, but only a little.

It was the dawn chorus just outside her window that woke her and she silently thanked the birds or she might have overslept and missed the coach. She sat at her escritoire to write a note to her mother, which she left on her pillow, and then dressed quickly in her father’s breeches and a clean shirt. There was also a full-skirted coat with huge flap pockets, years out of date, but she didn’t care about that—it would be safer to travel as a young man. The ensemble was completed with riding boots and a tricorne hat. She fastened her long hair up with combs and pulled the hat down over it. She put her purse containing her money in her coat pocket and opened her bedroom door.

There was no one about. She crept downstairs, aware of every creak of the treads, and the rattling of utensils coming from the kitchen where the scullery maid was beginning her day’s tasks. Carefully she withdrew the bolts on the front door, let herself out and sped down the drive.

It was only a short walk into Sudbury and Beth’s only concern was that no one should see her and recognise her, but, as it was not yet fully light, she thought her disguise would pass muster. She had never been in an inn before, had never travelled on a public coach, not even with an escort, never mind alone, and she was nervous. Pulling herself together and pretending nonchalance, she approached the ticket office and asked for a seat on the next coach to London. It was hardly in her hand when the coach arrived in a flurry of tooting horns, sweating horses and scurrying ostlers. The horses were changed, those passengers who had left their seats for refreshment and those starting their journey in Sudbury were called to their places and they were on their way.

It was only as they left the town behind, that Beth, squashed between a fat lady with a live chicken in a basket on her lap and a countryman in a shovel hat who had not washed in a year, began to appreciate the enormity of what she had done. It had seemed easy enough when she had been in her room at home, nursing a grievance against her mother and uncle, not to mention Toby himself; all she had to do was get on a coach and she would be conveyed to London. But now she was on her way, she was beset by doubts mixed with a good helping of guilt. Had her mother missed her? Had she understood the letter she left behind? Would she be very angry? Would she send someone after her? There would be no reason for that, she decided, considering she had made it clear in her letter that she would be back the following morning.

The other passengers were giving her some strange looks and she shrank back in her seat, wishing she could stop the coach and get off. Would the coachman let her off or would he say that she must go on to the next scheduled stop? She pretended to look out of the window at the hedgerows flashing past and chided herself for her lack of spirit. What was so frightening about travelling by stage coach? People did it all the time.

They rattled on, stopping now and again to change the horses and to put down and pick up new passengers, and just under seven hours after they set out, she was climbing down in the yard of the Spread Eagle in Piccadilly. She was hungry and considered going into the inn and ordering food, but nervousness overcame her again and she decided she could wait until she saw Toby. They would eat together while they talked.

‘Where do I go for a cab?’ she asked an ostler, who was carrying tack across the cobbles.

‘There’s a row of them in the street. Take your pick,’ he said, without stopping. She was inclined to be annoyed by his lack of courtesy, but then remembered she was supposed to be a boy and a young one too, considering her chin was as smooth as silk. She thanked him and went in search of a cab.

Half an hour later she was being deposited at the entrance to the East India docks. The smell of the river dominated everything and beyond the buildings that lined the dock, she could see the tall masts of ships lying at anchor. She walked forward slowly, unsure of herself. The quay was busy; dockers, sailors, passengers, luggage and mountains of stores vied for the available space. One ship was being unloaded, but another was almost ready for departure, judging by the seamen scurrying about on deck. The name on its side was Princess Charlotte. The gangplank had not yet been raised and she hurried to the foot of it, wondering if she dared climb aboard.

She became aware of a group of sailors watching her as she hesitated.

‘Running away to sea?’ one of them asked her suddenly.

‘No. I’m meeting a friend—’ She stopped suddenly because they were laughing.

‘Meeting a friend, eh?’ said the man, moving towards her, making her step back in alarm. ‘Now would that friend be going or coming?’

‘Going. On the Princess Charlotte.’

‘Then watch out you don’t get carried away alonga him. Pretty little boy like you would be welcome…’

She cringed away from him, frightened by their raucous laugh. If only Toby would come. She wondered whether to cut and run, but decided that would make matters worse and stood her ground.

Andrew Melhurst was directing the loading of his luggage from the customs shed on to a large flat wagon. It was extraordinary how much one accumulated in seven years of living abroad. He had pared it down to necessities before leaving, but there was still enough to fill the wagon. It had been dumped on the quay when the ship was unloaded, as if the shipping company, having conveyed it thus far, wanted nothing more to do with it. Too concerned about his grandfather’s health to bother with it right away, he had paid to have it stored in the customs shed and gone home, intending to send others back to fetch it for him.

He had been relieved to discover that old Lord Melhurst had rallied while he had been on the high seas and so he had decided it was safe to return with a couple of estate workers and hire a wagon to oversee the moving of his possessions himself. Besides the usual things like clothes and personal possessions, there were antiquities and stuffed animals and carefully wrapped seeds he had collected in the mountains of the Himalayas, which he hoped to propagate. He had also brought one or two plants, carefully packed in special containers, which he had taken home with him. Leaving them on the docks to be handled by hired help who would not understand the need for care would not have been a good idea.

He noticed the young lad standing at the foot of the gangplank facing a group of seamen because he looked so nervous. A new cabin boy, he surmised, judging by his slight figure and smooth cheeks. Too smooth, he decided, for the rough and tumble of life at sea. Had he been forced into it by an impatient parent in order to make a man of him, or was he running away to sea and thinking better of it? His clothes were very loose fitting and years out of date, but they had once been of fine quality. He was from a good family then, fallen on hard times perhaps. The seamen were obviously intending to have some sport with him and he was looking decidedly nervous.

He strolled over to them. ‘Let the young shaver be.’ It was said quietly, but with such authority he was instantly obeyed. ‘Go about your business.’

The men strolled away laughing, and the boy turned towards him. ‘Thank you, sir.’ The voice was high-pitched, not yet broken. ‘Am I too late to go on board?’

‘Not while the gangplank is still in place, though you need to be quick. You will probably get a roasting for being late.’

‘Roasting?’ she said, remembering to deepen her voice. ‘You mistake me, sir. I wish to speak to someone on board before the ship sails.’

‘Oh, I see.’ He looked closely at the oval face, the troubled brown eyes fringed by long silky lashes, the slight heaving of the bosom as he looked upwards. By God! It was not a he but a she and a very beautiful one. How could he have ever imagined that figure belonged to a cabin boy? Running after a lover, was she? Was the lover intent on escaping?

‘Is it permissible to go up there?’ She nodded in the direction of the deck.

‘I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,’ he said, thinking about the crew who, like the sailors she had already encountered, would undoubtedly have some fun with her, not to mention the humiliation of discovering her lover did not want her. ‘Tell me the name of the party and I will go and bring him to you. There might yet be time.’

‘Oh, would you?’ The smile she gave him was all woman. ‘His name is Toby Kendall. He is sailing as a passenger.’

He sprinted up the gangplank and had a word with the sailor who stood at the top, ready to give the signal for it to be hauled away. Beth watched him disappear. She kept her eyes glued to the rail, expecting to see Toby come running. Nothing happened. The activity on deck reached a crescendo as seamen swarmed up the rigging and spread themselves along the spars and someone ran to the last mooring rope, ready to cast off. Now she began to wonder if the man who had gone on her errand would be trapped on board and carried off to sea. Her heart was in her mouth.

She saw a movement, but it was not Toby running to greet her, but the man returning. Did that mean Toby was not on board? Had he boarded some other ship? Had he not gone at all? She was beginning to feel a thorough ninny.

‘Was he not there?’ she asked as the man rejoined her. Too late she forgot to lower the tone of her voice.

‘Oh, he is on board, Miss Harley, but he declined to come out to you.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ In her agitation she had not even noticed he had addressed her by name. ‘He wouldn’t refuse to see me.’

‘I am not in the habit of lying, Miss Harley.’

The emphasis he put on her name made her realise Toby had given her away. ‘You know who I am?’

‘Indeed I do.’ Behind him he heard the shouted commands, was aware that dockers were freeing the mooring rope and pulling the gangplank free. ‘The question is, what am I to do with you?’ The crack of sails being let down almost drowned his words.

‘What do you mean, do with me?’ The sails were filling and the ship was beginning to move. Sailors were scrambling down from aloft and, almost hidden behind a stanchion, she saw a familiar face. ‘Toby!’ she shouted, waving like mad.

He waved back. He was saying something, but she could not make out what it was. It was then she realised the predicament she was in. Toby had refused to see her, she was miles and miles from home, alone with a man who knew she was a girl. And he had said, ‘What am I to do with you?’ She had been nervous before, but now she was truly frightened. She looked about her. On one side was the river, murky and full of flotsam, on the other the warehouses, customs shed and chandlers that lined the docks. Dockers and seamen hurried back and forth, men driving lumbering carts, shabby women, ill-clothed barefoot children, a few better-dressed gentlemen, but not a single well-dressed lady. Certainly no cabs.

He must have realised she was considering flight, because he took her arm. ‘You had better come with me.’ And, though she resisted, he propelled her towards a carriage that stood a little way off, calling to the man by his wagon, ‘Simmonds, I’ll leave you to finish loading that and I’ll see you at home in due course.’

‘Let me go!’ Beth shouted, struggling with him so that her hat fell off and her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, making those around grin with amusement. Still holding her, he picked the hat up and crammed it back on her head.

‘Come on, I haven’t got time to argue.’ And with that he bundled her into the coach and climbed in behind her. ‘Back to town, Jerry, as fast as you like,’ he commanded his coachman.