Читать книгу The Reluctant Escort - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 6

As soon as Molly woke, she rose, washed in cold water from the jug on the wash-stand and, once more attired in the now bedraggled riding habit, went downstairs. In the corridor, she met the innkeeper’s wife busy sweeping the floor. Molly bade her good morning and asked if the Captain was up and about.

‘Yes, ma’am. Did you sleep so sound you didn’t know he hadn’t come to bed?’

She was momentarily disconcerted, but, remembering her role, smiled. ‘I must have.’

‘He’s pacing the floor, chafing at the bit, waiting for you.’

Molly hurried to join him, but, far from pacing the floor, he was sitting at the breakfast table, apparently at ease. There was no one else in the room. He rose as she came towards him and pulled out a chair for her.

‘Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you. But you did not, I believe. The innkeeper’s wife told me you did not go to bed. Where were you?’

‘In the next room, enjoying the company of friends.’

‘Friends? I did not know you were acquainted with anyone here.’

‘I used the term loosely.’

‘Is that the usual behaviour of a man towards his wife when travelling?’

‘It is certainly not so out of the ordinary as to excite comment and it was better than invading your privacy, my dear. Besides, I put the time to good use.’ He jingled a pocketful of coins.

‘Gaming.’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you win?’

‘Naturally, I did.’

‘Is that how you make a living?’

‘It is one of the ways. Now, please have some breakfast. We must be on our way as soon as you are ready.’ He indicated the platters of ham and eggs as he poured her a cup of coffee from the pot at his elbow.

She sat down and helped herself. ‘And another way is holding up coaches. I cannot believe that someone as educated as you are should stoop to crime. I do believe there is more to it than meets the eye.’

‘Is that so?’ he asked laconically, wondering if she could possibly have stumbled on the truth. But no; clever she might be, but not that clever. ‘And are you going to tell me your theory?’

‘I don’t have one, not yet. Of course, you could tell me and then I would not worry about you.’

‘You worry about me?’ he queried. ‘Why?’

‘Naturally I worry about you. You are family, even if it is I don’t know how many times removed. And I am very fond of Aunt Margaret…’

‘So, it is not for my own sake?’ he asked, and wondered why he asked. Did it really matter what a chit of a girl thought of him?

‘That, too, of course.’ She smiled at him and popped a forkful of food into her mouth. ‘Tell me, Captain, just what are you about?’

He smiled suddenly. ‘I believe I am escorting a young lady to London to be with her mama.’

‘Oh, so you do think I am a lady?’ she said.

‘I do not know what else you might be. Hoyden or school-miss might be to the point, but I give you the benefit of the doubt. Now, if you have finished, we must be on our way.’

‘I should write another letter to Aunt Margaret before we go,’ she said. ‘I sent her one yesterday, but as I did not know our destination I could not be very precise. I shall tell her you are going to take me to Mama and that will set her mind to rest.’

He wondered whether it would, considering the jobation his grandmother had given him about his way of life, and decided to add his postscript to the letter assuring her he would take good care of the young lady. He could imagine the old lady’s smile when she read it; he was playing right into her hands and if Molly had not assured him otherwise he would have had no trouble believing she had concocted the whole escapade to bring him to heel.

The letter was soon written and given to the landlord to put on the mail and they went outside where three horses stood patiently waiting for their riders. He helped her to mount Jenny, then picked up the reins of Frank’s horse, which she learned was called Good Boy, and sprang nimbly into his own saddle.

They turned and rode towards Norwich, sometimes cantering and, now and again, when it was safe to do so, putting the horses to a gallop. She rode well, he noticed. He noted other things too: her softly rounded breasts and trim waist, her bright eyes, always so full of life, her pink lips and the way a strand of her hair curled so lovingly into her neck. And he asked himself what in heaven’s name he was doing with her. Frank was right—he had run mad.

When they crossed the river and entered the city, she was so diverted by the size of it, the busy streets, full of carts and carriages, the pedestrians and hawkers crying their wares and the shops and taverns, she could do nothing but gape.

‘I did not know it would be such a big place,’ she said. ‘Is it as large as London?’

‘Not quite. But it is an important centre of commerce. You will find all you need here.’

He smiled indulgently as the road took them past the castle. She pulled up her horse to stare up at its looming grey wall. ‘Is it occupied?’

‘Oh, yes, by several hundred criminals.’

‘It’s a prison?’ She shuddered, imagining the Captain being confined there, and it occurred to her that the life he led was dangerous in the extreme. If he were arrested and taken from her, what would she do? Might she be arrested too for aiding him? Adventure for adventure’s sake was suddenly not so appealing. ‘Then the sooner we leave it behind the better,’ she said.

‘We must wait for Frank and Martha. In the meantime we shall go shopping.’

‘Good,’ she said, looking down at her habit, which was so dusty and crumpled it looked as though she had slept in it. ‘I tried to get the creases out but it proved impossible.’

‘We need to refresh ourselves first and the horses need stabling,’ he said, deciding that taking her as she was into a genteel establishment to buy the things a lady needed to travel to London would invite strange looks and he could not afford to arouse curiosity.

He took her to The Bell where the rooms were superior to any they had had so far: a well-furnished bedroom and a sitting room with a table and chairs and an upholstered sofa.

While she shut herself in the bedroom to strip off her clothes and wash, he changed into pantaloons and a clean shirt, tied a fresh cravat about his neck, donned waistcoat and frockcoat and left the building.

He returned just as Molly came out of the bedchamber into the sitting room. She had asked the chambermaid to press her habit and it was a little more respectable than it had been but still bore evidence of a long ride. She had cleaned her face and now it was pink and glowing and her blue eyes sparkled. She had evidently borrowed a brush and spent some time on her hair, because it gleamed with health and she had put it up into a Grecian style, which suited her piquant face.

His grandmother had been right, he decided; Molly Martineau would one day turn heads with her beauty. She was inexperienced and that was part of her charm, but he felt his loins stirring at the sight of her and realised he was not so impervious as he’d thought he was.

‘Here,’ he said, almost embarrassed, handing her the parcel he carried. ‘Put this on. It is, I think, more suitable for a shopping expedition than a riding habit.’

She opened the package eagerly to reveal a simple round gown in turquoise muslin, with little puff sleeves and a round neck filled with lace. There was a little matching cape, white stockings, blue kid shoes and a reticule. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is very pretty. I could not have chosen anything I liked more. But will it fit?’

‘There is only one way to find out,’ he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. ‘Put it on and we will go out and buy more.’

She needed no second bidding and disappeared into the bedchamber. Twenty minutes later she emerged once again, looking very fetching and smiling happily. ‘You guessed my size exactly, Captain. How very clever of you. Except the shoes are a little tight.’

‘I am sorry about that. Perhaps you could wear your riding boots…’

‘Oh, no, that will spoil the effect. I shall manage.’

‘Madam.’ He smiled at her, offering her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

Laughing, she laid her hand upon his sleeve and together they went out into the street and strolled towards the centre of the city to the emporium where he had bought the gown and where he knew there were other establishments offering ladies’ apparel, as well as things like fans and reticules, parasols and footwear, underwear and toiletries.

‘Kit her out with everything she needs for a stay in London,’ he told one proprietress, whose name, according to the legend above the door of her establishment, was Mrs Hannah Solomon.

‘I am to have a Season,’ Molly told her. ‘Is that not exciting?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ the woman agreed. ‘So very sensible of your uncle to buy your requirements in Norwich. The prices in London are much higher.’

Molly looked at Duncan when she mentioned her uncle and stifled a little giggle. He simply smiled and said nothing to put right the mistake.

The morning flew by as he sat and watched her parade before him in day gowns, carriage gowns, riding habits, gloves, shoes, half-boots, hats, bonnets, capes, spencers and pelisses. His resolve to limit her spending was abandoned in the face of her pleasure.

‘Which shall it be?’ she asked, looking from a carriage dress and matching pelisse in soft green velvet to an afternoon gown of blue sarcenet. ‘I cannot make up my mind, so you choose.’

‘Then have them both.’

‘Oh, you are the most generous of men!’ she exclaimed as Mrs Solomon began folding the gowns to pack into boxes before he should change his mind. ‘I am beginning to revise my opinion that you are not chivalrous.’

He bowed towards her. ‘And I am gratified to hear you say so.’

‘Madam will need underthings?’ Mrs Solomon queried, determined not to let this customer go until she had wrung every last drop out of the transaction.

‘Naturally she will,’ he said.

‘And she must have at least one ballgown,’ she went on. ‘I have just the thing.’ She disappeared through a curtain at the back of the premises and came back carrying a large dress box. ‘This was made for a young lady who changed her mind about buying it. You are of a size, I think.’ She opened the box and held the gown up against Molly.

The overskirt was made of the palest blue-green crepe with an open front which floated round her like shimmering water. It had puffed sleeves and a deep round neckline filled with rouched lace and the bodice was caught under the bosom with a cluster of silk flowers in pale colours of pink, blue and lilac; more of the flowers trimmed the hem. The underskirt was of white satin. Molly ran her hands lovingly over it. ‘Oh, it is beautiful, but I do not know…’

‘Try it on,’ Duncan said.

He watched as she disappeared into an adjoining room to put it on, a procedure which had been going on all morning. He had thought he would be bored by it, but he was captivated. She was so easy to please and he guessed she had had few such pleasures in her young life. He was prepared to wager that Harriet had all the gowns she needed, while her daughter had nothing but what would suit a schoolgirl.

He looked up as Molly came back to stand before him. The gown fitted perfectly and her simple beauty took his breath away so that, for a moment, he could not speak.

‘What do you think?’ she demanded. ‘Is it not beautiful?’

He swallowed hard. ‘Indeed, yes.’

‘It could have been made for the young lady,’ Mrs Solomon said.

‘But it was not,’ Duncan put in. ‘It has been left on your hands…’

Molly held her breath; she wanted to have the gown so very much and if the Captain haggled the woman might not let him have it.

‘I am sure we can come to an arrangement,’ she said with a simpering smile. ‘For such a good customer.’

‘Wrap everything up, put it into a trunk and send it to The Bell Hotel,’ he instructed, pulling a purse out of his frockcoat. ‘And I want a discount for cash.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The sight of Duncan’s hoard of hard-won coins was too much to resist.

Molly could hardly contain her excitement. Somehow or other, she was going to make an opportunity to wear that gown when they arrived in London. Already, she could imagine the occasion—the ballroom, the lights and music and the elegant young men clamouring to dance with her. Her mama would be very proud of her and not ashamed of her as she always seemed to be.

She chose to ignore the fact that they still had a long way to go before reaching the capital and she was almost sure the Captain was a wanted man. A more crucial problem was that she did not know how to dance. ‘Captain,’ she said, as they left the shop and turned back towards their lodgings, ‘can you dance?’

‘Tolerably well,’ he said. ‘But if you think I am going to take you to a ball…’

‘No, not that; I was hoping you might teach me the steps. Mama always said there was plenty of time for that and so I never learned. And I should like to waltz.’

‘I am not sure young unmarried ladies are allowed to waltz.’

‘Why not?’

‘I believe it is considered improper.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the way the man holds his partner. It is a little…’ He paused and smiled. ‘A little too intimate for unmarried ladies.’

‘Oh. There is a very great deal I do not know, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, I am afraid there is.’

‘Then you must teach me.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said, laughing. ‘I have undertaken to take you to your mother, nothing more. It is her place to instruct you.’

‘Yes, but she is always so busy and it would be so much better if I could learn it all before we arrive in London. Then if an important invitation should come my way I would be ready.’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I have more pressing things to do.’

‘Like holding up coaches and gaming. I wish you would not do such dangerous things. I cannot bear the thought of you being shut up in that castle.’

He turned to look at her, trotting along beside him, trusting him completely, and a twinge of conscience smote him. What he was doing was highly improper and what was worse he was allowing himself to use her to allay the suspicions of the custodians of law and order. The fact that he had spent almost his last sovereign paying for her clothing in no way relieved his feelings of guilt.

‘I have no intention of allowing myself to be shut up inside it,’ he said brusquely.

‘Why are you so blue-devilled? Is it because you have laid out more money on me than you intended? Mama will reimburse you, I am sure.’

‘I have not laid out more than I intended,’ he said, knowing perfectly well he would never accept repayment from Harriet, even if it were offered, which he doubted. ‘What use are sovereigns except for spending?’

‘Especially when they are not your own,’ she retorted.

‘I did not notice you refusing to take advantage of them,’ he snapped.

‘You said your pockets were at my disposal. I think it is very unkind of you to fly into the boughs just because I said I should not like you to be shut up in the castle.’

‘Then there is no more to be said on the subject.’

‘What are we going to do now?’

‘Go back to The Bell and eat a good dinner.’

‘Do you think Mr Upjohn will have arrived?’

‘I certainly hope so.’

He shut his mouth so firmly after speaking, she knew it would be unwise to pester him. She walked on beside him, hobbling a little because the tight shoes were pinching her feet, and she wished she had asked if she might wear a pair of the new ones he had bought for her. But it was not the tight shoes which had spoiled the pleasure of the outing but his tetchiness. His mood was not improved when they returned to the hotel and found no sign of Frank and Martha.

‘Perhaps Mrs Upjohn was not agreeable,’ she suggested.

‘Like all good wives, she will do as her husband bids her.’

‘I should not like her to come against her wishes, Captain, and I should hope Mr Upjohn would not insist.’

‘Then you would have to go back to Stacey Manor. I am determined we shall not continue alone.’

‘I know what it is,’ she said, speaking in a whisper, so that others in the crowded room would not hear her. ‘You are afraid you will be forced into making an honest woman of me. That is not at all flattering.’

‘And you are not at all consistent,’ he said, also keeping his voice low. ‘Yesterday you told me I am too old and you would not consider such a match. Now you seem to be saying the opposite…’

‘No, I am not. I simply said you were afraid you might have to. Let me set your mind at rest, Captain. I have no wish to marry you, but, having come this far, it would be foolish to turn back, especially as we are like to run into more trouble going back than going forward.’

‘How so?’ he queried, wondering what she understood by the term marriage. She could have no conception of physical desire, the love and passion that, in his view, should exist between husband and wife. The novels she read and her mama’s conversation had filled her head with nonsense. The man who married her would have a pleasurable time educating her.

‘Why, Mr Upjohn may very well have been taken up; had you thought of that?’

‘Yes, I had,’ he said irritably. He was beginning to wish he had not drawn Frank into this escapade, though it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

They had shared so much during the Peninsular campaign, both the comradeship and the danger, but Frank had had enough of war by the time Napoleon surrendered in 1814, and decided to return home to his wife. He had not taken part in the Battle of Waterloo. Duncan had come back to England in late 1815, after recovering in a Brussels hospital from a wound in his side received at Waterloo, but he could not bear the thought of going home and so he had reported to the War Office, hoping to be given active service. Instead he had been sent to track down a traitor. His enquiries had taken him to Norfolk and it was in Norwich he had met Frank again.

He smiled, remembering the night of revelry they had enjoyed as they’d reminisced and talked about old battles and the people they had known. But it had been obvious Frank was in a bad way. He was thin as a rake and his clothes were in tatters. He had admitted he could not find work and had turned to crime. Duncan had been appalled and infuriated. There was something wrong when a good and valiant man like Frank should be so little thought of by the country for which he had given years of his life, while men like Sir John Partridge prospered. He had asked him to join him.

‘There won’t be regular pay,’ he had warned. ‘But there will be something at the end of it, if we are successful.’

And so they had joined forces. Becoming a highwayman and living the life of a ne’er-do-well had been one way of dealing with a personal situation he found difficult to come to terms with and he justified it with the argument that he was obeying orders. Taking risks was a way of finding release. Until he met Molly.

She had made him see life with a different perspective, had forced him to examine his motives. And in spite of her conviction that he was a criminal, which was only half true, she trusted him. Did he deserve that trust? Did he deserve anyone’s trust? Martha’s? Or Frank’s?

‘Do not look so cross.’ Molly’s voice broke into his self-analysis. ‘It is not my fault you were seen holding up that coach. Indeed I have done my best to help you.’

He was about to tell her that she was more hindrance than help and that if she had not told the constable they were married he could have sent her back to Stacey Manor and forgotten all about her, but changed his mind. Not only would it hurt her feelings, it was palpably untrue. He could no more have sent her on alone than fly. Besides, he and Frank had brought their troubles upon themselves.

She smiled suddenly. ‘Mr Upjohn might be here soon and I am hungry, so do you think we could have something to eat while we wait? I am starving.’

In the face of her imperturbability, he could do no more than take her into the dining room and order a meal, in the hope that Frank would arrive before they had finished it.

Molly hated long silences, and though she tried very hard not to speak she could not resist trying to bring him out of his ill humour. But he would have none of it and she turned her attention to the conversation going on at the next table, which was occupied by four men—tradesmen or perhaps farmers, judging by their plain trousers and gaiters, frieze coats and shallow hats.

‘He says he gives them homes and educates them which is more than they had where they came from.’

‘Don’t make no odds,’ another said. ‘It’s trading in human beings and I don’t hold with that.’

‘But they ain’t exac’ ly human, are they?’ queried a third. ‘They’re savages. Black savages.’

‘That’s on account of they don’t know no better.’

‘Well, ain’t that just what I’ve been saying?’ the first man put in. ‘He educates ’em in the scriptures and teaches ’em to work in the house.’

‘Only so’s he can get more money for ’em. Why, I heard he makes ten thousand a year.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘My brother-in-law was on one of his vessels. In the navy in the war, he was, but had to come out at the end of it. Surplus to requirements, he was, even though he was in ten years and didn’t know nothin’ else. Grunston offered him a berth and he took it, but when he comes back the tales he told fair made me shiver, I can tell you. He didn’t go only the once, said he’d rather starve than serve on a slaver again.’

By the time they had finished their meal, she had discovered that Mr Grunston owned two ships going out from Lynn to buy his human cargo, some of whom he sent on to the Indies, and the ships returned with cargoes of sugar from the plantations there—a double profit. Others he brought home and, having cleaned them up and taught them how to behave, he sold to Society ladies for whom having a black page or footman was the height of fashion. Two days hence he was off to London to purchase another decommissioned ship from the Admiralty to enlarge his fleet.

Molly leaned forward in order to whisper, ‘Captain, did you hear that?’

‘Hear what?’

‘Those men at the next table. They are talking about a slave trader earning ten thousand a year. Don’t you think that is disgraceful?’

‘It is not unlawful…yet.’

‘Well, I think it is reprehensible. I am persuaded the Dark Knight would have something to say on the matter.’

‘The Dark Knight?’ His only concession to being even slightly disconcerted was to raise one dark eyebrow quizzically. ‘Is he another of your fictional heroes?’

‘Oh, no, he is a real person, as you very well know.’

‘Do I?’

‘Oh, yes. I believe he models himself on Robin of Locksley.’

‘Who is Robin of Locksley?’

‘He is a mythical figure I read about. He lived a long time ago, in the time of Richard the Lionheart, and he was always holding travellers up and giving their gold to the poor.’

Duncan was diverted. ‘And what would this Dark Knight do, if he were here now?’

‘Hold the man up. Take his ill-gotten gains from him and set his slaves free.’

‘That would be a crime,’ he said drily.

‘But justified, don’t you think? You could distribute his wealth to deserving people and prevent another cargo of poor black men, women and children being sold into slavery.’

‘Me?’ he queried in astonishment.

‘Why not?’

‘Miss Martineau, I abhor the trade as much as anyone and I support those who advocate its abolition, but that is not the way to bring it about.’

‘Oh, I did not think you were so pudding-hearted.’

‘Molly, I wish you would put the Dark Knight from your mind. The Dark Knight is not Robin of Locksley, nor yet Don Quixote.’

‘Indeed he is not, if he will not tilt at a few windmills.’

He laughed in spite of himself. ‘Oh, you will be the death of me.’

‘Oh, no, but you must admit you would like to do it.’

‘Indeed I should,’ he said. ‘But that is not to say I will.’

‘No, perhaps it would not be wise without Mr Upjohn to help you.’ She liked to tease as much as he did and was gratified when he rose to the bait. ‘I think we should have waited at the Crosskeys and not come here without him.’

‘Do you? I recollect you wanted to go shopping.’

‘That was your idea. I did not ask to go.’

‘You could not go to London dressed in nothing but a filthy riding habit.’

‘No, but I was not in such haste that I would want you to abandon your friend.’

‘I have not abandoned him. He is well able to look after himself, which is more than can be said for you, who are young and vulnerable and whose head is filled with fantasy.’

‘My head is not filled with fantasy. You do not know me very well or you would know I am a very practical kind of person.’

‘Is that so?’ He smiled for the first time for over an hour. ‘I have seen no evidence of it so far.’

‘Then I will prove it. I shall come back with you. We may well meet them on the way.’

‘Not so long ago you were of the opinion we would run into greater trouble going back than going forward.’

‘I am sure you are clever enough to avoid anyone searching for you if you go carefully, and I am not afraid of a little adventure.’

‘No, that I had noted. And not above inciting a man to crime either.’

‘Oh, that,’ she said airily. ‘I was bamming. But you must allow that you are troubled about Mr Upjohn.’

He sighed heavily, admitting she was right. He was worried and his conscience was troubling him. Frank must be in trouble or else Martha was proving difficult. But if that were the case Frank would have come on without her.

If it were not for Molly he would not have hesitated, but if it were not for her he would not have been in this predicament in the first place. He was not at all sure he liked being so accountable for another human being, and one who was so artless. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We will go back, but only as far as the Crosskeys. He may be there.’

He rose from the table, leaving Molly to scramble under it in search of her shoes which she had kicked off.

‘Now what?’ he asked in exasperation.

‘Nothing. I am simply looking for my shoes. They were tight and…Oh, there they are.’ She bent to retrieve them and squeezed her white-stockinged feet back into them, to his unfeigned amusement. ‘It will be a relief to go back to my riding boots.’

She went up to their rooms to change while he gave orders for Molly’s new trunk to be kept for them when it arrived, and then they set off on horseback, retracing the route they had covered that morning, meeting a little traffic—a coach or two, several loaded haycarts, people on horseback and on foot—but not the curricle.

‘Where are we going now?’ she asked him when he’d returned from questioning the innkeeper at the Crosskeys and been told his friend had not returned there.

‘To his home. We’ll find out if he reached it.’

‘How far is that?’

‘An hour’s ride. Are you tired? Do you want to rest?’

‘No. I can keep up, never fear.’

They had been riding for perhaps an hour and were passing through a wooded area, when they came upon the curricle. It was tipped on its side in the ditch beside the road and there was evidence of a struggle, but of Frank or Martha there was no sign. Nor could they find the horse, though they stopped and searched the area.