Emily Goes to Exeter Read online

  Hannah returned to the girl’s side. She was standing huddled beside the overturned coach in the shelter of the shallow pit. ‘Do not worry,’ said Hannah, ‘Lord Harley will fetch help.’ The girl shuddered and turned her face away.

  Just when Hannah began to think she would never be able to feel her feet or hands again, she saw lights bobbing across the snow. The rescue party had arrived and kept on coming despite the fact that the guard shouted, ‘Foot-pads!’ and fired in its direction.

  There was no sign of Lord Harley, but there was the landlord of the Nag’s Head at Bagshot, who had been told of the travellers’ plight by Lord Harley, beaming all over his face at the thought of visitors, and leading stable-boys carrying torches and ostlers carrying staves. There was also plenty of brandy for the frost-bitten and a post-chaise for the wounded.

  The coach was righted and the horses hitched to it again. The captain commandeered the post-chaise for himself and his wife and the shepherd travelled inside with the lawyer, consulting him about damages.

  Freezing and weary, the travellers entered the inn at Bagshot to find themselves facing the best welcome an English inn could offer the storm-bound stage-coach traveller. A great fire blazed, and on a huge long table sat iris-tinted rounds of beef, marble-veined ribs, gelatinous veal pies, colossal hams, gallons of old ale, bottles of wine, raised pies, tartlets, fruit and jellies and custard.

  Hannah was never to forget that welcome. No one wanted to change out of his wet clothes; they were all too tired and hungry. Hannah could not ever remember being quite so ravenous. They all sat around the table. Lord Harley was already there. Having sent out help, he said he had seen no need to go along with it. There were the two other outside passengers: a round-faced farmer and a shabby gentleman with a pleasant face. The farmer said his name was Mr Burridge, and the shabby gentleman introduced himself as Mr Hendry.

  They made a jolly party, Mrs Bradley telling all and sundry that she had a little jar of goose fat, the best thing for chilblains.

  But as they ate themselves stiff and drank themselves silly, a certain acrimony began to creep in. The guard, still smarting from the coachman’s insult, started to mutter about the folly of being tied to a drunken sot.

  The captain began to feel his nose had been put out of joint by this Lord Harley and began to talk darkly about adventurers and penniless younger sons who were no better than they should be. His wife tried to hush him; he snarled at her, and she looked at him in horrified amazement. The captain rallied and patted her hand and said he was the worst of beasts.

  Lord Harley was studying ‘Edward’, and Hannah did not like the growing gleam of amusement in those dark eyes. He started to raise his glass to Edward, saying, ‘Take wine with me, Mr Smith.’ The custom demanded that Edward drink a glass of wine and raise a glass in return.

  The landlord came in to say that the bedchambers were all ready and it was time to decide who slept in the same bedchamber with whom, ‘And be sure the party is congenial,’ he joked, ‘for you’ve got to share the same bed.’

  The first surprise was when Mrs Seaton said in a trembling voice, ‘I shall share with Mrs Bradley.’

  ‘Come now, my dove,’ said the captain, affecting a hearty laugh. ‘You have had too much to drink.’

  ‘I have not had too much to drink,’ said Lizzie in a wobbly voice. ‘I am not Mrs Seaton, I am Mrs Lizzie Bisley, widow, and we are not yet wed, Captain Seaton, and I will not share your bed until we are.’

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘We’re as good as married,’ said the captain, breaking the silence. ‘We’re to be married in Exeter.’

  Good heavens, thought Hannah, her nose twitching with excitement. Lizzie is not Mrs Seaton, and Edward is not Edward. Whatever next?

  ‘O’ course you can share with me, my duck,’ said Mrs Bradley, her eyes flashing. ‘Fie, for shame, Cap’n. You pigs o’ men can’t wait to get your leg o’er a lass. Come along, come along. I’ll make you a posset and you’ll sleep like a log.’

  The captain stared ferociously into his glass while Mrs Bradley led Lizzie away. ‘That’s a fine woman, a fine woman, Seaton,’ said the little lawyer, Mr Fletcher, with unexpected ferocity, ‘and deserving of every courtesy and kindness.’

  ‘Want to make something of it?’ sneered the captain.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Fletcher, jumping to his feet, his wig askew. He bunched his thin fingers into fists and panted, ‘I’ll draw your cork.’

  ‘Sit down,’ ordered Lord Harley. ‘No one is going to fight anyone. Have we not all endured enough? Back to the sleeping arrangements, if you please.’ His eyes glinted oddly at Edward. ‘I suggest Mr Smith and I will get along tolerably well.’

  Edward turned milk-white. Hannah rose to her feet and leaned on the table and glared at Lord Harley. ‘That will not answer, my lord, and well you know it.’

  ‘Indeed, Miss Pym,’ said his lordship in a silky voice. ‘And may I ask why?’

  ‘I am not Edward Smith,’ said the girl in a voice that shook pathetically. ‘I am Miss Emily Freemantle.’

  ‘I thought so,’ said Lord Harley laconically. ‘You don’t make a very convincing man.’

  ‘Hey!’ said the landlord. ‘What’s a goin’ on?’

  ‘My family betrothed me to that monster against my wishes,’ said Emily. ‘I ran away. I am going to my old nurse at Exeter until they change their minds and call off this disgusting marriage.’

  ‘I do not want to marry a silly little chit like you,’ said Lord Harley icily.

  ‘Then why did you come after me?’ demanded Emily. She had made an odd figure, dining with her beaver hat on. She took it off and placed it on a chair beside her, revealing a crop of auburn curls.

  ‘Your parents, minx, guessed where you had gone and I volunteered to search the posting-inns for you,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Did you never stop for one moment to think of the distress you were causing them?’

  ‘Why?’ said Emily in a voice thick with tears. ‘They never thought of me. They know I am in love with Mr Peregrine Williams, but did they listen? No! “You are to marry Lord Ranger Harley,” they said. You are old, sir, and have the reputation of the devil.’

  ‘Why did you both not recognize each other?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘Because we had never met,’ said Emily. ‘My family want his money and title. They are not interested in finding out if we might care for each other.’

  ‘Put your mind at rest, child,’ said Lord Harley in a bored voice, ‘and stop enacting Haymarket tragedies before the interested public of this inn. I was given to understand you wished the marriage. Now I have seen you, I do not wish to be married to you any more than you wish to be married to me. You will return to London with me and marry this Mr Williams if you wish.’

  There was a long silence again.

  The landlord cleared his throat. ‘What a coil,’ he said. ‘Is there anyone else here who isn’t a miss or a man or who ain’t married or who’s running away? Or can I get you all off to bed?’

  ‘You shall come with me,’ said Hannah firmly to Emily.

  Overwrought, Emily burst into tears. Hannah helped her to her feet and led her from the room. ‘Blue Room,’ shouted the landlord. ‘Top o’ the stairs and turn right.’

  Hannah Pym thought she would die from curiosity. So many complications! But, like bad knitting, surely all that was needed was for them to be unravelled by an expert and made up again in the right way.

  3

  I have heard with admiring submission the experience of the lady who declared that the sense of being well-dressed gives a feeling of inward tranquillity which religion is powerless to bestow.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  The Blue Room was comfortable and well appointed, with low rafters, chintz curtains at the window, and cheerful chintz hangings on the bed. A fire burnt brightly in the small hearth. There were two easy chairs in front of the fire, and it was into one of these chairs that Hannah thrust Emily. She then took off h
er cloak and hung it on a peg behind the door, along with her hat, before sitting down opposite the girl.

  ‘Now, what is all this about?’ said Hannah, trying to keep her vulgar gossipy eagerness in check. The girl was so very beautiful with those large violet eyes and auburn hair. Her face was a well-shaped oval with a small straight nose.

  ‘I think I should know to whom I am talking,’ said Emily with a pathetic attempt at hauteur.

  ‘I am Miss Hannah Pym, gentlewoman of Kensington,’ said Hannah firmly. Her servant days were behind her now, and she was determined not to stifle any confidences by revealing she had lately been in service.

  ‘And do you have relatives in Exeter, Miss Pym?’

  ‘No, I am simply travelling for the sake of travel.’

  Despite her distress, Emily gave a reluctant laugh. What an odd lady this Miss Pym was with her strange eyes and crooked nose. ‘I cannot possibly imagine anyone travelling on the stage for fun,’ she said.

  ‘But I have already had a great many adventures,’ said Hannah, her eyes glowing gold in the firelight. ‘Just think. A real highwayman. A widow who is not the captain’s wife. And now you, not a boy but a pretty lady running away from a man who does not seem to want her after all.’

  ‘I do not believe him,’ said Emily. ‘It is a trick.’

  ‘Who is this Lord Harley?’

  ‘Lord Ranger Harley,’ said Emily in a clear voice, ‘is a rake and a libertine.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I happen to know, for my governess told me, that he has an opera dancer in keeping.’

  ‘Do you still have a governess?’ asked Miss Pym, momentarily diverted. ‘I would have thought you too old.’

  ‘I am eighteen,’ said Emily haughtily. ‘But Miss Cudlipp, that is my governess’s name, is dear to me. She stays as a sort of companion. She is very wise.’

  Hannah sniffed. She thought that Miss Cudlipp was downright disloyal to her employers to pour scandal about Emily’s intended into the girl’s ears. ‘But this business about the opera dancer,’ said Hannah. ‘That is merely gossip. She cannot know for sure.’

  ‘Miss Cudlipp knows everything,’ said Emily. ‘Oh, what am I to do? He will force me to go back with him and marry him.’

  ‘Really, Miss Freemantle, if you will forgive me, he did not look at all the sort of man who would have to force any woman to marry him. He is very handsome and he is a lord. Is he rich?’

  ‘Very,’ said Emily in a hollow voice.

  ‘Then there you are. He cannot possibly want to marry you.’

  ‘He does not like to be thwarted. Miss Cudlipp said so.’

  Hannah mentally sent Miss Cudlipp and all her sayings to the devil. ‘So who is Mr Peregrine Williams?’

  Emily turned a delicate shade of pink. ‘He is charming, so very fair and beautiful. He has hair like gold and the bluest eyes you have ever seen. He writes poetry to me which Miss Cudlipp says rivals Mr Wordsworth.’

  ‘And did your parents introduce you to this paragon?’

  ‘Oh, no. It transpires that they had set their hearts on my marrying Harley a long time ago. I have not even made my come-out. I met Mr Williams when I was walking in the Park with Miss Cudlipp. I would not have noticed him, but Miss Cudlipp said, “Regard that beautiful young man who watches you so closely.” I looked across and he was standing under a tree, a book in his hand. He looked at me so intently, I began to tremble. But Miss Cudlipp with great bravery approached him and asked him why he was staring, and he said … do you know what he said?’

  ‘“Your beauty has pierced my heart,” or some such thing?’ suggested Hannah.

  ‘Well … not exactly, but he said, “The fair maiden yonder has struck my heart a blow. I am blinded by her beauty.”’

  ‘Fiddlesticks,’ muttered Miss Pym.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said “Fiddlesticks” because I thought the fire was dying down,’ said Hannah. ‘Go on about Mr Williams.’

  ‘He begged permission to call, and so I gave him my direction,’ said Emily. ‘But when he called, my parents refused to have him admitted. They then asked around the town about him and found that although of gentle birth, he has little money, and so I received a terrible punishment.’

  ‘They beat you?’

  ‘No, they took my novels.’

  Very proper, thought Hannah. Aloud she said, ‘So you never saw him again?’

  ‘Of course I did! Miss Cudlipp saw to that.’

  ‘Yes, of course she would,’ said Hannah. ‘But, believe me, as we are going to be trapped in this hostelry for a few days, I would suggest you make a friend of this Lord Harley. You will find that not only does he not want to marry you, but that he might break that sad news very tactfully to your parents.’

  Emily’s beautiful face took on a mulish look. ‘He will not change his mind.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I am very beautiful.’

  Hannah was thoroughly shocked. ‘You must not say such a thing, my dear Miss Freemantle.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because anyone who praises her own looks immediately appears vain and shabby.’

  ‘Miss Cudlipp says—’

  ‘Never mind what Miss Cudlipp says. Did that governess encourage you to flee?’

  ‘Oh, yes. ’Twas most exciting. I climbed down from my bedroom window and she lowered the trunks down to me.’

  ‘And where did you get the men’s clothes?’

  ‘They are my brother’s. He is at sea. He is much older than I – twenty-five – and these are the clothes he wore when he was my age. He had not thrown them away.’

  Emily yawned. ‘You had best get to bed,’ said Hannah, her mind racing. ‘You do have women’s clothes with you?’

  ‘Yes, in my trunk. I only have this one suit of men’s clothes and two clean shirts and neckcloths and two pairs of small-clothes and unmentionables.’

  The door opened and two waiters came in bearing their trunks. Emily had two enormous trunks that made Hannah’s one serviceable trunk look modest.

  Hannah tipped the waiters and then threw open the lid of her trunk and took out the clothes that had become soiled in the stream in Knightsbridge. ‘I will just take these down to the kitchen and see if anyone knows how to clean and press them,’ said Hannah.

  Emily rose and yawned and staggered slightly. ‘I feel quite drunk,’ she said with a giggle.

  Hannah picked up her soiled clothes and went down to the kitchen. Mrs Silvers, the landlord’s wife, was giving instructions to the cook. She took the clothes from Hannah and said she would see that the linen was washed and that the mud was brushed from the other items when they were dry, for they were all still damp from their soaking. Hannah then regaled the landlord’s wife with a vivid account of her adventures. Mrs Silvers listened open-mouthed and then ran to fetch her husband, and Hannah had to tell her story all over again. The landlord was greatly intrigued and said she told a rare tale. Producing a bottle of French brandy, he poured Hannah a measure. Hannah was beginning to feel like a sot. After a lifetime of abstinence, she seemed to be making up for it all in a short space of time.

  But the brandy, instead of making her feel sleepy, seemed to activate her busy brain more.

  She returned to the Blue Room. Emily was in bed and asleep, looking young and defenceless. Her discarded clothes were scattered all over the room.

  Not a bad child, thought Hannah, but thoroughly spoilt. How amazing the amount of damage that can be done by one silly governess. She moved about picking up the clothes. Emily’s trunks were open. On the top of one was a man’s shirt and clean neckcloth. Hannah picked the shirt up and took it over to the fire, where a lamp was still burning on a side-table. It was ruffled and of the finest cambric. She returned to the trunk and without a shred of conscience searched its contents. She was relieved to find that Emily had spoken the truth. There were only a few items of men’s clothing. The rest was an assortment of beautiful gowns and under
wear. Apart from Emily’s two trunks, there was a large hat box, lying open, hats spilling over the floor. Hannah clucked in irritation and carried them over to the wardrobe and put them on the capacious upper shelf. Among the hats was the man’s wig. No doubt Emily had meant to use it as part of her disguise and had cut her hair short instead. Hannah carried it to a wig-stand and then studied it. It was a fine wig of real hair, white and curled and tied at the back with a black silk ribbon.

  She returned to Emily’s trunks and took out dresses and pelisses and mantles and hung them away and then arranged the underwear in the top half of the chest of drawers. Then she opened her own modest trunk and put her own things away. She carried her hairbrush and pin-box to the toilet table. It was already crammed with silver-topped bottles of lotions and creams, brushes, combs and bone pins, Emily having unpacked her toilet things. The towels were damp and had been thrown on the floor, and it appeared Emily had used up both cans of hot water.

  Hannah rang the bell and gave the chambermaid the empty cans and basin of dirty water and the soiled towels and asked for a replacement.

  She kept on working until everything was put away and the trunks and bandbox stowed under the bed. The maid returned with fresh towels and hot water. Hannah knew that such luxuries would be put on the bill and was determined Emily should pay for them.

  Her gaze fell on that wig, gleaming whitely on the wig-stand. She picked it up, then a clean neckcloth, and then the cambric shirt, and made her way downstairs and asked where she might find the lawyer, Mr Fletcher. She was told he was sharing the Red Room – ‘Top of the stairs and turn left’ – with Lord Harley.

  Hannah went up to the Red Room and, forgetting that she was no longer a servant but a guest at the inn, failed to knock, but simply turned the handle and opened the door.

  There was a squawk of dismay from Mr Fletcher. The lawyer was stark naked, sitting in a hip-bath in front of the fire. Lord Harley was scrubbing his back.