Patricia Wynn (6 page)

But Susan refused to be calmed. She carried on with a series of oaths and insults, which, if they tended to be rather repetitious due to her lack of a suitable vocabulary, were nonetheless convincing. Even Peg, her eyes huge orbs, had the good sense to keep out of her way.

Finally, Tom, occasionally keeping a hand aloft to avoid the random blows of the reticule, managed to stuff the dumped belongings back into the bag and stagger to his feet. With no interference now from the customs official, he gathered up the rest of Susan’s bags and was waved onward by the sympathetic officers of the Crown.

Susan followed, muttering an occasional
“idiot”
or
“imbécile”
for the benefit of the officers, who were mopping their brows and exchanging comments about “murderous foreigners” and “Latin temperaments,” until they reached the carriage and safety. Then, avoiding as best she could the sight of Tom’s woeful countenance as he held the door for her, she climbed into the carriage. Once inside, however, she heaved an enormous sigh of relief before covering her face, veil and all, with both hands to smother the sound of her laughter.

She remained in this position until a sudden lurch called her to the present and she realized that they were on the move. And only then did she remember Peg. The hussy had taken advantage of her mistress’s anger to hop aboard the box alongside Tom, and even now, if Susan could only have seen, was sitting shockingly close beside him.

But Susan was still elated with her triumph over the customs agents, so without a moment’s hesitation, she pulled down the window to the carriage and cried, “Halt!”

Tom pulled up the horses with a suddenness which nearly dislodged her from her seat, but she did not let that disturb her. “Peg!” Susan called in a tone which, considering the scene she had just witnessed, the wayward maid did not dare disobey. Within minutes, the carriage had started up again and Peg was inside, riding with her back to the horses and a scowl upon her face.

Chapter Four

The carriage bowled along at a cheery pace, as if the driver were laughing to himself on the box. Inside, Susan was at pains not to let her shoulders shake or a chuckle escape her lips, as she regarded sulky Peg from beneath her widow’s veil. The whole episode had left her feeling gay and triumphant, and she could only wish she were up on the box sharing a laugh with Tom instead of continuing the pose for Peg’s benefit.

Tom! She caught herself up short.
Lord Harleston to you,
she reminded herself, feeling suddenly less cheerful. The next time she saw him would be nearly the last, for they planned to let Peg down in London and travel on until they reached her governess’s house next day. Susan had protested the lack of rest for Lord Harleston in such a rigorous schedule, but he had laughed and reminded her of his much more Spartan life in the Peninsula. It would be nothing to him after enduring days in the saddle. They would stop along the road to break their journey and he would enjoy having a bite and a pint with the ostlers and coachmen in the public rooms.

Peg shifted complainingly in the seat, as if she were used to a more luxurious form of travel. Susan frowned at the tiresome girl, her sense of humour momentarily gone. At least she would soon be rid of her! That was one thing she need not regret.

But she had to admit to herself that she would regret losing Lord Harleston’s company. She had never experienced anything quite so pleasurable as planning this escapade with him, despite her early reservations. She smiled rather wistfully at the thought of hay in his wind-tossed hair. It seemed so natural, somehow, to think of him up there on the box, taking her to safety
—not so much as her groom, but just taking care of her. How easily she had come to think of him as Tom. But of course she mustn’t! Lord Harleston had already risked too much by embroiling himself in her troublesome affairs. She must not think of him as her friend. Friendship with a woman who was wanted by the authorities could only harm him. Susan tried to think of the pleasure of seeing her governess again, but in spite of her sincere devotion to that lady, found it hard to imagine her face. A pair of laughing, brown-gold eyes kept swimming in the way.

Up on the box, Tom whistled to himself and cracked his whip to urge on a sluggish wheeler. The leaders’ pace suited his humour to a T. In case the authorities had somehow leapt to a suspicion of Susan’s identity, he had chosen to detour south and west towards the Folkstone road to London. It would add a bit to their time, but should give a measure of security.

Without Peg’s sultry eyes upon him, he was free to indulge an inclination to laugh over the morning’s work. Even the memory of the male passenger on board ship brought a smile to his lips. The fellow had really been taken with Susan
—
Miss Johnstone, that is,
Tom reminded himself. But who wouldn’t be?

He remembered her exquisite profile as she had gazed blissfully out to sea, the wind ruffling the gentle curls at her ears. Something stirred within him and he had to recall himself to the business of guiding the horses before they bolted from the sudden tension in his hands. It was too bad, he reflected, that they could not ride in comfort together rather than separated by the etiquette of the coach. Perhaps when they reached London and got rid of Peg, some other arrangement might be made. He searched his mind for a different solution, but could not think of one which would accomplish their mission and still serve the proprieties. Damn the proprieties!

It might be nice if Peg and she could change places, he thought fancifully. Certainly the servant girl had had no worries about her reputation when she had joined him on the box. He could still feel the warmth on his left side where she had pressed herself against him. Quite a handful, that one, but not for him. He would never consider using his masquerade to deceive the poor wench. Not that he thought a little deceit would trouble Peg overmuch, but if she were with them much longer, her overtures might become a problem. He could not blame her for making the most of her situation, for as long as she was in service she would be closely watched and forbidden to be with a man. She was just taking her chance on finding a husband before it was too late. With her buxom figure she should not have much trouble.

But
his
tastes ran more to dark-haired, willowy ladies, with a gentle manner and a courageous heart. He would be saying goodbye to Susan in a matter of hours, he realized, and yet here he was urging the horses on to the end of their journey. He started to pull them up, but came to the conclusion that it would not do him much good. It would only prolong getting rid of Peg. And Susan could not share the box with him, on any account. He must do what he could to protect her name.

Of course, the next task would be to seek a pardon for her defiance of the law. He would work on that as soon as he resumed his own identity. Lord Harleston had little fear he would be unable to clear her somehow, but that could take time. He had already left word with his staff not to expect him back for several weeks. He would stay in London, working towards her pardon, and, of course, travelling back and forth to give Susan reports of his progress.

The first person to approach would be the Prince’s equerry. Thank heavens Captain Johnstone had been such a dandy, for the Prince, if he recalled, had admired his style of dress. And the captain had never been so unwise as to criticize his sovereign’s less successful attempts to emulate Beau Brummel. Captain Johnstone’s heroism in the Peninsula, too, should go a long way in his favour. Prinny was a sentimentalist. He had been known to break down in tears upon hearing a sad story. Surely he could be made to forgive the rash act of a tenderhearted daughter upon seeing her father, a national hero, near death.

Yes, he must request an audience with the Regent as soon as possible. It would then be just a matter of weeks. Meanwhile, he could be priming the Regent’s advisers to smooth his way, and it would not hurt to broach the subject with Lady Hertford, the Prince’s current object of affection.

Tom had just reached this point in his thinking when something ahead on the road captured his attention. It appeared to be an overturned carriage, and as he approached he spied two figures seated beside it in the ditch.

He pulled up the chaise and called back to Susan. “There seems to be an accident up ahead, madam. Shall I stop the carriage?”

Susan stuck her head out the window and uttered a little cry at the forlorn sight in front of her. “Oh, yes, Tom. Zat is,
oui, oui, bien sûr!”

The carriage and its inhabitants, as they saw when they came nearer, made a rather peculiar picture. The coach itself, enormous in size, was covered in black silk and, although it might have been in the first style of elegance more than fifty years before, was now something of a relic. It appeared to have lost an axle; the wheel must have collapsed. Indeed, the whole contraption appeared to be crumbling before their very eyes.

Beside it were two elderly people. A lady of unbelievable antiquity—also in black silk—sat in some disarray with her feet in the ditch. Her companion, a servant of some kind, was, if possible, even older and more fragile. They both were clearly shaken by the disaster.

“Oh, you poor dears!” cried Susan, scarcely waiting for Tom to hand her down. A squeeze from Tom’s hand reminded her to play her role, so she hastily added,
“Les pauvres!
What ’as ’appened?” She lifted her veil in order to speak to the aged victims.

The two elderly people struggled to their feet, each endeavouring to help the other, and Tom and Susan hurried to add their assistance.

“How good of you to stop,” said the lady in a quavering voice. “Our carriage overturned, as you can see. I cannot think what happened. It is my best travelling coach.”

Susan glanced back at the coach with some surprise and avoided Tom’s eye. “Of course you cannot. Such a ’andsome carriage as it was
—I am certain somes’ing can be done for it. But we must get you to a place of comfort. My name is Suzanne Faringdon.” She had decided rather abruptly that she could no longer pretend to have a limited vocabulary. The situation demanded complete sentences at the very least. Tom would have to be satisfied with a slight Gallic intonation.

“And I am Lady Mewhinny, my dear,” replied the old lady. “That is mew, like a cat, and whinny, like a horse. Mewhinny. Are you from Scotland?”

Susan started and, as Tom turned away to hide a smile, replied in a rather wounded voice,
“Non, non,
my lady. I am French. My ’usband, ’e was an Englishman.” She hoped a slight exaggeration would settle the matter.

“And you are widowed,” Lady Mewhinny guessed sadly. “And you such a pretty young woman. I am a widow, too, my dear, though Sir William died when I was somewhat older than you are now. Could your man take a look at my carriage to see what needs to be done to right it? Perhaps we can go along in it.”

Susan eyed the miserable heap of wood and black silk with a great deal of doubt, but, trying to make her request sound like an order, asked Tom to do his best. Then she offered Lady Mewhinny her arm to take her back to Lord Harleston’s carriage where she could be seated more comfortably.

The frail lady (eighty-five if she was a day, thought Susan) made slow progress back to the chaise. “I cannot think what is the matter with me,” she said finally. “I scarcely seem to know my own limbs.”

“You ’ave been dreadfully shaken!” replied Susan, aching with pity for the poor lady. “It is no wonder you are not quite right.”

“I suppose so,” Lady Mewhinny agreed. “To tell the truth, I do not think Vigor feels quite the thing, either. I hardly like to ask him to help your groom.”

 “Vigor?” Susan asked blankly.

“Yes, my groom. He is directly descended from the Roman invaders on both sides,” she explained proudly. “He is from Sussex, you see. His mother’s name was Venus and his father’s, Avis. You can see it in his nose, of course.”

“’Is nose?”

“Of course, my dear. Why surely you must have noticed his Roman nose!”

Susan looked back over her shoulder at the thin, stooped creature hovering over the doomed carriage but managed to keep the smile from her voice. “I am afraid I did not, Lady Mewhinny. But I was so concerned about you, I must ’ave been razzer unobservant.”

Lady Mewhinny laid a wasted hand on Susan’s and patted it kindly. “Aren’t you a dear,” she said. Her voice had lost its quavering quality. “You must not worry about me; I am certain your man will have the carriage righted shortly.”

But no sooner had Lady Mewhinny been settled comfortably in Susan’s chaise than she was proven wrong. When Tom stepped up to the window to make his report, Susan saw that his breeches had taken on a vast quantity of mud.

“I’m afraid it’s no use, milady,” he said in the humblest of tones. “It’s going to take more than one man to set your coach to rights.”

“Oh, bother!” exclaimed Lady Mewhinny. “Now we shall be delayed.”

Susan looked at Lord Harleston and noticed a streak of mud across his forehead. He was holding up magnificently, but she could see the relief in his expression. He obviously thought they were about to resolve the episode. But they could not leave Lady Mewhinny and Vigor here.

Directing Tom a subtly pleading glance, Susan said, “You must let us convey you somewhere, Lady Mewhinny. Was your destination ’ere in ze vicinity?”

“Oh, no, I could not trouble you to do that!” protested the older woman. “You were on a journey of your own. I would not think of interrupting it more than I already have!”

“But zat is absurd!” cried Susan, more than ever wishing to help. The frail lady’s courage touched her deeply. “We were just on our way to London. But zere is no urgency; we ‘ave no business zere. A slight delay will not inconvenience us in ze least.” She could sense the widening of his lordship’s eyes.

Lady Mewhinny offered no further protest. “Then I accept,” she said. “It is most kind of you to offer. To tell the truth, I had worried about Vigor.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “He is not as young as he used to be, though you might not think it. You see, he was already in Sir William’s service when I married him in 1749.”