The Original Miss Honeyford (8 page)

“But just to make sure, I sent John after them, although they had a very good head start on him. He saw them ahead of him just as they were leaving Ludgate Hill to go to the hanging. He ran back here as fast as he could and I sent him on to Mrs. Osborne to call your ladyship home.”

“He should have stayed with them,” snapped Lady Canon. “He should have taken Miss Honeyford away.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, there’s more. I had gone out on the step to send John on his way to tell you when Lord Alistair happened to walk past, and, seeing my evident agitation, he demanded to know what was amiss.”

“Dear God, you never told him that Miss Honeyford had gone to a public hanging?”

“I am afraid I did, my lady. Lord Alistair said he would go in that direction and see what he could do.”

“I do not see how he can possibly find one girl among thousands,” said Lady Canon. “This is a wretched business. At least Lord Alistair will not talk. We must simply wait until she comes home. Do not look so worried, Beecham. I am not angry with you. You did everything you could.”

And since the news of the terrible crowd deaths at the hanging had not yet filtered to the fashionable West End, Lady Canon decided to pass the time until Honey came home by preparing the lecture she was going to give that young miss when she eventually returned.

*   *   *

The screams of the crowd were deafening. Honey twisted her head, desperately seeking escape, and seeing only panic-stricken faces as everyone pushed and shoved and bit and clawed, trying to make their escape.

She knew she could not keep her senses for very much longer. She raised her eyes. Far above was the blue, blue sky.

There was another great surge as the people in front of Honey turned about and tried to push to the back. She stumbled backward against the buildings, feeling the black mass of the crowd beginning to press the life out of her.

And then she saw a rope dangling in front of her face.

She seized it tightly and screamed for help, her scream being lost among the screams and roars of the rabble.

Slowly Honey was pulled up above the crowd, although for several agonizing moments she thought she would never be free of the press around her. Her arms felt as if they were about to be pulled out of their sockets. A man jumped and struck at her but was knocked back by the stumbling and grabbing of the people about him. The blow sent Honey spinning out over a sea of upturned faces. Then she swung back toward the buildings and stuck her feet out to brace herself for the impact. The jolt when it came was severe, but she held on tightly to the rope and “walked” her way up the side of the building, praying her unseen rescuer would not let her drop.

“Hold the rope and let me get her,” came a familiar voice. Lord Alistair’s head and shoulders appeared out of the window. His strong arms seized her and pulled her in over the sill.

Honey fell in a heap on the floor. Lord Alistair eyed her with dislike.

When he had arrived at the scene of the hanging, he had been appalled at the chaos. There was no way of finding Honey among all these people. The screams of the dying and wounded were dreadful. The worst scenes were over at the corner of Green Arbor Lane, near Skinner Street. By vaulting over a wall which led to the back of the house, followed by his groom, Ben, he was able to bribe his way into the second floor of a house which overlooked the worst of the chaos. He hung out of the window and scanned the crowd below. Like a kind of mockery, the sun was shining brightly. Lord Alistair watched helplessly as a pieman dropped his tray, and, bending to retrieve the contents, was trampled to death. Several others went down with him, never to rise again.

He looked immediately below, attracted by the screams from those who were being crushed against the buildings.

That was when he saw the sunlight glinting on a head of short chestnut curls.

“A rope!” he called over his shoulder to his groom. “Fetch a rope, Ben.”

Ben was soon back with a stout rope. Honey was rescued. And now she was sitting on the floor at his feet and all he wanted to do was shake her until her teeth rattled.

“Do you know you were nearly killed?” he said furiously. “Don’t you—”

He broke off as Honey struggled to her feet. “Give me the rope,” she cried. “My servants! Oh, Jem and Abraham and Peter.”

“Find them first,” said Lord Alistair curtly, pointing to the window.

Honey leaned out, desperately searching the street below. “Jem,” she cried. “He is there. He must have been quite close to me. Hurry! He is sore pressed, and Abraham and Peter are with him.”

Lord Alistair and Ben lowered the rope carefully until it was dangling in front of Jem’s face. Like Honey, he seized it, but, as he was being dragged clear above the crowd, Abraham grabbed his boots and held tightly.

Lord Alistair had removed his coat, and, in the middle of all her fear for the safety of her servants, Honey could not help noticing with surprise how his muscles bulged under the thin cambric of his shirt as he and Ben took the strain of two men dangling on the rope.

It had been an easy matter to lift a slip of a girl like Honey clear, but getting a heavy coachman with a sturdy groom hanging onto his legs over the windowsill seemed nigh impossible to Honey. But soon Lord Alistair and Ben dragged the coachman in and along the floor until Abraham catapulted through the window, still holding tightly onto Jem’s legs.

“Now, Peter,” said Honey, jumping up and down.

Lord Alistair gave her a sour look, but asked her to point Peter out, and to direct the rope. But the crowd about Peter were now anxious to get out by the same route, and they had to hoist up two strangers before they succeeded in netting Peter.

“Now,” said Lord Alistair, “I think we should all get out of here as soon as possible.”

There was a murmur of agreement, but Honey stood with her back to the window, her eyes flashing. “There are women and children down there,” she said. “We should not forget them.”

Lord Alistair looked at her wearily. He wanted to point out that his muscles were already cracking, that any woman who went to a public hanging should know to expect a riot, but there was something touchingly gallant about the small figure in the sage-green cloak, so he called to Ben and to Honey’s servants to help him.

They rescued four women and five children before the crowd below suddenly began to make their escape as the mob on the outer fringes of Newgate began to disperse.

“Thank you,” said Honey, impulsively stretching out a hand to Lord Alistair. “You were magnificent.”

“I cannot return the compliment,” said Lord Alistair icily. “I will return you to your aunt.”

They had to walk as far as High Holborn before Lord Alistair could reclaim his carriage from the inn where he had left it.

“Make your way on foot, Ben,” he said to his groom. “I would have a word with Miss Honeyford in private. As for the rest of you,” he said, staring coldly at Honey’s servants, “I am sure Lady Canon will have a few words to say to you.”

Jem, Abraham, and Peter stood by miserably as Honey was helped up into Lord Alistair’s high perch phaeton. They were in no doubt that Lady Canon would dismiss them from her brother-in-law’s employ, and then write and give him the reason.

Lord Alistair started his lecture as soon as they were on their way along High Holborn. “Miss Honeyford,” he said, “you are a most ungrateful girl. Your aunt has gone to considerable expense to furnish you with a wardrobe and to train you in the ways of society, and
this
is how you repay her.”

“My father paid for my clothes,” mumbled Honey.

“Don’t interrupt,” he snapped.
“As
I was saying…”

Honey sat and fumed. She had nearly been killed, and yet he had not offered one word of concern. He preached on and
on
about her lack of femininity, and yet he treated her worse than a man.

There was a great press of traffic when they reached Oxford Street. Lord Alistair let the reins drop and allowed his horses to edge their way forward.

Honey reflected that she would have enjoyed the novelty of sitting high above the crowd in this dashing open carriage at any other time and with any other companion.

Then she saw Amy Wetherall with her father and mother approaching in an open landau.

Lord Alistair stopped in mid-lecture and looked down at Honey in amazement. For she had started to laugh, a very charming laugh, and she was gazing up at him with a warm, flirtatious light in her eyes. He suddenly found it very amusing that he, of all people, should be playing the heavy father, and smiled back.

Amy Wetherall looked up and saw them—as Honey meant her to do—apparently on the best of terms. The traffic halted.

Amy remembered Honey because of her outrageously short hairstyle. “Miss Honeyford!” she called. “It is I!”

Honey looked down and raised her eyebrows with a pretty show of surprise before smiling and waving her hand in welcome.

Then both carriages moved on in their opposite directions.

“Who on earth was that ravishing creature?” asked Lord Alistair.

“Miss Amy Wetherall.”

“Ah, the reigning belle. She is exquisite.”

Honey folded her arms and glared straight ahead.

“Mama,” Amy was saying plaintively, “do you not think my hair is unbecomingly long?”

“No, darling,” said Mrs. Wetherall. “You are the most beautiful girl in London, and you do not need to alter your appearance.”

But Amy bit her lip. Honey’s hair, which had looked so
outré
in Kelidon, looked oddly modish in London. It
must
be modish to get a high stickler like Lord Alistair Stewart to smile at her that way. Lord Alistair had been pointed out to Amy a week before when that gentleman had been driving in the Park, and Amy had thought of him ever since.

Lord Alistair thankfully set Miss Honeyford down outside Lady Canon’s home in Charles Street. His mind was full of the beautiful Miss Wetherall. There was a pearl! Miss Wetherall would not smoke cheroots, drink brandy, wave a pistol, or nearly get herself killed at a public hanging.

Honey was glad to get away from
him
, horrible, nagging man.

But the horrible nagging was not over, for Lady Canon was ready to deliver herself of her lecture. She ended up by saying she would take the liberty of dismissing Honey’s servants and write and tell Sir Edmund why she had taken the liberty of doing so.

“Then you may dismiss me, my lady,” said Honey quietly, “for they are part of my family. They are very loyal and obedient. I ordered them to take me with them, and they could not do else but obey. You
will not
dismiss them.”

Lady Canon blinked a little at the quiet dignity in Honey’s face.

Honey had not told her of the terrible crowd deaths at the hanging, or of her rescue by Lord Alistair. Let Lady Canon continue to think for as long as possible that she had merely gone to a vulgar spectacle.

“Well, well,” said Lady Canon rather breathlessly,
“your
loyalty does you credit, and I will say no more on the matter. Your servants may return to the north as planned. But I expect
you
, dear Honoria, to give
me
the same loyalty. From now on you will behave impeccably. Do I have your promise?”

“Oh, yes,” said Honey gratefully, prepared to swear anything so as to keep Lady Canon off the subject of Jem, Peter, and Abraham.

“Your debut is tomorrow night. It is all important,” said Lady Canon. “Put off your cloak and we will continue your lessons. You have said farewell to your servants so you need not trouble about them again.”

But although Honey really meant to reform, Lady Canon would have been very shocked if she could have seen her niece at dawn the next day, a niece who stood in the mews hugging her coachman and grooms, the tears running down her face as she said her final farewells.

Honey had been looking forward to her first opera. It was Gluck’s
Alceste
, to be sung in Italian. Although Lady Canon had told her the opera rivaled Almack’s as a social event, nothing that she had said had prepared Honey for the reality of the spectacle.

It was certainly a place where the fashionable world went to be seen, so much so that some of the loungers strolled on the stage and danced about, which was rather disconcerting during one of the tragic scenes. Then when the lead singer was in the middle of the finest passage of a bravura song, several of the dilletantes in the boxes would scream out an accompaniment, shaking impassionedly the while, reminding Honey of nothing so much as two rival organ grinders competing on either side of the street.

The politer members of the audience would call out, “Bravo! Bravissimo!” even though they had been engaged in private conversation all the time the soprano had been performing, and then would turn to each other and say, “Vastly fine—what was it?”

So Honey contented herself with listening to as much of the performance as she could. But there was so much going on in the boxes that it was hard to concentrate on the stage.

And so it was that her wandering eye fell on Lord Alistair Stewart. He had just entered the Wetheralls’ box and was bowing over Amy’s dimpled little hand. Honey wrenched her eyes away from them and tried to concentrate again on the opera.

But she could not help wondering what would happen at the ball that was to be held after the performance in the opera house. Not that Lord Alistair would ask her to dance. Perhaps he would not even recognize her in her new finery.

Honey was wearing a light-green silk gown, embroidered with silver leaves. It had short sleeves drawn into quarters at the top of the shoulder and separated with broad silver chains. The bottoms of the sleeves and the hem were embroidered with silver leaves. The bosom of the gown was made entirely of lace and silver leaves. On her short curls she wore a dainty little tiara of gold and silver thread.

Beside her, resplendent in her favorite dove-gray, sat Lady Canon. She was very proud of her niece, and noticed all the glances that were being cast in Honey’s direction.

Honey was still shocked from her experience of the hanging. She was depressed because the opera did not manage to take her out of herself. If only all this was a bad dream, and she could wake up in her bed in Kelidon. She thought of her father’s kindly face, and of how they would sit and talk of an evening, and her eyes glittered with tears.