The Portrait (8 page)

She looked impatiently at him. "No, no one accompanies
me. Oh, do sit down, Edward. I can't talk to you when you
tower over me as you're doing now."

"Why are you here?" he asked, resuming his seat. As an afterthought, he added, "Not run away, have you?"

"Certainly not! Though, upon reflection, I can see that it
may seem that I have. I never thought of it in that light. Now it
will not do that you sidetrack me. It's Perry and that ungracious brother of mine."

He groaned, putting his hand to his bowed head. "Not another scrape! What now?"

"Perry came to see me late this afternoon. Freddie's absconded"

"What the deuce for? Why did Perry not come to me?"

"He said that you were away from home, and he'd tried to
sort the matter out on his own, but now that Freddie's gone, he
had to come to tell me"

"What the devil is all this about-another prank?"

"It's slightly more serious than a prank this time. A fight."

"A fight?" he repeated stupidly, sitting fully erect and giving her the whole of his attention.

"They stole out after hours to go to a cockfight that had been
arranged in a local barn, and there were quite a few sporting
bucks there. Freddie got embroiled in an argument with one of
them that resulted in a mill. His opponent fell heavily, striking
his head, and lost consciousness. Thinking he'd killed him,
Freddie took to his heels before they could call the runners"

"Stupid boy!" remonstrated Sinclair. "And I suppose Perry
was no better?"

"Perry went after him to reassure him that his opponent
was merely stunned, but he could not find him. When he eventually returned to his rooms, a note had been delivered to say
that Freddie was going into hiding and Perry should not try to
find him."

"All this would've been totally unnecessary if only they'd
come to me," complained the earl, sighing heavily with frustration. "Though where to start to look for him, I don't know."

"I do," she said with some aplomb, "but I can't go alone.
Therefore, so as not to involve anyone else in the matter, I've
decided that you will take me. I've told Perry to stay here,
should Freddie return while we are away. We must travel incognito, of course, which is why I dress as a boy. It would
cause too much comment if you were seen to be accompanied
by a girl...."

"And it would not draw interest and comment if you are
seen in the company of a one-armed man?" he asked scornfully. "We could hardly go unnoticed."

"Now you are being difficult. I've thought of that. We
shall travel on the Accommodation Coach as ... brothers, or cousins, or even tutor and pupil. We are less likely to be noticed if we travel on a public conveyance than if we use one of
our own vehicles."

"You've thought this out quite thoroughly," he said, slightly
surprised and not without admiration. "But there's no need for
you to become embroiled in the affair. I will follow in Freddie's wake and bring him back. There's no need for you to be
setting out on such a venture"

"There's every need, for I know where to search, and you
don't. I couldn't tell Arthur-you must see that. He would berate Freddie shamefully, and who knows what state of mind
poor Freddie's in? No, I must go, and if you choose not to accompany me, then so be it."

He saw the impropriety of the situation, but his inebriation
made him reckless. However, he made one last attempt to persuade her to remain in London. "I take it that you've left no
message for Hawley?"

.'No!"

"Then when it is seen that you are gone, it will be thought
that you've eloped or some such. Do you think that wise?"

"Wise or not, there's no alternative. Edward, do hurry," she
pleaded, taking hold of his sleeve. "We don't have much time
if we are to catch the Accommodation Coach; it leaves The
Blue Boar for Coventry at five."

"Where are we heading?"

"Buxton in Derbyshire."

"Why in the devil's name Buxton? Its halfway up the coun-
tryt".

"Because I believe Freddie will have gone to an old friend
who lives there, and, of course, he will think that Buxton is far
enough away to be of no interest to the runners"

"You realize, of course, that, being somewhat in my cups, I
will probably regret this in the morning," he warned, standing
and making for the door. "We can't set out totally unprepared.
I will put some necessary items into a valise. I trust you've not
come empty-handed?"

She looked meaningfully toward a small cloak bag that had
remained unnoticed by the hearth.

When he returned to the library a short while later, he'd
changed his evening clothes for the more serviceable attire of
buckskin breeches with top boots and a coat of dark blue superfine.

Jennifer darted from the chair where she'd been waiting
impatiently for his return. "Thank goodness you've come," she
said a little breathlessly. "I was beginning to despair and
thought you had fallen asleep."

"Never!" he replied, making a small bow. "Would I do such
a thing when a lady is waiting for me?"

She cast him a deprecating glance. "Edward, am I to get
any sense from you?" she asked.

"I'd thought I was all sense," he replied, grinning down at
her. "See? I even remembered the money." And he held out
his wallet as proof.

"I've been thinking about that," she said soberly. "I've a notion the amount of money I have in my purse will not suffice.
Therefore, I would be grateful if you would keep a strict tally
on what you are obliged to spend on my behalf, and I will ensure you are repaid on our return."

"Then I shall be banker. Though, as for keeping tally, I
must warn you that I can be quite unreliable in that direction.
There's absolutely no need to keep account of my expenditure
on your behalf, as I will bear whatever costs are necessary. Now
we must go before the servants start to stir. The hall porter has
retired, so if we make haste, we may leave unobserved"

Within a short while of leaving the yard at The Blue Boar,
the rocking of the coach lulled Sinclair into a deep slumber
from which it would have taken nothing short of an explosion
to wake him. Surprisingly, there had been few passengers awaiting the coach, and he'd been able to secure a window seat
with Jennifer sitting between him and a clerical gentleman
who was equally eager to seek repose. Sitting opposite them was a rotund man of uncertain occupation who insisted upon
attempting to engage Jennifer in conversation, his wife, punctuating each of his sentences with a nod of her head, seemingly just as eager to set up a dialogue.

Feeling unequal to a lively tete-a-tete so early in the day,
Jennifer gave only monosyllabic replies before stating herself
to be extremely tired and, begging her companions' pardon,
rested her head against Sinclair's shoulder, and she, too,
drifted into sleep.

Several changes of teams were achieved at the coaching
inns en route before she again woke to find her traveling companions to have changed. The cleric remained, but the opposite
seat now contained two birdlike spinsters who were obviously
sisters and an elderly gentleman who appeared to be in their
care, as they constantly fussed over him.

Relinquishing her position against Sinclair's shoulder, she
sat erect, casting him a sidelong glance that assured her he
still slumbered. To her vast amusement, his curly-brimmed
beaver was now set at a rakish angle over one eye, and she
fought the impulse to issue a very unladylike giggle.

"Have you enjoyed your sleep, young sir?" asked the elderly
gentleman, smiling indulgently at her. "I would suppose it was
a very early start for such a youngster as yourself."

"Oh, I'm older than I look, sir," she replied, relishing her
role of schoolboy.

The elderly man grinned. "And how old might that be?
You're naught but a young shaver of a lad."

She thought hurriedly. She'd not given her appearance
much thought but realized that, as she wore her brother's earlier schoolboy garb, she must appear to be very young.

"Twelve," she replied with composure, hoping to have chosen correctly.

The old man grinned. "And is this your father, my boy?" he
asked, nodding at the earl.

"Certainly not," she replied with some amusement. "He's
my tutor, Mr. Thurston"

The old man, who informed her that his name was Griffin and that he traveled with his daughters, eyed the earl uncertainly, taking in the cut of his coat and the gleam of his top
boots. "He's a very elegant-looking tutor. Never known any tutor to wear clothes of that quality." Then, nodding briefly at
Sinclair's left shoulder, he observed, "Been in the war, has he?"

"Mr. Thurston likes to dress to perfection," confided Jennifer, sotto voce. "Though I know not how he bears the expense on a tutor's salary. As to the war ..."

The earl pulled his length upright in the seat and pushed
back his beaver from his brow. "Jen . . " he warned.

Mr. Griffin chuckled. "Jen? Jen? What kind of name is that
for a young lad?"

"Jem," corrected Sinclair, suppressing a grin. "Master
Jeremiah Scatterwell."

Jennifer shot him a look of horror, thinking the brandy
from the previous night must have addled his brain, but, seeing
only a gleam of amusement in his eye, she resigned herself to
being the recipient of such an ignoble name.

The earl removed his hat, placing it upon one knee, and attempted to straighten his crumpled neck-cloth. It had been a
devil of a job to change his clothing unaided the previous
night, and it irked him that it had been tied with less than its
customary precision, but under the circumstances it was unavoidable. His memory of the event that had led to this highly
unconventional journey being somewhat hazy, he attempted
to put his thoughts into order. When full recollection came, he
pondered the folly of setting out on such a mission. Certainly
Freddie needed to be retrieved, but he should have insisted
that Jennifer return home and then undertaken the journey
alone. He couldn't believe that he'd been so foolish as to have
agreed to her impulsive scheme.

When the coach arrived at its next stop and all the passengers alighted to partake of a light luncheon, Sinclair took hold
of Jennifer's arm and propelled her toward the inn's private
parlor, ordering the landlord to provide a hasty cold collation.
As soon as the door closed in the man's wake, he spun her
around, a distinct look of indignation on his face.

"Like to `dress to perfection,' do I? Don't know how I `bear
the expense on a tutor's salary'?" he said. "May I point out to
you, young lady, I am no coxcomb. I am known for my moderation in dress"

"If you will insist on traveling in clothes that proclaim the
hand of a master tailor, what else could I have said?" she
replied defiantly. "Some explanation needed to be given."

Releasing his hold on her arm, he sat on the settle. "Of course
you're right," he replied. "Though I'm still not sure how I allowed you to involve me in this escapade in the first place. I am
also known as a very rational man, and I can't believe I was so
easily persuaded to go against all that is sensible."

"That's quite simple." She chuckled. "You were drunk, but
surely you saw that I couldn't travel alone." Then, recollecting
the issue, she demanded, "And may I ask why you felt the
need to saddle me with the name of Jeremiah Scatterwell?"

Unrepentant, he grinned. "Jeremiah is a very noble name.
There had to be some explanation for why I'd called you Jen"

"Does that mean I may now call you Ned, as the boys do?"
she asked hopefully.

"No, my lady, it does not. Even a young gentleman as noble
as Master Jeremiah Scatterwell would not be allowed to take
such liberties with his tutor. It shall be Mr. Thurston. You must
treat me with respect"

"Humph," she replied. "And what respect am I due?"

"None whatsoever, my dear. You are reduced to the rank of
scrubby schoolboy. 'Twas your idea to masquerade as one,
and so you shall be treated"

The entrance of the landlord bearing a tray containing a
foaming tankard of ale and a glass of lemonade prevented any
further discourse on the subject. His wife, following with a
meal of cold meats and bread and butter, smiled briefly in the
travelers' direction before dropping a hasty curtsy and withdrawing in her husband's wake.

Jennifer pulled a chair up to the table and forked some beef
and pork onto her plate. The lemonade she found quite refreshing, and it was a moment before she realized that the earl watched her from his seat by the hearth, a wealth of amusement evident in his eyes.

"Won't you join me, Edward?" she asked.

Grinning, he held up his hand in reply. "I feel not the need
for food at the moment. But please, don't let me spoil your appetite, which appears quite in order."

"Of course, I was forgetting your hangover," she replied
with disdain.

"I'm never known to suffer the effects of a hangover, my
girl. I am merely not hungry."

"You don't fool me, Edward Thurston. Admit it, you're
feeling rather green about the gills. I've seen that look often
enough when Arthur has overimbibed."

He came and sat at the table and took some of the meats
onto his plate. "There, does that satisfy you?" he asked.

"You really should eat something, Edward, for who knows
when our next stop will be?"

Having rejoined the coach some short while later, their next
stop came rather sooner than they had anticipated. Midway
through the afternoon, as they negotiated a sharp bend in the
lane, they encountered a young sporting gentleman dashing
along in his phaeton, forcing the coach driver to bring his team
sharply to the side of the road. Much confusion ensued as the
two teams swerved dangerously to avoid a collision, resulting
in the coach mounting the bank of a deep ditch and slithering
down the other side. Springing his horses and without as much
as a backward glance, the gentleman disappeared almost as
suddenly as he had materialized.