Lady Jane's Ribbons (8 page)

To be sold, the very superior, old-established business of J. E. Wheddle & Co., being the hostelry known as the Feathers inn, Cheapside, the Swan Ticket Office, Castle Square, Brighton, and the coaches, horses, and other appurtenances which form the Swan daily coach, famous for its security, punctuality, and reliability. The proprietor is forced to this dire length by circumstances beyond his control. All interested inquiries to the Feathers, Cheapside.

She’d heard of the Swan stagecoach, which had been running for a long time on the fashionable Brighton road, but which had never become the crack vehicle both the Iron Duke and Nonpareil could justifiably claim to be. She recalled that Henry had mentioned it recently, something about Chapman’s making a determined effort to run it off the road and thus reduce the competition. Was that what the notice meant by circumstances beyond the proprietor’s control?

Blanche had been looking without interest at the notice, and now she
grew impatient. ‘Shall we go in?’

‘Mm?’

‘I said, shall we go in?’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’

‘What on earth is so absorbing about a notice like that? You surely aren’t thinking of becoming a coachmistress?’ Blanche laughed at such a
preposterous
notion.

Jane laughed too, but as they entered the rooms, she paused in the entrance to look back at the board. Her expression grew thoughtful.

The exhibition was excellent, the finest gathering together of Dutch
landscapes
London had ever seen. The rooms were as a consequence very crowded as society came to view the delights, but as Jane wandered from painting to painting at Blanche’s side, her mind wasn’t on masterpieces at all, it was outside with the notice on the board. Blanche’s chance remark seemed to echo in her head.
You surely aren’t thinking of becoming a
coachmistress
?

‘Jane?’ Blanche was speaking again.

There wasn’t a reply.

Blanche touched her arm, a little hurt now. ‘Jane?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did you say something?’

‘Yes, I was asking your opinion of this painting. Don’t you think it’s a remarkable performance? It’s so lifelike, one could almost step into all that snow, don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, it’s truly magnificent.’ Jane’s tone lacked true enthusiasm.

‘You haven’t been concentrating at all, have you? In fact, I’d say you were totally uninterested. Is something wrong? You were all right on the way here, but ever since we arrived….’ Blanche looked quickly at her. ‘I saw Alicia’s barouche arriving at Lewis’s house, are you low because of that? I haven’t said anything today about last night, but why
were
you alone in the garden with him? Were you making progress again? Is that why it upsets you to see her carriage at his door?’

Jane colored and glanced quickly around in case someone had overheard, for the room was a considerable crush. ‘Hush, Blanche, someone may hear. You’re wrong anyway, it’s nothing to do with Lewis. As to my reason for being with him in the garden, it wasn’t what you think, I promise you.’

‘What was it then?’

Jane hesitated, for she could hardly tell Blanche the truth. ‘Oh, it was just something and nothing. If you must know, we were discussing Henry’s chances in the race. After all, Lewis
was
a much-admired whip himself, if you recall.’

‘Yes, I suppose he was, in fact he still is. Oh dear, and there I was, hoping against hope that the two of you were getting together again.’

At that moment, Jane’s heart sank, for she heard the unmistakable trill of Alicia’s laughter from the adjoining room. ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered, ‘I
couldn’t 
face that wretched woman again.’ She turned quickly away, anxious to escape into another room, but as on the previous evening, events conspired against her, and the crush was so great with people coming into the room she was in that it was quite impossible to get
out
of it. Resignedly, she turned back again, trying to look as if she was engrossed in the study of the
painting
she and Blanche stood before, and hoping against hope that Alicia wouldn’t see her. But it was a faint hope, for Alicia’s feline eyes spied them immediately, and what was worse, she wasn’t alone – Lewis was with her.

He wore a charcoal gray coat and cream cord trousers, and the tassels on his gleaming Hessian boots swung to and fro as he walked. He carried his top hat under one arm, while on the other leaned his graceful, clinging mistress. Alicia looked as stylish and beautiful as ever, in a golden-brown silk pelisse and a pearl muslin gown with a Tudor ruff. Her straw bonnet was tied on with wired oyster ribbons, while under its brim was pinned a posy of golden-brown velvet flowers. There was a gauze scarf fluttering behind her, and the shoes peeping out from beneath her hem were a particularly shiny black patent leather. She looked enchanting, and was evidently at her most fascinating, whispering to Lewis and making him laugh. She halted then, drawing his attention to Jane and Blanche, and Jane’s heart sank still further as they came over.

Alicia was all sweetness and charm. ‘Oh, what a pleasant surprise. My dear Blanche, I didn’t have a chance last night to tell you how very much I admired your mother’s decorations. All those flowers, it was quite
wonderful
.’

‘Thank you.’ Blanche was a little reserved with her, having on reflection decided that Alicia’s revelations about Henry hadn’t been entirely
innocently
or kindly meant. According Alicia only a cool nod, she reserved her smile for Lewis. ‘Good afternoon, Lewis. I trust you are recovered from your late night?’

‘I am indeed.’ His gray eyes rested on Jane. ‘Good afternoon, Jane. Are you enjoying the exhibition?’

‘I am, sir, but then some of the exhibits are more prize than others, aren’t they?’ Her glance flickered momentarily toward Alicia, whose eyes
darkened
angrily.

Blanche touched Jane’s arm quickly. ‘We must get on, Jane, or we won’t complete the exhibition before it’s time to go.’

With some relief, Jane seized the excuse and they withdrew, threading their way through the crush into the next room, and then on out of the rooms altogether.

Jane said nothing as they drove back toward Berkeley Square in the landau with the maids and Blanche eventually broke the silence by issuing an invitation to tea. Jane declined. ‘I’d love to, truly I would, but there’s something I must do.’

Blanche was a little perturbed. ‘Jane, you’ve been in a very strange mood
for the past hour or more, and now you tell me you have something else planned? Why haven’t you mentioned it before? I’ve half a mind to be alarmed.’

‘There’s no need, I promise you.’

‘You’re not going to tell me anything more, are you?’

‘Not yet, but I will if anything comes of it.’

‘Comes of what? Oh, I do wish you’d confide in me.’

‘There’s nothing to confide just yet.’

Blanche said nothing more, much to Jane’s relief, because she didn’t really know how to admit what was really on her mind. Blanche would think she’d taken leave of her senses if she found out that Lady Jane Derwent, champion opponent of all things connected with coaching, was actually contemplating purchasing a stagecoach business! Jane could hardly believe it herself, but that was what had been on her mind since the moment she’d read the notice in Hanover Square, and when she had left Blanche she intended to go to the Feathers inn in Cheapside to make further inquiries about Messers J. E. Wheddle & Co. Henry was in dire need of being given a lesson in how to behave, and his sister intended to do just that, by taking him on at his own game.

Cheapside was a broad, cobbled street with a wide pavement on either side. It was a bustling thoroughfare filled with traffic and people, with a
permanent
line of hackney coaches waiting patiently down its center. The tall brown brick buildings, their upper stories graced by fine,
symmetrically-arranged
windows, their ground floors taken up by bow-fronted shops displaying an astonishing variety of goods, seemed to trap the noise of the traffic, making it echo all around. It was one of the old city’s finest
shopping
streets and was dominated by the tall steeple of Sir Christopher Wren’s church of St Mary-le-Bow.

The Feathers inn stood close to the church and was a plain building with a low archway leading through to a large galleried courtyard. For such an establishment in a sought-after street, there was a strangely subdued air about it, as if it had withdrawn from the surrounding noise and pace. As Jane’s landau approached, she felt rather apprehensive, for not only was she contemplating doing something very unconventional indeed, she was also offending etiquette by just coming here. Ladies simply did not enter such establishments alone, unless forced to do so by unavoidable circumstances; they frequented the elegant, fashionable hotels of Mayfair, and then seldom
unaccompanied. And yet here she was, about to go alone into a London coaching inn, her purpose one which went against a whole legion of rules governing proper, ladylike conduct. Indeed, just about the only convention she
was
observing was that she had Ellen with her, as her obligatory
chaperone
. Yes, Blanche would indeed think her quite mad if she knew.

In the seconds before the landau entered the cobbled courtyard, all was quiet in the enclosed area. There were no other vehicles except a brewer’s dray unloading kegs by the open cellar door, close to the kitchens. A group of grooms and ostlers were waiting for the afternoon Swan stagecoach from Brighton, and they whiled away the time by playing dice against the wall beneath the steps leading up to the gallery and bedrooms. The coach ticket office was empty, the clerk having deserted his post to join his friends in their game. The Swan was late again, but that was nothing new these days.

At the sound of hooves and wheels beneath the archway, they were all galvanized into astonished action, scattering to their various posts and
looking
askance at each other that the stagecoach should have failed to announce its approach with a blast of its horn. As the elegant, fashionable landau appeared in the courtyard drawn by four perfectly matched bays and driven by a liveried coachman, the men’s surprise became outright amazement, especially when they saw that the landau’s occupants were a very stylish lady and her maid.

Even as the landau came to a standstill, from the street outside came the anticipated note of a coaching horn, heralding the approach at last of the Swan. An ostler hurried to take the bridle of the landau’s off-side leader, and another came to open the door for Jane to alight, but at the sound of the stagecoach beneath the archway, she turned in her seat to watch. Ellen turned too, her eyes wide and apprehensive, for the noise was such that it seemed the stagecoach must surely rush straight into them!

It swept into the courtyard, the burly coachman caught a little off-guard by the landau and only just managing to maneuver his sweating, ill-matched team to a standstill between it and the brewer’s dray. He was a far cry from George Sewell, the elegantly attired whip of the Nonpareil, being more in the mold of the old coachmen of the past, his face round and flushed, his bulk hidden beneath the folds of a voluminous benjamin coat. The coach itself was unlike the Nonpareil as well, being rather old and in need of fresh paint. It didn’t boast luxurious fittings, or shining harness, nor did it have a full complement of fares, for it carried only the coachman and guard. Jane read the words beneath the dust on its door panels:
Swan. London and Brighton. Reigate. Handcross. J. E. Wheddle & Co. License No. 3224.

At the sound of the horn in the street, the landlord, presumably Mr Wheddle himself, had emerged from the door leading to the kitchens. He was a tall, large-framed man with bushy side-whiskers and a rather weary expression. He wore a crisp, starched apron, a brown coat, and gray breeches, and his neckcloth was tied as smartly as that of any gentleman. He
looked up expectantly at the coachman, not seeing the landau, which was obscured from his view. ‘Trouble again, Johnno? You’ve lost ten minutes somewhere.’

‘What’s the point of worrying about times when there aren’t fares to carry?’ grumbled the coachman, putting down the ribbons and searching in his coat pocket for his clay pipe, which he thrust between his teeth without lighting. ‘Aw, I’m sorry, Mr Wheddle, I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just that I’ve had a gutful of Chapman and his tricks.’

‘What was it this time?’

‘The usual. They boxed me in good and proper just by Maywood, and the poor old Swan just hasn’t got it in her to pick up enough speed to make up. Sewell gave me the go-by on the Nonpareil, laughing fit to burst. I managed to make up some time at Handcross, but only through a fluke, and I lost it again at the Red Lion, where some darned informer had the magistrates waiting to check the license. Sewell was laughing so much I hoped he’d fall off his box, but no such luck; the swine had the Nonpareil on the road again well before me, snatching all my fares, and seeing to it that the George at Crawley wouldn’t have a fresh team ready and waiting.’

The guard spoke up for the first time. ‘That’s right, Mr Wheddle. I gave them ‘Cherry Ripe’ more than a furlong before we got in, but they hadn’t even got the cattle out of the stalls.’

The landlord nodded wearily. ‘So, Chapman’s got the George in his pocket as well now.’

‘Seems like it, Mr Wheddle. It took us five minutes to change horses, and we should have been in and out in two. I reckon I’ve done well to only lose ten minutes all told. Chapman’s going hard at it; he’s determined to get you off the road one way or another.’

‘Well, at least I won’t have gone without a fight,’ replied the landlord resignedly.

The coachman pushed his hat back on his balding head. ‘You need a really crack whip, Mr Wheddle. I’m not in that class, and you and I both know it.’

The landlord shook his head. ‘It’s too late for all that now, Johnno. The Brighton road’s too fashionable; a coach needs to be like a private carriage to succeed, and it needs not only a fine whip at the ribbons, but also matched teams of blood cattle, and an endless supply of funds to meet the tricks of Edward Chapman and the style of the Earl of Felbridge. It also needs a proprietor with the stomach to carry on, and I have to confess that I’m fast losing that. I’ve fought long enough, and now I just want to get out.’

‘You don’t really mean that, Mr Wheddle.’

‘No, perhaps not, but much as I love this place and want to keep the Swan on the road, I can’t afford it anymore. I have to sell.’

‘To Chapman?’

‘No, not before I’ve tried hard to find another buyer elsewhere, someone
who’s prepared to offer what it’s really worth. Anyway, take her on through, Johnno. Then you and Dick get to the kitchens; Betsy’s got a handsome dinner waiting for you.’

‘Right you are, Mr Wheddle.’ Johnno picked up the reins again, clicking his tongue and easing the tired horses forward into the stableyard, which lay beyond a second archway at the rear of the courtyard.

As the coach moved out of the way, the landlord saw Jane’s landau for the first time. His lips parted in astonishment, and for a moment he just stood there, but then he swiftly recovered and came hurrying over. ‘Begging your pardon, madam, but I didn’t realize you were here. May I be of any assistance to you? Has your carriage incurred some damage, perhaps?’ This was evidently the only reason he could think of for a lady to deign to enter an establishment like this.

‘My carriage is quite all right, sir, but I think you could be of immense assistance. Could you spare me some of your time, Mr Wheddle?’

‘My time?’ He couldn’t hide his puzzlement.

‘I wish to discuss the sale of this business.’

‘But surely such a thing is of no interest to a lady.’

‘Perhaps if I explained that I am Lady Jane Derwent, and the Earl of Felbridge is my brother…?’ She allowed her voice to trail away, no further clarification seeming necessary.

His eyes cleared and became suddenly hopeful. ‘The Earl of Felbridge? Is he considering purchasing the Swan, my lady?’

‘Something of that nature,’ she replied noncommittally.

He didn’t stop to wonder why a gentleman like the earl would send his sister on such an errand; he could only see the possibility of a satisfactory end to his problems. ‘My time is yours, Lady Jane. Perhaps you would be more comfortable if we adjourned to the coffee room?’

‘By all means, sir.’

He assisted her carefully down, as if he was afraid she would shatter the moment her dainty foot touched the yard’s rough cobbles, and he nodded at one of the ostlers. ‘Tell Betsy to bring some of the best coffee, and to be quick about it.’

The man dashed off toward the kitchens and Ellen remained in the landau as Jacob led his extremely grand and unlikely visitor into the quiet coffee room, which had windows looking out onto both Cheapside and the courtyard. It was a low-ceilinged room with a large, yawning fireplace at one end where gleaming copper and brass pots hung against the
soot-marked
stonework. The rows of white-clothed tables were enclosed by settles and partitions, and it was so quiet that the ticking of the long-case clock in the corner could be clearly heard. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the Cheapside windows, falling warmly on the pots of scarlet
geraniums
blooming on the sills, and the smell of coffee hung tangibly in the still air, even though it was Jane’s guess that it had been some time now since
there had been any passengers to serve.

She was led to a table next to one of the windows, but before she could sit down, Jacob had to remove a slumbering tabby kitten which was curled up in the sun on the settle. Then he brushed the seat, smiling apologetically at her. ‘It’s my daughter’s kitten, my lady. Betsy dotes on it. The darned thing’s always sleeping in here, even though I put it out every time I catch it. There. Please sit down.’

She took her seat, gesturing toward the place opposite. ‘Please join me, Mr Wheddle, for it will be most difficult to conduct a conversation if you are standing, since you are so very tall that I’m sure my neck would soon ache.’

He obeyed, but rather uncomfortably, since it didn’t seem right at all that he should be seated in the presence of a lady.

‘Now then, Mr Wheddle,’ she began, ‘could you explain to me exactly why you’re selling?’

‘Oh, the usual reasons for a man to fail in business, my lady,’ he replied blandly. ‘Expenses have become quite intolerable. I’ve poor horses, old coaches, and less than brilliant coachmen, which all means a loss of business when there are the likes of the Earl of Felbridge’s fine Iron Duke to contend with. A new coach would set me back at least
£
120, and I’d need four to have the Swan running properly. I could hire, of course, but at threepence a double mile – that’s one mile there and one back again – that’s quite out of the question as well. Then there’s the horses, an average wheeler would cost a good
£
30, with the leaders naturally coming out at a lot more. After all that, there’s the running of this place, and the ticket office in Brighton, the wages of stablehands, horse keepers, guards, coachmen, and so on, to say nothing of government duties, licenses, road taxes, turnpike tolls…. It’s endless, my lady, as no doubt the earl has told you.’

‘With all due respect, Mr Wheddle, all the things you’ve just mentioned are the cross every single coach proprietor has to bear, but not every single proprietor is forced to sell for reasons beyond his control. Besides, let me be quite honest by admitting that I overheard every word which passed between you and the coachman in the courtyard, so please don’t fob me off with irrelevances. You’re selling because you’re being driven off the road by Mr Chapman, aren’t you?’

For a moment he was silent, then he nodded. ‘Yes, Lady Jane. Because of his activities, I’m reduced to running only one coach a day instead of my usual four. The other three lie idle in the stableyard. I’ve got one coachman and one guard, my single coach cannot be relied upon to keep time, and I’m losing passengers like water through a sieve. It’s costing me
£
50 a week, my lady, and I can’t go on because I’m galloping toward bankruptcy.’

‘What exactly does he do to you?’

‘You heard—’

‘Yes, but I confess I didn’t always understand. For instance, what does
boxed in mean?’

He seemed surprised. ‘I would have thought that the Earl of Felbridge’s sister would be well up with all the slang.’

‘I may be his sister, sir, but I assure you that I’ve hitherto done my utmost to avoid having anything to do with his wretched coaches.’

This response surprised him all the more, for if she loathed coaching so much, why on earth had she apparently agreed to come here on such an errand for her brother? Still, who was Jacob Wheddle to wonder why the likes of the earl and his family did anything? ‘Well, my lady, when a coach is boxed in, it’s contained on the open road by two rivals, both deliberately traveling a great deal slower and blocking any attempt to pass. They closed up on the middle coach so tightly that it hasn’t a chance, and then they let a fourth coach slip by – in today’s case it was the Nonpareil itself – letting it get ahead to the next stop to pick up the boxed-in coach’s passengers. Chapman’s running an army of coaches at the moment, most of them boxing in his competitors, while the Nonpareil waltzes along pinching all the fares.’

‘That sounds a rather expensive way of doing things, Mr Wheddle, even for a man like Mr Chapman.’

‘To him it’s worth it, because in the end he reckons to be top dog on the Brighton road.’

‘I see. So this boxing in, and the buying off of inns along the road, is how he’s forced you into your present predicament?’