Melinda Hammond (3 page)

‘Really? He does not look like a villain.’

‘Oh, he was born the son of a gentleman, but he’s a rogue. He’s not above a little thieving and smuggling, but he’s a gambler, too: lives on his wits.’

But Stacey had lost interest in Mr MacCauley.

‘You were a smuggler?’ she breathed, eyes sparkling.

‘Not really. I helped them with a couple of runs, but that is all.’

‘But how? How did you meet them?’

‘It is an unedifying story, nymph.’

He felt a small hand slip into his own.

‘Of course I will not press you, but if you would
like
to tell me. . . .’

Vivyan found he was not proof against her wistful tone. He settled back in the corner of the coach.

‘It was some . . . eight years ago. I was driving on the beach at Sandburrows - do you know it? A little village not a day’s ride from Radstock. The beach there is long and smooth, ideal for carriages. I was racing the tide. A foolhardy sport, and it almost cost me my life - and that of a very dear friend. We were cut off by the spring tide. I managed to set the horses free, and they escaped, but I was washed out to sea, clinging to the wreckage of my carriage. I managed to swim to the island of Steep Holm, where I was discovered by a group of free-traders, sheltering in one of the coves. Doubtless I would have died of the cold if they had not stripped me of my wet clothes and given me food and shelter. After that it seemed only courteous to help them with their — er — activities.’

‘But what of your family? Surely they were anxious for you? Did you contact them, let them know that you were safe?’

‘No, I am ashamed to say that I did not —  not immediately. I was young, and reckless, and there were another four years to run until I could claim my inheritance. I was not prepared to sit back quietly and wait for time to pass.’

‘Now that I
do
understand!’ declared Stacey. ‘I believe if one has a dream one should follow it. Aunt Jayne says young ladies should remain quietly at home until a suitable husband comes along, but I think that is quite nonsensical, and especially now, when Rupert has been summoned to London and is being urged to marry another! How can I sit back and do nothing?’

‘Exactly so, brat. My uncle had been given charge of my property until I reached five-and-twenty, and I could not bear to watch him living at my expense. I plied the coast with my new friends for the next several months, then MacCauley had the idea of travelling across France.’

‘France! But that was ... we were at war!’

Vivyan grinned.

‘That made it all the more exciting! MacCauley and I were of an age, both with a love of adventure. We lived on our wits, making a little money at cards, changing our identity to suit the company. We parted in Paris. MacCauley went on to Italy and I lived as best I could until the time came to return to England.’

Eustacia was about to ask Vivyan how he had lived during those years in France, when the coach ran over a particularly rough patch of road, jolting so badly that its occupants were thrown out of their seats and found themselves in a tangled heap on the floor of the coach as it lurched to a stop.

Chapter Three

‘Are you hurt?’ Vivyan helped Miss Marchant back on to the seat, and as soon as he had ascertained that she was not injured he climbed out, bidding her to remain in the coach. After a few minutes Eustacia succumbed to curiosity and climbed out on to the road, where she found Mr Lagallan and the coachman inspecting the timbers beneath the box seat.

The coachman was shaking his head.

‘One o’ the futchels is gone, sir. Snapped.’

‘Hell and damnation!’ muttered Vivyan. ‘Can we go on?’

‘No, sir. T’wouldn’t be safe - it supports the fore-carriage, you see, and the sway bar. The whole thing could tip over as easy as winking.’

Vivyan looked thoughtful, tapping the ground as he considered the situation.

‘There will be a carriage-maker in Reading, sir,’ suggested the coachman. ‘He should be able to fix it in a couple of hours.’

‘You had best take the coach there.’ Mr Lagallan took out a purse and handed it to the coachman. ‘That should be enough, and to spare. There is a sizeable village a mile or so down the road with a decent little inn. We will walk there now. If the carriage cannot be ready by first thing tomorrow, you must hire a vehicle to fetch us, do you understand?’

The coachman tugged at his forelock and the footman unstrapped Eustacia’s portmanteau and his master’s overnight bag and put them on the road before helping the coachman to turn the broken carriage back towards Reading.

Mr Lagallan picked up the two bags and set off down the road.

‘Why do we not walk back to The Star and put up there?’ asked Eustacia, skipping along beside him.

‘I am too well known there, and I want to expose you as little as possible to the public gaze in your disguise.’

‘You mean, if I was not with you, you would be able to spend the night in comfort,’ she muttered, conscience-stricken. ‘As it is we must take pot-luck at a little inn, where the food could be terrible and the sheets might not be aired! Vivyan, I am so sorry to put you to all this trouble.’

His frown lifted. ‘I doubt it will be as bad as that! Besides, you wanted adventure, did you not?’

‘Yes, but I do not want you to be uncomfortable.’

He laughed at that. ‘My dear child, adventures are always uncomfortable - and frequently dangerous!’

‘Oh. I expect this seems a little tame to you.’

‘It is certainly inconvenient.’ He saw she was looking downcast and added, ‘The broken carriage is not your fault, Stacey, and I have frequently stayed in places far less comfortable than a village inn.’

‘When you were in France?’

‘Yes, although I also spent some weeks as a guest in a most luxurious chateau.’

Laughing at her eager questions, Mr Lagallan told Eustacia something of his travels, but despite his carefully worded descriptions, she was shrewd enough to guess that he had not always lived as a gentleman.

‘And have you come home to settle down?’

‘That was my intention. I have spent the past year putting my estates in order.’

‘And is that why you have offered for Miss Pensford?’

‘Yes. I have to marry someone.’ He glanced at her. ‘You do not approve?’

‘I think one should marry for love.’

‘That is not always possible.’

‘But surely
you
have no need of a fortune. Why should you not marry someone you like?’

‘I cannot recall having said I do not
like
Miss Pensford.’

‘Now I have offended you.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Yes, I have. You have become very polite, and - and distant, so I know you are offended! Pray forgive me.’

Vivyan felt his anger evaporating.

‘Do you mean to say I have been discourteous to you until now? Abhorrent brat!’

She chuckled. ‘That is much better! Look, we are approaching the village. You had best let me carry my own bag now, or people may think you far too kind and grow suspicious.’

* * * *

They reached the inn, a small tavern at the roadside with the ambitious name of The Golden Cockerel. The landlord was able to furnish them with two bedrooms, and showed them into a small, sparsely furnished room that he proudly described as a private parlour. The landlady came in presently with a tray and promised there would be hot water in their bedchambers in a twinkling. Miss Marchant looked about the room and said cheerfully, "Well, this is very comfortable.’

‘A damned nuisance,’ muttered Vivyan, closely inspecting one less than perfect boot. ‘Not only are my Hessians covered in mud, but I fear there may be a scratch on the leather.’

‘Oh. Are you not enjoying yourself?’

‘Not at all!’

‘Well, I think that is very poor-spirited of you. Just think how fortunate we are. Your carriage stopped just outside Reading, within easy reach of repair, and it is a very fine day for a walk. Imagine how uncomfortable it would have been to trudge here in the rain! And we have come upon a most delightful inn, with a good fire and the most delicious cake.’

Vivyan had pulled off his boots and was closely inspecting the damage.

‘It doesn’t look too bad; I just hope Perkins will be able to polish it out.’

‘Of course he will.’ Eustacia came over and handed him a cup of coffee. ‘Will you not try the cake, sir? It is very good.’

‘You are determined to be cheerful, are you not, Stacey?’ He grinned up at her and drew a smiling response.

‘Of course. There is nothing here to make one unhappy.’

Mr Lagallan knew an impulse to pull the girl down on to his lap, and sternly repressed it. Instead he pulled on his boots again and stood up.

‘I will take my coffee in my room, I think. I need to wash -I would advise you to do the same, Stacey - and perhaps to rest until dinner.’

‘Have I said something wrong?’

The harsh look disappeared and he smiled, flicking her cheek with one careless finger.

‘Of course not, child, but it has been a long day, and I wish to take advantage of this lull in our activity!’

* * * *

As he plunged his hands into the bowl of water so thoughtfully provided by his hostess, Vivyan cursed himself for being so inept. He had seen the hurt in Eustacia’s face as he had left her, but surely she should understand how wrong it was for them to be alone. She was so naive, so trusting; it would be far too easy for him to abuse that trust.

‘She is no more than a babe!’ he muttered. ‘And the sooner I hand over responsibility for her, the better!’ Slipping off his coat, he threw himself on the bed. ‘Damnation - the girl is under my protection! Besides, she is in love with another man. And she is so innocent. If I give in to a desire to kiss her, that innocence will be lost for ever!’

Vivyan dozed fitfully, but after an hour he gave up all attempts to sleep and went downstairs to the parlour. Finding his young companion was not there, Vivyan made his way to Stacey’s room. There was no reply to his knock and when he tried the handle, the door opened easily on to the empty room. Frowning, Mr Lagallan went outside into the yard, where the landlord was busy cutting logs.

‘The young gentleman?’ In answer to his question the landlord paused, resting his axe lightly upon one broad shoulder. ‘Why, sir, he went off with our Davy to see a mill.’

‘A
mill?’

‘Aye, sir. At Jenner’s field. The young master being at a loose end, so to speak, and looking so down in the mouth, our Davy asks him if he wanted to go with ‘un.’ Something of Vivyan’s dismay was apparent in his face, for the landlord continued, ‘Lord love you, sir, you’ve no need to worry about the lad - he’ll come to no ‘arm, my boy’ll see to that, and he’ll bring the young master back safe afore dark, never fear.’

Stifling his misgivings, Mr Lagallan asked directions to the mill and, pausing only to fetch his cane, he set out for Jenner’s field.

* * * *

As Eustacia and her young escort trudged along the leafy lane, the innkeeper’s son whiled away the journey with tales of other mills he had seen. Most of these stories were apocryphal and couched in such cant terms that Miss Marchant understood only one word in twenty. Davy was a young man of about fifteen, very sturdily built and with an open, friendly nature. They had struck up a conversation within minutes of Stacey wandering into the inn-yard and, unwilling to appear churlish, Miss Marchant had accepted Davy’s invitation, reasoning that it would at least while away the hours until dinner-time.

When they reached Jenner’s field, the area was already thronging with spectators and Davy bemoaned the fact that all the best places in the nearby trees were taken. He moved away from the gate, where two men were busy collecting entrance fees, and pushed his way through a gap in the hedge before guiding Stacey to a steep embankment at the far side of the field.

‘This be a capital vantage-point,’ he remarked in his slow drawl. ‘We shall see everything from ‘ere.’

Looking down from her capital vantage-point, Eustacia realized with horror that she was about to witness a prizefight. In the safety of the inn-yard, when her new acquaintance had spoken of a mill and talked of gentlemen, and form, and science, she had visualized some sort of educational talk or exhibition, and it was not until she saw the two men stripped to the waist, their faces already disfigured by years of brutal combat, that she understood the nature of the entertainment she was about to witness.

Young Davy drew a flask from his pocket, raised it to his lips and afterwards offered it to Stacey. She shook her head, her mind working quickly to think of an excuse to leave the scene without arousing any suspicion. The field was filling up now, and the noise of the crowd rose and fell on the cold, clear air. Davy pointed towards the clearing where the two opponents were limbering up.

‘Look - my money’d be on Ted Barker, the man standing nearest that old beech tree. He’s known as the Fox, ‘cos he’s a wily old devil. He ain’t as big as Jameson, but he’s quick, and unless Jameson can get in a well-aimed hit in the first few rounds, it’s ames ace to a monkey the Fox’ll win the day.’

Following his outstretched arm, Stacey observed the preparations taking place for the contest. Her eyes were drawn to a tall figure in a drab boxcoat, talking to the pugilist Davy had called Ted Barker. He looked vaguely familiar, and she realized it was Nathan MacCauley, the man she and Vivyan had met at The Star. She tried to shrink down between her companions, turning up the collar of her coat and praying that he was too far away to recognize her.

Listening to Davy’s discourse, Stacey nodded and tried to look interested. Across the field, she saw several smart carriages pulled up alongside the farm wagons, and she realized with some surprise that a large number of gentlemen were in attendance. She shivered. Even in the bright afternoon sun the spring air was cold, and her thin wool jacket was not as warm as the thick homespuns worn by most of the other spectators. The crowd was growing restless, waiting for the fight to begin, with catcalls and curses filling the air. Eustacia began to feel very uneasy.