Deborah Goes to Dover (2 page)

‘Mind you, Papa could have a point,’ said Lord William lazily. ‘Was down at the Crown in Rochester t’other night. Ball going on in the assembly rooms. Had a peek. Some real dazzlers, all in the latest fashions.’ He waved his arms. ‘Dainty muslins and things. You don’t half look a guy, sometimes, Deborah.’

Lady Deborah looked hurt. ‘You never complained before.’

‘I know. But have you ever thought I might like to woo some little charmer? What if I bring her and her mama here and introduce them to you? You’d frighten them off.’

‘Why are you being so cruel!’ exclaimed Deborah, appalled at this new idea of a brother who would leave her, and that one day she would take very second place to a wife.

He stood up and began to pace up and down. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s the demned rain. Will it never stop?’

The Earl of Ashton stood by the fireplace in his library, frowning down at a letter he had just received. It was from the Earl of Staye. It congratulated him on inheriting the title and commiserated with him on his father’s death. Very polite and formal. But it was the last paragraph that made the Earl of Ashton’s mouth curl in distaste. ‘I would be grateful if you would call on my son and daughter. I fear Deborah is a trifle hoydenish and she and William run wild. Pray see that they do not get into mischief while I am gone. I comfort myself with the thought it is not too onerous a task for you in view of the fact we are neighbours.’

The Earl of Staye’s place, Downs Abbey, lay a good thirty-five miles away across bad roads.

The Earl of Ashton tossed the letter in the fire. He had no intention of making the journey to Downs Abbey until the weather cleared and the roads improved. How old would the twins be now?
Nineteen?
Too old and too used to their own rough ways to want any advice from him.

He shivered slightly despite the warmth of the fire. The library smelt damp. Ashton Park had been built early in the seventeenth century and nothing much
had been done to it since then. An elderly footman tottered in carrying a tray which held a coffee-pot and cup and, with shaking hands, deposited it gingerly on a low table before backing out.

Although he had assured the old servants that they could all keep their jobs or retire on generous pensions, they all seemed afraid of him and he wondered why. He had always prided himself on being honest, generous and fair, and he knew the men in his old regiment had found no fault with his command.

He did not know that it was his appearance which had frightened the servants so much, the servants who had not seen him for a long time. He was tall, very tall and lithe, and hard-featured with green eyes and a proud nose. His hair was jet-black and his eyebrows flew upwards. It was the cook who had started the fuss by crossing herself and saying the devil had taken possession of the new earl’s soul. The gossip had grown among the servants. One said that before he went to the wars, the earl’s eyes had been as blue as the sea and his hair brown. This was untrue, but it made a good story to shiver and tremble over in the servants’ hall. Besides, there was a certain
cachet
in having a master who was rumoured to be the devil, and so the servants, having begun by frightening themselves more for the fun of it than anything else, actually became very frightened of their master indeed, as fiction took the place of fact in their elderly minds.

Some of the earl’s friends, who would have said that his only faults were that he was apt to be too pompous
and strict, almost righteous, would have been highly amused at his new reputation.

Hannah wrapped her cloak tightly about her for warmth. The coach was lurching from side to side, travelling now at a crazy speed as if the coachman were trying to outrun the pouring rain. Captain Beltravers put his head out of the window to shout to the coachman to be careful and got a flood of rainwater in his face for his pains.

‘He’ll have us in the ditch!’ said Mr Osborne, and his wife let out a shrill scream and clutched at him for support.

On and on they thundered. Surely they should be near Rochester and sanctuary. Each thought of a warm inn and a roaring fire.

And then the inevitable happened. The coachman, sure that he had nothing but a good stretch of empty road in front of him, fanned his horses. He raised his sleeve to wipe the rain from his eyes and suddenly in front of him loomed the up coach from Dover. The horses swerved wildly and the
Tally-Ho
’s wheels got caught in a deep ditch. With a great cracking sound, the whole coach went over on its side, throwing the passengers, coachman and guard off the top of the coach and leaving the inside passengers piled one on top of the other.

The guard on the up coach blew a cheeky tootle on his horn and left the stricken
Tally-Ho
to its fate.

The inside passengers were battered and bruised but no bones had been broken. The outsiders had
been thrown clear onto springy heath and had also survived without much mishap. Their angry voices berating the coachman reached the ears of the insiders as they struggled to disentangle themselves. Then they were all mixed up again as the outsiders, guard and coachman, having cut the plunging horses free, pushed the coach upright again.

Hannah banged her head on the floor and tried to push Mr Osborne from on top of her. Mrs Osborne was screaming like a banshee and Mrs Conningham had fainted.

When they were all finally back in their seats and Hannah had revived Mrs Conningham by putting her ever-ready vinaigrette under that lady’s nose, the door was opened and the outsiders tried to climb in to take shelter from the rain. But much as Hannah would have liked to shelter Benjamin, the rest protested violently. The outsiders had paid for outsiders’ places and were wet anyway. Let them stay outside!

Benjamin poked his head through the window to tell Hannah that the guard had ridden off to
Rochester,
a mile away, to get help.

‘We’ll never reach Dover alive at this rate,’ said Mrs Conningham. Hannah thought she heard Abigail whisper, ‘Good’, and despite her own discomfort, Hannah’s interest was revived. What was there about this visit to her uncle’s which so obviously depressed poor Abigail?

After an hour of shivering and trying to keep warm and talking in miserable whispers, as if the rain would hear them and never go away, the coach door opened
and the coachman said proudly, just as if he had not nearly killed them all, that the landlord of the Crown at Rochester had sent carriages to convey them to the inn.

Hannah stepped down into the rain-swept
landscape.
She was very cold indeed and her head had begun to ache. She gratefully accepted Benjamin’s arm and allowed him to assist her to one of the carriages from the inn. Benjamin climbed in after her, saying, ‘I ain’t walking. There’s room enough for all of us.’

‘Poor Benjamin,’ said Hannah contritely. ‘Servant or not, you should have been travelling inside with me. Your livery must be ruined. You should have had a greatcoat.’

‘It’s this poxy English weather, modom,’ said Benjamin gloomily. ‘Warn’t it lovely and fine the day afore we left?’ His clever mobile face looked like that of a sad clown. Water was running from his powdered hair, and the shoulders of his black velvet livery were being covered in a sort of Yorkshire pudding of water and flour.

Rooms at the Crown had been reserved for the shattered passengers, with the exception of Mr
Osborne
and his wife, who had reached their destination and left for their home, Mr Osborne threatening to sue the stage-coach company.

Hannah shivered as she removed her bonnet and then set about changing her clothes. Her head felt hot and heavy and her vision was blurred. She made her way down to the dining-room. Benjamin looked at her
sharply and said, ‘Anything amiss, modom? You’re as red as a lobster.’

‘I shall come about,’ said Hannah vaguely. She was very hungry, but as soon as the excellent meal was placed in front of her, her appetite seemed to flee. She gave an involuntary shiver and stared at her food.

Benjamin, standing behind her chair, leaned
forward.
‘It’s off to bed for you,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘Come along!’

Hannah meekly allowed her footman to lead her upstairs. ‘Get into your night-clothes,’ ordered
Benjamin,
stirring up the fire. When he had left, Hannah undressed in a daze, put on a night-dress, tied on her nightcap and climbed stiffly into bed. The next thing she was aware of was Benjamin’s anxious face swimming in front of her through a sort of red mist and his voice telling her the doctor was on his way.

Hannah lay in the grip of a raging fever for two days, nursed by Benjamin. During the middle of the second night, her fever broke and she fell into a deep refreshing sleep. When she awoke, Benjamin was there to give her newspapers, novels, and a basket of fruit. ‘You are a good boy,’ said Hannah feebly. ‘Fetch my reticule and I will give you some money.’

Benjamin hesitated and then said lightly, ‘I already took the money from you, modom, you being too ill to know anythink.’

So Hannah rested and read and was brought light meals by the inn waiters during the rest of that day. The only thing to worry her as she blew out her candle at night was that Benjamin had mysteriously
disappeared and that he had lied about taking money from her reticule, for he had taken none at all.

The next day, she felt almost well, but worried. There was still no Benjamin. The inn servants said they had not seen him and his bed had not been slept in.

Early that evening, she received a visit from Mrs and Miss Conningham and Captain Beltravers. They said the roads were still bad after the downpour and they would be obliged to stay at the inn for a few more days but that the coach company was expected to pay for everything. Hannah asked them if they had seen her footman, but they shook their heads.

Hannah was just deciding to try to read herself to sleep when there came a scratching at the door and the captain walked in. ‘I could see you were worried about your footman,’ he said, taking a chair and placing it beside the bed and sitting down.

‘Have you news?’ asked Hannah eagerly.

‘I have debated with myself whether to tell you or not, whether to leave you to worry about his absence, or to worry you with what has happened.’

Hannah struggled up against the pillows. ‘Oh, do tell me, Captain. You must tell me now. I have it. He has been gambling.’

‘So I have heard. There was to be a prize-fight here tomorrow and the town is full of the Quality. Randall was to fight Chudd, but Chudd is ill and unless a substitute is found, the fight will be off. But meanwhile, all the Fancy are in town with money to burn. Your footman got into a game of hazard dice and the stakes were high. He lost.’

‘How much?’ asked Hannah.

‘Nine hundred guineas.’

‘But he cannot possibly afford that!’

‘Which may be the reason,’ said the captain, ‘that he has disappeared.’

‘He would not,’ said Hannah. ‘He would see me first. He must know I would always help him.’

‘If he is the hardened gambler he appears to be,’ commented the captain drily, ‘then you would be throwing good money after bad.’

After Captain Beltravers had gone, Hannah lay and thought about Benjamin. She knew if he had really gone away that she would miss him dreadfully, miss his cheeky good humour and his loyalty. She still felt weak and a large tear rolled down her thin sallow cheek.

Lady Deborah struggled awake the next morning to find her brother shaking her. ‘What’s amiss?’ she demanded crossly.

‘That fight, it’s still on,’ he said. ‘You’ve always wanted to see a prize-fight. Now’s your chance. Get dressed.’

Lady Deborah’s blue eyes gleamed with
excitement.
‘Who is fighting Randall?’

‘Some unknown.’

‘Brave man! You said Randall was a killer.’

‘If this unknown beats him, he stands to gain a purse of a thousand guineas. Hurry up. It’s on Gully’s Field and if we don’t move quickly, the roads will be jammed in every direction.’

The Earl of Ashton was also roused early by the arrival of an old army friend, Mr Peter Carruthers. ‘What brings you here, Carruthers?’ asked the earl. ‘Not that I am not delighted to see you.’

‘You’re really out of the world,’ said Mr Carruthers with a grin. ‘A prize-fight. A mill. And nearly on your own doorstep.’

‘Who is fighting whom?’

‘Randall was supposed to be fighting Chudd, but Chudd is ill, or so he said, and some unknown has stepped into the breach.’

‘More fool he,’ commented the earl. ‘Do you really think it worth the effort of watching a possible amateur be massacred by Randall?’

‘If it turns out to be bad sport, we can always leave,’ pointed out Mr Carruthers.

The earl decided to go, more because he found to his surprise that he had been lonely and was sick of his own company. Peter Carruthers was a tall, lanky, easy-going fellow and just the sort of company the earl felt he needed. The sun was shining and he wondered for a brief moment whether he ought not to ride to Downs Abbey to see how those spoilt brats of Staye’s were surviving, but in the next moment, decided against it. Soon he and Mr Carruthers joined all the other carriages making their way to Gully’s Field outside Rochester.

Hannah Pym arose early and went out into the cobbled, rain-washed streets of the old town of Rochester. She had not had breakfast. She did not feel
like eating. She planned to walk about the town, just to see if she could find any clue to Benjamin’s whereabouts. The sum he had lost would take a great chunk out of her inheritance, and though she cursed Benjamin in her heart for his gambling, she knew she would gladly pay it to get him back again.

The town was full of bustle and noise and carriages. The prize-fight, Hannah remembered. How
gentlemen
could find pleasure in watching two men beating each other to a pulp was beyond her. She searched and searched, asking for news of Benjamin in inns and taverns. The town began to empty and wear a deserted air as all the carriages bearing the prize-fight enthusiasts rattled off.