Felicia (2 page)

The older boy agreed, nodding his head vigorously but keeping his eyes firmly on Felicia.

The excitement she felt made her oblivious to the ostlers’ close scrutiny, and she was totally unaware of the other passengers waiting for the coach. One of them, a thin young man with limp hair and a bulbous nose, watched the stableboys’ ogling with amusement. It would be a pleasant indulgence to while away the long journey to Cheltenham talking to such a lovely girl. He was tempted to exchange his cheaper outside ticket for a seat inside, although he could ill afford the additional expense.

As the blast of a horn announced the arrival of the coach, the thin young man made up his mind. He sidled closer to Felicia and muttered in an insinuating undertone, “Jason Hobbs, at your service. I couldn’t help noticing you was on your own, as it were, miss. What do you say we team up as far as Cheltenham, if you take my meaning?”

Felicia made no reply to Jason Hobbs’s impertinent suggestion. Actually she hadn’t even heard it, so intent was she on enjoying the warmth of the spring sunshine and savoring her anticipation of the journey. The thin young man shrugged his shoulders and turned away. A sulky expression on his face reflected the thoughts arising from the imagined slight:
Who is she anyway? A common drab giving herself airs, that’s who. But no denying she’s a looker
….

The courtyard of the inn had suddenly come alive. The two ostlers ran forward to hold the heads of the sweating horses until the coachman threw them the reins.

“’E looks a little worse for wear this morning,” the younger boy muttered to his companion, nodding toward the coachman. “Let’s ’ope ’e reaches Cheltenham in one piece.”

A couple of passengers alighted, shaking their heads at the drunken coachman. He had his back to them, taking another swig from a bottle, so he did not see their gestures. Neither did Felicia. She was anxiously watching her trunk being hoisted up.

Only after it had been firmly strapped down did she climb into the coach. The younger ostler was there to assist her, and she thanked him prettily as he handed her the hamper of food. There was only one other passenger inside, the thin young man having settled himself in an outside seat. A prim, elderly woman was sitting in the far corner of the coach, pressed up against the side as though all the seats were taken. Felicia smiled at her, but the only sign the old woman gave to acknowledge the invasion of her privacy was to pull her capuchin round her thin body more securely and tighten her hold on her valise.

Felicia sat down and smoothed the creases from the shabby brown walking dress, before unclasping the frogging which held her cloak together. She was acutely conscious of the dowdy picture she presented but had decided that she would wear only her oldest clothes for the long journey. Mrs. Ambel had told her she would be able to change into something more becoming when she reached Manchester.

“It’s no point dirtying your new gowns before you need,” Mrs. Ambel had said. “We don’t want you arriving at your new position looking all crumpled and disheveled.” She had omitted to make mention of her fears for Felicia’s safety on the journey, thinking that fewer men would take notice of a girl who looked shabby and wore ill-fitting clothes.

The coach started with a jerk. Felicia settled herself more comfortably on the hard seat and looked over at the old woman. She smiled ruefully as she realized that the woman was asleep, for she had been hoping to start a conversation with her. She had so many questions to ask. Instead she turned her attention to the passing countryside. She knew it would take at least two hours to reach Gloucester; the innkeeper in Chepstow had so informed her. However, she was to stay on this coach until Cheltenham, where she would pick up her connection for the Northern Line. Her interest in the monotonous scenery outside soon waned, and her thoughts wandered to the family she was to join in Manchester. Initially, Felicia had been surprised that her aunt had bothered to spend time looking for a post for her, until she realized that her aunt wanted her out of the way as quickly as possible after her mother’s death. In all honesty, she was glad to be away from Graystones.

Felicia looked down at her hands ruefully. The long delicate fingers were reddened from washing her cousin’s fine underwear. As careful as she had been to rub salving cream into her hands, she had been unable to prevent the chap marks. She hoped that her new mistress would not expect her to do similar work, for it would be nice to have smooth hands again.

She flexed her fingers as though she were playing a piano and smiled happily to herself. At least she would be able to play again, she thought, once she had worked away the stiffness.

Although unused to traveling, she was not at all perturbed by the swaying of the coach, and in a short time, she too fell asleep. The small frown that creased her forehead as she slept was the only indication that she felt any apprehension of the future.

The lurching of the coach did not awaken her, nor the worried exclamations of her companion. Her slumber was deep, for she had not had much rest in the last few weeks. She had nursed her mother almost twenty-fours a day in addition to the usual chores her aunt had assigned her.

The halt at Gloucester was brief, there being no passengers to pick up. Only one man got off, and his complaints about the coachman passed unnoticed amid the general bustle of changing the team. They were soon on the road again, and Felicia was barely aware of the stop they had just made.

The old woman was wide awake though. For, with a fresh team to handle, the coachman was becoming reckless. She sensed something would happen and so was better prepared than Felicia when the drunken coachman took a sharp bend too fast and lost control of his horses. He might have managed to avert total disaster had he had the road to himself, but an oncoming curricle was the final obstacle he could not avoid.

Felicia awoke to the frightened screams of the old woman and, as she turned her horrified gaze outside, she felt the coach roll alarmingly before crashing over onto the dirt road

The outside passengers were able to scramble to safety, but Felicia and the old woman were trapped. As the coach came to rest, Felicia was flung out of her seat. She landed head first on the opposite side, which had suddenly become the floor of the overturned coach. As she fell, her head struck the wooden door frame, and she felt a sharp pain. Then blackness swept over her.

Clasping her walking stick firmly in one hand, the old woman started to pound on the door that was not wedged shut against the ground. The coachman was unharmed but the enormity of his carelessness and stupidity had shocked him into immobility. The frightened horses were still bucking in the shafts. The five outside passengers were of no help, for they were still picking themselves up. So it was the gentleman from the curricle and his tiger who took over the task of calming the horses; and it was the gentleman himself who responded to the cries for help coming from within the coach.

“Just a moment,” he called in a well-modulated voice, gingerly picking his way through the debris.

“Help me out, young man,” the old woman commanded angrily. “I do not know what the world is coming to. If it’s not highwaymen one has to contend with on the road, then it’s drunken coachmen.”

Climbing up on the coach, the gentleman pushed open the heavy wooden door and peered into the dim interior. The old woman’s rantings received only scant attention, but he was startled out of his languor by the beauty that lay insensible beside her.

“Well, come on,” the old woman screeched. “Get me out of here before I lay this across your back.” She shook her walking stick at him.

The gentleman bowed slightly with an air suggesting that this was all too boring for words. “Forgive me, ma’am,” he said with a bemused smile. In all his seven and twenty years no one had ever addressed him quite so rudely. “I was thinking how we could remove your daughter without adding to the damage already done to her.”

“That trollop is
not
my daughter,” the old woman snapped. “So don’t worry your head too much about her.” She sniffed condescendingly. “By the looks of her, she is some serving wench, though Lord knows how she can afford to travel in such luxury. No doubt she’s no better than she should be.”

Amused, the gentleman raised an eyebrow at the venom in her voice and wondered if perchance the harridan’s vitriol was motivated by a twinge of jealousy. Completely disregarding his elegantly tailored clothes, he lay down on his belly, across the side of the coach.

“Are you ready, madam?” he asked.

He was just about to reach in, when Jason Hobbs came over.

“Can I help, sir?” the thin young man inquired fawningly.

“Indeed you can,” the gentleman answered. “While I hoist the old dragon out, you can hold onto my feet.” The old woman stiffened at these words.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded loudly, waving her arms in annoyance. “Get me out of here immediately.”

The gentleman ignored her command as he continued his conversation with Jason. “And then there’s a young girl inside who appears to have a concussion. If you could relieve my tiger,” he nodded in the direction of the man who was holding the horses, “he can help me get her out.”

“Right you are, sir,” said Jason, smacking his lips lecherously and slapping the gentleman on the back, to the latter’s enormous surprise. “But I can help you with her. No problem there.” The thought of laying hands on such a lovely piece of womanhood stirred his blood, all the more because of his recent unsuccessful advances. “I’ll be only too delighted.”

“Do you know her, then?” the gentleman asked noting the intimate tone in which Jason spoke of the girl.

“Never clapped eyes on her afore—until Chepstow that is. But I have it for certain she’s a right little goer,” Jason confided maliciously, his bulbous nose quivering. He had half-convinced himself of the truth of his allegations.

The gentleman, annoyed by Jason’s quivering nose and presumptuous bonhomie, turned his attention to the irate squawks coming from the old lady. “All right, madam,” he said briskly. “Are you ready now?” He reached into the coach and then clasped his arms around the old woman. “Push with your feet now,” he commanded, and with great ease lifted her out.

Looking like an ill-tempered monkey, she blinked in the sunlight and then emitted a shriek of outrage when the gentleman unceremoniously set her down on the side of the coach, with her capuchin and petticoats all in a tangle around her bony shins.

“I will crawl into the coach and see how the young lady does,” the gentleman said, leaving Jason to help the old woman down off the coach. The gentleman was determined not to let Jason aid in the rescue of the young girl, for he had taken exception to his excessive familiarity, and what better way to put the lout in his place than by casually thwarting his obvious lust for the girl. (Not that he faulted him for his desire—indeed, she was of unsurpassing beauty—but the gentleman felt that discretion was the better part of desire.)

“If you can ask the coachman to take hold of his horses, I would prefer the help of my tiger,” the gentleman continued, in rather preemptory tones.

Jason was visibly disappointed at the request, but he reluctantly helped the old woman down and set her on the ground before badgering the coachman into action. Within minutes, the nimble tiger was cheerfully scrambling up the side of the coach.

“Yer wanted me ter ’elp yer, m’lord?” he asked, peering down into the darkness.

“Ah! Timothy. Just the person I wanted. Do we, perchance, have a blanket in the curricle?”

“Aye,” the tiger answered. “I’ll go and fetch it right away. ’Ow do you plan on getting ’er up, Guv? Don’t look as though she ’as moved.” His eyes had adjusted to the dimness, and he could make out the forlorn figure of the girl.

“I’ll secure the blanket about her, Timothy, and then we will lift her out.” He paused as he took another look at Felicia. “Then I think we’ll take her with us to Alverston, for I do not trust the motives of some of the passengers. She will be far safer there, and I know Dr. Ross is in residence. He’ll be able to tend her.” And, he thought to himself, she may well want to thank me for my kindness in saving her from her fellow passenger. He smiled to himself at the thought. She would make a nice interlude. “How is the coachman?” he continued.

“I reckon ’e’s sobered up a bit now, but ’e’s still shaky on ’is pins. I pity the passengers,” the tiger added, “for it don’t look like ’e’s going to get ’elp in a ’urry.”

“All the more reason to take the damsel with us, Timothy,” the gentleman said. “I feel sure she is in immediate need of attention. Make certain you get her luggage before we go.”

“Very good, m’lord,” the tiger grinned. “I’ll just go and get that blanket.”

Jason watched anxiously as the two strangers lifted Felicia out of the coach, and he laid his coat on the ground as a pillow for her head. He was hoping they would be on their way once they had accomplished their task, for he wanted nothing more than to have Felicia to himself when she regained consciousness. He would present himself as her rescuer…she would be
so
grateful….

The gentleman had been surprised by Felicia’s frailty as he had wrapped her in the blanket. Her face was classically beautiful, and except for her drab clothes and worn hands which clearly indicated she was from the serving classes, he would have thought her a lady.