Rebel Heiress (5 page)

‘I have no doubt I will,' said Henrietta, ‘but how I should have survived this voyage in nothing but the muslins you describe your sisters as wearing is more than I can imagine. Time enough when I get to London to be thinking of muslins and gauzes. Though I confess I shall be glad enough to see the last of this old rag.'

She shook out her skirts disdainfully, and Singleton burst into a peal of delighted laughter.

‘Excellent, Miss Marchmont. You would not have done that when you came aboard. You will make a fine lady yet. I expect when we come to visit you in London you will freeze us with a look.'

She laughed. ‘Never that. But you will come to see me, will you not? I confess I am more than a little frightened of what faces me. It will be such a comfort to see you.'

‘Of course we will'

He was interrupted by Captain Gilbert, who cast a quizzical look at Henrietta's best dress and told her that he hoped to sight Ireland that evening. ‘It will not be long now,' he continued, as Singleton excused himself and left them.

‘No,' said Henrietta. ‘I confess, I almost wish we had the voyage to do over again. I never thought I should find myself so frightened'

‘No need to fret over that,' he said robustly. ‘It is natural enough. But do not let those young idiots of mine frighten you with their talk of Almack's and the
ton
. You will find the world all before you, I am sure. If, by any chance, you should not, if your father should prove unwelcoming, which I find hard to imagine, why then, I beg you will go to my sister, who keeps my house for me, such as it is. She will advise you as to what would be best to do. I will give you her direction. It is in Russell Square, not the most elegant part of town, as I have no doubt those puppies have taught you, but you may be sure of a hearty welcome there, and good council, just the same. But what am I doing gossiping here! I very much hope that the French fleet is safe cooped up in Toulon, but just in case they should venture out, we are keeping a sharp lookout, and you would be well advised to go below at any sign of trouble. Though of course insofar as you are American the frogs are your dear friends.'

‘True,' said Henrietta, ‘but insofar as I am English, I would rather we did not encounter them. Indeed, I do not know how to thank you, sir,' she was beginning, when a cry from the lookout made him hurry away.

To her relief, it was an English merchantman like themselves that they had sighted, and its signals told them that the channel was clear to Plymouth.

‘The frogs have learnt their lesson since Trafalgar,' said Singleton over dinner. ‘We've beat them by sea and it's nothing but a matter of time till we beat them by land, now Lord Wellington's in command. He'll have Boney out of Spain and growling home to France in no time, if they'll just give him the support he needs from home. And if your American friends do not cause too great a diversion of troops. But I fancy there will be more talk than fighting in that quarter.'

Henrietta was not so sure, but forebore to contradict him and the discussion was soon forgotten in the lively performance of a quadrille, in which Singleton partnered Henrietta and Forster led out a reluctant midshipman.

To Henrietta's disappointment, they passed Ireland at night. Then the wind dropped and it was not until three mornings later that a cry of ‘Land, ho' sent her hurrying up on deck with
her hair still loose on her shoulders — no time for the intricate arrangement of plaits on which Aunt Abigail had insisted.

She found Singleton and Trenchard leaning on the rail, gazing ahead to where a long, green line lay low on the horizon.

‘There you are, Miss Marchmont.' Trenchard made room for her between them. ‘Home at last.'

‘Home?' she said wonderingly. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.'

She could hardly tear herself away from the rails as the wind freshened behind them and they approached near enough to see details of fields and woods, and here and there a miniature building, shining in morning sunlight.

‘Well' — Captain Gilbert paused beside her — ‘how do you like it, Miss Marchmont?'

‘Like it?' To her dismay, she found her eyes full of tears. ‘It's beautiful — beautiful. It all looks so tidy, so green; like a child's toy. But, do you know, it is the strangest thing: I do feel as if I was coming home.'

She hardly left the deck all day, watching as the trim fields slid by, straining her eyes from time to time as they passed some notable landmark — a red brick church on a hill or a vast mansion spread out in its park.

‘It's so rich!' she exclaimed to Trenchard. ‘It's like a dream of a country.'

He laughed. ‘Ah, you should see some parts of London, Miss Marchmont, before you say that — or Glasgow, where I come from. You'd think that more like a nightmare, I'm afraid.'

They drank champagne on their last night at sea and toasted Henrietta as the future belle of Almack's. Once again she found herself near to tears, and it was a relief when Captain Gilbert urged her to bed early. If the wind held, they should make Plymouth at dawn. And indeed she was roused early by the excitement on deck and hurried aloft in time to see the
Faithful
slide gracefully into the little green harbour under the hill. For good or ill, she was home at last.

In the hurly-burly of the landing, Henrietta found herself lonely for the first time since she had come aboard. Everyone was busy, preoccupied with thoughts of home and family. She stood about, trying hard not to get in the way, and waited for Captain Gilbert to order her ashore. At last he hurried up to her.

‘Bad news, I'm afraid, Miss Marchmont. I had hoped to have the pleasure of escorting you myself to London, but I have received orders with the pilot. I am to take my cargo by sea to Southampton. I'll not suggest your coming too. Your best plan now will be to take the London coach. I have had inquiries made; you may get today's if you lose no time. Singleton shall see you safe on board.'

After that all was confusion. There were farewells, warmly friendly on their side, near tearful on hers, but hurried, hurried … Her boxes were taken ashore; she tried for the last time to thank Captain Gilbert for all he had done, failed, gave it up and accepted his sister's address gratefully. Then Singleton was hurrying her through the little town to the coaching inn, steadying her with a friendly arm when she found the ground rock under her feet When they arrived, the big coach was already loading; there was only time for Henrietta to pay her fare, see her boxes stowed away in the boot and shake Singleton warmly by the hand before the coachman was climbing to his box and she found herself shut in the dark and musty interior where she was to sit bodkin between an enormously fat woman in scarlet satin and a long thin clergyman with a dripping nose. Peering between them and out of the window, she saw Singleton looking anxiously in at her. It had all been so quick, but he had seen her start when the innkeeper had named the fare. He put his head in at the window and leaned across the woman in scarlet: ‘Miss Marchmont, are you sure you have enough —' But the coachman had whipped up his horses; they were away.

Smiling reassurance as she waved good-bye, Henrietta
wished she was indeed certain that she had got enough money for the journey. The coach fare had left her alarmingly little with which to defray her expenses on the way. But it was too late to worry now; she would just have to manage as best she could. After all, it was only for a couple of days; if she must starve, she must. The woman in scarlet, producing a vinaigrette and beginning to complain dolefully of travel sickness, gave her her cue. She would just have to be too ill to eat, that was all.

But when they stopped, at last, for dinner, she was too hungry to resist the landlord's firmly worded suggestion that she eat his ordinary like the other passengers. It made an alarming hole in her diminished resources. Who would have thought that Plymouth would be so far from London? Slightly dizzy with fatigue, she leaned more heavily against the red satin bulwark beside her and fell into a fitful doze as the heavy coach lumbered on through wooded hills. She woke with a start. The coach had increased its speed and was rocking and swaying alarmingly as it bucketed along a narrow lane. Henrietta cast a nervous glance at her companions. The woman in red had also, it seemed, just waked up. The clergyman had given up reading his Bible and leaned anxiously forward to peer out of the window. A large, red-faced countryman facing them leaned forward confidentially to Henrietta.

‘Told you so,' he said, ‘young squire's got the ribbons now. Told me he would. Wagered his brother a fiver he'd drive this stage. I just hope we don't meet no one: young squire's a prime ‘un all right, but damned awkward with his whip.'

‘Do you mean to tell me' — the woman in red seemed to have swollen to twice her usual size — ‘do you sit there and tell me that the coachman has handed over the reins to some unqualified person?'

‘'Deed and he has, ma'am, but for a consideration, I have no doubt. After all, coachman has to live same as you and me.'

An acrimonious discussion now broke out among the passengers of the coach, the younger ones maintaining that they had no right to interfere in a sporting venture of this kind, while the lady in red insisted that the coach should be stopped, and the clergyman looked anxiously at his closed Bible for guidance. As there was no means of getting in touch with the coachman, Henrietta soon realised that the discussion was entirely academic, and paid little attention to it, concentrating instead on steadying herself against the dizzying swoops and plunges
of the coach. Suddenly, the noise outside seemed to be redoubled, there was a confused sound of shouting from the box, then the coach lurched sideways, shuddered and turned slowly over. Within, chaos reigned. The lady in red screamed continuously on a piercingly high note. The clergyman, who had somehow fallen underneath her, could be heard grunting something between prayer and blasphemy. The countryman was upside down under the other seat, where Henrietta heard him exclaim, ‘Told you so; told you young squire was unhandy with the whip. Now look what a's done.'

As for Henrietta, she was lucky; her side of the coach was uppermost. Shaken and bruised, she nevertheless contrived to get a purchase on the sideways seat and pull herself up to look out of the window, which was now above her. An alarming sight met her eyes. The coach had entirely left the road and was lying in the ditch. And on the other side of the road lay the cause of the accident, a light curricle drawn by two highly bred greys. Its driver lay motionless on the road beside it, his hands still engangled in the reins. He was, Henrietta saw at once, in danger of his life. If his horses should run away, he would be dragged along under the curricle. She looked down into the seething interior of the coach. The countryman was just extricating himself from under the seat; his broad back rising below her. She put her foot on his back, gave a spring, and pulled herself out through the open window. It was a narrow squeeze, and the coach rocked dangerously, but in a moment she had jumped clear and was on the road beside the curricle. A glance told her its driver was breathing, though unconscious. She moved quickly to his horses' heads, caught the reins and began to talk to them in the firm but soothing tones she had found efficacious with Aunt Abigail's bad-tempered old carriage horse. Soon the greys had stopped their nervous tossing and stamping and stood quietly enough, merely shivering from time to time. They had been driven far and fast, Henrietta could see, and exhaustion was on her side. Absentmindedly stroking a grey nose, she turned to look around her. The stage coachman, she now saw, was busy with the one outside passenger, doubtless the young squire, who lay unconscious in the ditch behind the coach. From inside the coach came a confusion of noises. The woman in red was still screaming, but intermittently now, and without much conviction. Beneath her treble came a ground bass of grunts, oaths and curses. From
time to time an arm or leg would wave for a minute out of the window through which she had escaped, then disappear as suddenly as it had come.

On the road beside her, the unconscious driver of the curricle began to stir a little. Danger again. If he should twitch at the reins, it might startle his horses into flight. Henrietta began to tickle the ears of the near grey and at the same time called in low but firm tones to the coachman: ‘You, coachman, leave that at once and come over here.'

He looked at her in surprise. ‘But it's young squire, miss, he'm dead, seems like.'

‘Not a bit of it, he's only unconscious, and no more than he deserves,' she said tartly enough. ‘And will do him no harm to remain so. Come you here and hold these horses while I free their driver.'

He recognised authority in her voice, laid the young squire's head gently in a bramblebush and came over to join her, muttering something under his breath. She took no notice, handed him the reins and hurried over to the unconscious man in the road. He was stirring now, and muttering to himself: ‘Charge,' he said, and then, ‘damme, the devils have got me.' Blood trickled slowly from the side of his head. His hands were held fast by the reins, which seemed to be looped twice around them. After trying in vain to free them, Henrietta took out Aunt Abigail's little pearl-handled penknife, which, with her watch, she wore on a pin, and began to cut through the tough leather. She had just cut the last strand, when her patient suddenly twitched into life shouted, ‘Got you!' and took her by the throat. A pair of very bright blue eyes blazed into hers, then the pale aquiline face flushed scarlet.

His hands dropped to his sides. ‘I … I beg your pardon.' He looked about him in confusion. ‘I thought you were one of Boney's men. But now I recollect: This is England; there has been an accident. Of course, the coach. All over the road. You, coachman, what do you mean by it? If the greys are injured, I'll wring your neck.'