The Road to Gretna (11 page)

Mrs. Ratchett being awake now but blessedly taciturn, the silence within the carriage was punctuated only by Cora’s sniffles and sneezes. So smoothly did the vehicle roll that birdsong could be heard above the clop of hooves. In fields bordered by scarlet poppies and blue cornflowers, sweating harvesters swung scythes, raked the pale gold grain into rows, pitch-forked it onto wagons drawn by huge Suffolk Punches with ribbons in their manes. Enjoying the spectacle, Penny was startled when Henrietta spoke.

“How tiresome the countryside is.”

“Tiresome? I don’t find it so. What do you mean?”

“Why, there are no shops, no theatres, no fashionable promenades. There is nothing to look at, and nothing to do but pick flowers.”

“‘Consider the lilies of the field,’” advised Mrs. Ratchett. "'They toil not, neither do they spin.’”

“One cannot pick flowers for more than a few minutes at a time, and then they droop and lose their petals.”

Mrs. Ratchett nodded in agreement. "'The grass withereth, the flower fadeth.'"

“Because one cannot put them in a vase when one is travelling. I did not know it would take so long to reach Gretna Green.”

“Then why did you bring so mary clothes with you?”

“‘Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire?’” asked Mrs. Ratchett rhetorically. Penny glared at her.

“I knew it would take several days,” Henrietta admitted. “Everyone knows Scotland is a great way off. But I did not know that the time would pass so slowly. At home, where there is always something new to see, the days seem to rush past. Why, sometimes I am so busy with the dressmaker that I cannot spare a minute to play with Lily. Here there is nothing else to do, and she sleeps such a great deal.”

“Perhaps we can purchase a travelling chess set at our next stop.”

“Chess! Do you play chess?”

“Why, yes. Or rather, I was used to play with my father. I have not played this age so my game is bound to be a little rusty.”

“Well, I cannot play at all. It is a horridly difficult game, though the little people and horses are very pretty. Papa told me not to trouble my head with anything so difficult to learn. Gentlemen do not care for clever females, he said.” A look of distress crossed Henrietta’s delicate features. “Oh, Penny, I do not mean to say that you are clever. I would not offend you for the world. Pray say you are not offended.”

“Not at all, my dear.” Penny assured her, uncertain whether to be dismayed or amused by Henrietta’s view of her as bold and clever, yet unworthy of consideration as a rival. It was impossible to doubt the girl’s ingenuousness. She hadn’t the wit to dissemble.

“And say you will not tell Jason I find the journey tedious,” she begged next. “It was so very kind in him to agree to elope with me.”

“Kind!”

“Yes, for he was going to ask Papa for my hand but I persuaded him to run away to Gretna Green instead. I thought it would be the most romantic thing in the world to elope with a dashing nobleman.”

Penny was speechless. She needed time to reflect upon the implications of the revelation that the runaway match had not been Jason’s idea. But Henrietta was going on, in a plaintive voice.

“How could I guess it was going to be so horridly dull?”

“You will forget the weary journey once you are happily wed to Lord Kilmore.”

“But if we went back to London, I could have a proper wedding, with a veil and bridesmaids and a wedding breakfast with a bride-cake, and lots of people come to see me in my white satin gown."

“You can hardly expect an elaborate wedding after being on the road with the bridegroom for four days,” Penny said with unintended sharpness. She softened her tone. “Remember that we are half-way to Gretna already. It would take as long to return to Town as to go forward, now, and if you tell Jason you want to go home he will know you are dissatisfied with his arrangements for your comfort. Perhaps he will even think you don’t care for him any longer.”

“Oh, but I do love him. He is so very handsome, and I shall like to be a baroness.”

Once again Penny was speechless. Mrs. Ratchett opened her mouth. Penny silenced her with a frown. The woman was getting quite above herself, doubtless set up in her own conceit by travelling with a lord.

That was natural, but Penny was appalled that his lordship’s rank and looks were the chief reasons why Henrietta cared for that kind, amusing. intelligent, and altogether charming gentleman.

“I cannot see why I should not have a proper Society wedding in Town,” Henrietta argued. "There will be no scandal when people learn that you have been with me all the time.”

“But if you go back to London, I shan’t be with you all the time. Whatever you do, I’m going to Gretna Green.”

Henrietta pouted, her eyes filling with tears. Fortunately the kitten woke up and stretched. Easily distracted, she began to play with it, leaving Penny to her thoughts.

She contemplated the discovery that Jason, like Angus, had been coerced into heading for the Border. Since he had planned to ask Mr. White for Henrietta’s hand in marriage, in accordance with the dictates of propriety and etiquette, perhaps he wasn’t a fortune-hunter after all. If he were not in desperate need of Henrietta’s dowry, then he must be desperately in love with her to incur the scorn of the Haut Ton by marrying the daughter of a Cit.

And the Cit’s daughter only loved him for his title and his handsome face. Penny’s heart bled for him. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice that the kitten had decided to explore the carriage and was scrambling up the grey velvet seat back beside her.

“Watch out, Miss Penny,” croaked Cora, too late.

Lily pounced on the curling white ostrich plume. Her weight dragged the new bonnet, its ribbons untied, from Penny’s head. Cat and hat landed on the seat, the kitten underneath. With a wail of fright, Lily disentangled herself and leaped across the carriage, arriving with extended claws on Mrs. Ratchett’s vast, black-clad lap.

Mrs. Ratchett screeched as piercingly as if all the fiends of hell had attacked her with their pitchforks. Her little eyes disappeared, her little mouth was a perfeet
O
, and her little, plump, black-gloved hands batted at the kitten much as the kitten had batted at the handkerchief. Already recovered from her shock, Lily assumed she wanted to play. She pounced on one hand, which promptly rose in the air, carrying her with it. The screeching redoubled.

Penny, Cora, and Henrietta converged on the swinging kitten. Cora dropped out in a fit of sneezing; Penny grabbed Mrs. Ratchett’s arm and held it still, while ineffectually trying to hush the woman; Henrietta, with the greatest aplomb, extricated claws from glove and skin and sat down, cradling her pet and cooing soothingly.

After all, she was the only one not yet victimized by her ferocious pet.

Mrs. Ratchett fell silent at last, breathing heavily. Penny turned to retrieve her bonnet and realized that at some point during the fracas the carriage had come to a halt and the drama had played to an audience consisting of Lord Kilmore, Angus, and several fascinated ostlers.

“My dear Doctor,” said his lordship. “I fear we have missed all the fun.” Angus grunted. “Henrietta, my dear, I trust you are unhurt?”

“Oh yes, Jason. Lily would never harm me. She was frightened.”

“That cat,” Mrs. Ratchet wheezed, her voice full of venom, “I’ll—”

“‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," Penny put in hastily.

“‘Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,'" added Jason. Penny wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Mrs. Ratchett or Lily. “Perhaps you had best take a look, Doctor,” he went on.

Angus stepped forward, moving awkwardly, and examined the pudgy, white hand held out for his inspection. “Nary a mark,” he declared, then backed out in a hurry as Mrs. Ratchett began to raise her skirts. “If there’s aught else troubling you, I’ll take a look when we stop at Doncaster.”

Mrs. Ratchett protested. “I ain’t about to wait—”

“It’s only nine miles,” Jason assured her. “I daresay you ladies will be ready for a cup of tea by then.”

“And something to eat,” Penny promised, in a blatant—and effective—appeal to her chaperon’s greed. Brightening, Mrs. Ratchett subsided. “Where are we now, my lord?” Penny asked.

“This is the Crown at Bawtry. We could spend the night in Doncaster,” he continued in a low voice, “but I thought you’d prefer to go on as far as Ferrybridge before we stop.”

“Yes, please, if it will not inconvenience you.”

“I rely on you, Miss Bryant, to persuade Henrietta that it’s what she wants. Doctor, are you quite sure you won’t rejoin the ladies?”

“Do, Angus,” Penny invited, realizing the cause of his clumsy movements. “You are not accustomed to riding so far.”

“I s’ll thank ye tae believe I ken ma ane abilities, Penelope,” he said crossly.

Watching him mount with painful caution, Penny wished she had found some other reason to request his return to the carriage. Of course he didn’t wish to admit to his ineptitude before Lord Kilmore, who looked perfectly at ease in the saddle, as if he had ridden a mile or two, not eighteen.

She seemed fated to say the wrong thing to Angus, she thought gloomily. Doubtless a few years of marriage would teach her how to deal comfortably with him.

She sighed.

CHAPTER TEN

At Doncaster, Dr. Knox had to be helped down from his mount. Legs astraddle and wearing a look of grim determination, he escorted the ladies into the Salutation Inn. Jason, pausing to give Mullins his instructions, watched the doctor sardonically. He sympathized with the man’s unwillingness to be put to the blush before his beloved, but he looked more the fool now than if he had admitted he was unused to long hours on horseback.

“I suppose we cannot expect to get away in less than half an hour,” he said to the coachman. “You’ll see to the team, and one saddle horse.”

Mullins grinned. “Right, m’lord.”

“Get yourself a heavy-wet.” Jason dropped a sixpence into the expectant palm and went into the inn.

Penny was lingering by the door to the coffee room, under pretext of studying an atrocious print of a horse-race. He was sure she was waiting for him.

“Miss Bryant, you have missed your history lesson,” he teased. “Races have been held on the Town Moor, just south of Doncaster, for at least a century, but the famous St. Leger was first run in 1776, at which time the grandstand was also built. Perhaps you noticed it as we drove past?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I wished to talk to you about, my lord. Angus cannot possibly ride any farther. He is in the greatest discomfort. Fortunately the prospect of food has made Mrs. Ratchett forget her injuries, so he will not be called upon to examine her. Why, he dare not even sit down!” She smothered a giggle. “It is cruel to laugh at him.”

“You are the one laughing, not I,” he pointed out, trying not to grin but knowing she was aware that he shared her amusement. He was puzzled, too. She laughed at the Scotsman, yet she must love him greatly or she would not be so afraid of the pursuit which might stop her wedding him. “Perhaps we should stay here after all?” he suggested.

“Oh, no. I have just succeeded in persuading Henrietta to go on.”

“And how did you manage that, Miss Bryant?”

“I explained to her the difficult concept that the farther we go today, the less the distance to Gretna and the sooner we shall arrive there.”

“The poor child is tired of travelling, I fear,” he said wryly.

“But it was her choice.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes—a romantic dash to the Border with a dashingly romantic nobleman.” Her voice was ironic, but then she added with apparent concern, “You must not think that she is regretting it, sir. She’s only eager to reach Gretna and be married.”

“As are we all.” He studied her face, but her long, fair lashes were lowered now, veiling the expression in those grey-green eyes.

“Of course.” She avoided his implicit question. “Shall we join the others?”

He followed her across the room. Though she must be as weary as any of them, especially after the morning’s mishaps, she moved with graceful dignity, her head held high. Her figure really was admirable.

Her betrothed, on the other hand, presented a sorry figure as he stood by the table in his drab, ill-fitting coat, leaning unobtrusively on the back of a chair. Seating Penny, he said to Jason, “I have ordered tea and ale, my lord, and cakes for the ladies.”

“Excellent. Plenty of cakes, I trust.” He sat down and the doctor, unable to delay the moment any longer, gingerly lowered himself with a suspicion of a groan onto one of the hard wooden chairs.

The waiter arrived balancing two trays, one piled high with Yorkshire teacakes and Yorkshire parkin.

Mrs. Ratchett’s eyes gleamed.

“Cousin Bartholomew would be
aux anges
,” said Penny tartly. “Local specialties excite him even more than food in general. Shall I pour the tea, Henrietta?”

“If you please. Pray give Cora a saucer of milk for Lily. Jason, I should like a macaroon.”

The obliging waiter went off to see if he could procure some macaroons. When he returned with almond cakes instead, Henrietta pouted, then took a slice of parkin, abandoned it on discovering that it was too spicy, and finally settled on a buttered teacake.

Mrs. Ratchett had no objection to either almond cakes or parkin. “‘Bring hither the fatted calf,’” she said with evident satisfaction.

Half an hour later, Jason wished he had limited the supply of refreshments. Mullins sent a message that the horses were ready, but Mrs. Ratchett still showed no sign of satiety. Penny glanced at her chaperon and gave a despairing shrug.

“Wrap everything that’s left in a napkin,” Jason ruthlessly ordered the waiter. “We shall take it with us.”

Riding ahead of the carriage, he imagined with a shudder the scene within. On one seat, Penny was squashed between Henrietta and the solidly built Scot. Facing her sat Cora, sniffing and sneezing, and Mrs. Ratchett who, no doubt, after munching cakes for a while would begin to snore again.

He had escaped for now, but Henrietta would naturally be offended if he chose to ride all day tomorrow rather than squeezing in at her side. Almost he regretted having taken up Miss Penelope Bryant and her followers—almost, but not quite. Only Penny’s presence enlivened an otherwise unutterably dreary journey.