Emily Goes to Exeter (5 page)

‘I thought so,’ said Lord Harley laconically. ‘You don’t make a very convincing man.’

‘Hey!’ said the landlord. ‘What’s a goin’ on?’

‘My family betrothed me to that monster against my wishes,’ said Emily. ‘I ran away. I am going to my old nurse at Exeter until they change their minds and call off this disgusting marriage.’

‘I do not want to marry a silly little chit like you,’ said Lord Harley icily.

‘Then why did you come after me?’ demanded Emily. She had made an odd figure, dining with her beaver hat on. She took it off and placed it on a chair beside her, revealing a crop of auburn curls.

‘Your parents, minx, guessed where you had gone and I volunteered to search the posting-inns for you,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Did you never stop for one moment to think of the distress you were causing them?’

‘Why?’ said Emily in a voice thick with tears. ‘They never thought of me. They know I am in love with Mr
Peregrine Williams, but did they listen? No! “You are to marry Lord Ranger Harley,” they said. You are old, sir, and have the reputation of the devil.’

‘Why did you both not recognize each other?’ asked Hannah.

‘Because we had never met,’ said Emily. ‘My family want his money and title. They are not interested in finding out if we might care for each other.’

‘Put your mind at rest, child,’ said Lord Harley in a bored voice, ‘and stop enacting Haymarket tragedies before the interested public of this inn. I was given to understand you wished the marriage. Now I have seen you, I do not wish to be married to you any more than you wish to be married to me. You will return to London with me and marry this Mr Williams if you wish.’

There was a long silence again.

The landlord cleared his throat. ‘What a coil,’ he said. ‘Is there anyone else here who isn’t a miss or a man or who ain’t married or who’s running away? Or can I get you all off to bed?’

‘You shall come with me,’ said Hannah firmly to Emily.

Overwrought, Emily burst into tears. Hannah helped her to her feet and led her from the room. ‘Blue Room,’ shouted the landlord. ‘Top o’ the stairs and turn right.’

Hannah Pym thought she would die from curiosity. So many complications! But, like bad knitting, surely all that was needed was for them to be unravelled by an expert and made up again in the right way.

3

The Blue Room was comfortable and well appointed, with low rafters, chintz curtains at the window, and cheerful chintz hangings on the bed. A fire burnt brightly in the small hearth. There were two easy chairs in front of the fire, and it was into one of these chairs that Hannah thrust Emily. She then took off her cloak and hung it on a peg behind the door, along with her hat, before sitting down opposite the girl.

‘Now, what is all this about?’ said Hannah, trying to keep her vulgar gossipy eagerness in check. The girl was so very beautiful with those large violet eyes and
auburn hair. Her face was a well-shaped oval with a small straight nose.

‘I think I should know to whom I am talking,’ said Emily with a pathetic attempt at hauteur.

‘I am Miss Hannah Pym, gentlewoman of Kensington,’ said Hannah firmly. Her servant days were behind her now, and she was determined not to stifle any confidences by revealing she had lately been in service.

‘And do you have relatives in Exeter, Miss Pym?’

‘No, I am simply travelling for the sake of travel.’

Despite her distress, Emily gave a reluctant laugh. What an odd lady this Miss Pym was with her strange eyes and crooked nose. ‘I cannot possibly imagine anyone travelling on the stage for
fun
,’ she said.

‘But I have already had a great many adventures,’ said Hannah, her eyes glowing gold in the firelight. ‘Just think. A real highwayman. A widow who is not the captain’s wife. And now you, not a boy but a pretty lady running away from a man who does not seem to want her after all.’

‘I do not believe him,’ said Emily. ‘It is a trick.’

‘Who is this Lord Harley?’

‘Lord Ranger Harley,’ said Emily in a clear voice, ‘is a rake and a libertine.’

‘How so?’

‘I happen to know, for my governess told me, that he has an opera dancer in keeping.’

‘Do you still have a governess?’ asked Miss Pym, momentarily diverted. ‘I would have thought you too old.’

‘I am eighteen,’ said Emily haughtily. ‘But Miss Cudlipp, that is my governess’s name, is dear to me. She stays as a sort of companion. She is very wise.’

Hannah sniffed. She thought that Miss Cudlipp was downright disloyal to her employers to pour scandal about Emily’s intended into the girl’s ears. ‘But this business about the opera dancer,’ said Hannah. ‘That is merely gossip. She cannot know for sure.’

‘Miss Cudlipp knows everything,’ said Emily. ‘Oh, what am I to do? He will force me to go back with him and marry him.’

‘Really, Miss Freemantle, if you will forgive me, he did not look at all the sort of man who would have to force any woman to marry him. He is very handsome and he is a lord. Is he rich?’

‘Very,’ said Emily in a hollow voice.

‘Then there you are. He cannot possibly want to marry you.’

‘He does not like to be thwarted. Miss Cudlipp said so.’

Hannah mentally sent Miss Cudlipp and all her sayings to the devil. ‘So who is Mr Peregrine Williams?’

Emily turned a delicate shade of pink. ‘He is charming, so very fair and beautiful. He has hair like gold and the bluest eyes you have ever seen. He writes poetry to me which Miss Cudlipp says rivals Mr Wordsworth.’

‘And did your parents introduce you to this paragon?’

‘Oh, no. It transpires that they had set their hearts on my marrying Harley a long time ago. I have not
even made my come-out. I met Mr Williams when I was walking in the Park with Miss Cudlipp. I would not have noticed him, but Miss Cudlipp said, “Regard that beautiful young man who watches you so closely.” I looked across and he was standing under a tree, a book in his hand. He looked at me so intently, I began to tremble. But Miss Cudlipp with great bravery approached him and asked him why he was staring, and he said … do you know what he said?’

‘“Your beauty has pierced my heart,” or some such thing?’ suggested Hannah.

‘Well … not exactly, but he said, “The fair maiden yonder has struck my heart a blow. I am blinded by her beauty.”’

‘Fiddlesticks,’ muttered Miss Pym.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said “Fiddlesticks” because I thought the fire was dying down,’ said Hannah. ‘Go on about Mr Williams.’

‘He begged permission to call, and so I gave him my direction,’ said Emily. ‘But when he called, my parents refused to have him admitted. They then asked around the town about him and found that although of gentle birth, he has little money, and so I received a terrible punishment.’

‘They beat you?’

‘No, they took my novels.’

Very proper, thought Hannah. Aloud she said, ‘So you never saw him again?’

‘Of course I did! Miss Cudlipp saw to that.’

‘Yes, of course she would,’ said Hannah. ‘But, believe me, as we are going to be trapped in this
hostelry for a few days, I would suggest you make a friend of this Lord Harley. You will find that not only does he not want to marry you, but that he might break that sad news very tactfully to your parents.’

Emily’s beautiful face took on a mulish look. ‘He will not change his mind.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I am very beautiful.’

Hannah was thoroughly shocked. ‘You must not say such a thing, my dear Miss Freemantle.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because anyone who praises her own looks immediately appears vain and shabby.’

‘Miss Cudlipp says—’

‘Never mind what Miss Cudlipp says. Did that governess encourage you to flee?’

‘Oh, yes. ’Twas most exciting. I climbed down from my bedroom window and she lowered the trunks down to me.’

‘And where did you get the men’s clothes?’

‘They are my brother’s. He is at sea. He is much older than I – twenty-five – and these are the clothes he wore when he was my age. He had not thrown them away.’

Emily yawned. ‘You had best get to bed,’ said Hannah, her mind racing. ‘You do have women’s clothes with you?’

‘Yes, in my trunk. I only have this one suit of men’s clothes and two clean shirts and neckcloths and two pairs of small-clothes and unmentionables.’

The door opened and two waiters came in bearing
their trunks. Emily had two enormous trunks that made Hannah’s one serviceable trunk look modest.

Hannah tipped the waiters and then threw open the lid of her trunk and took out the clothes that had become soiled in the stream in Knightsbridge. ‘I will just take these down to the kitchen and see if anyone knows how to clean and press them,’ said Hannah.

Emily rose and yawned and staggered slightly. ‘I feel quite drunk,’ she said with a giggle.

Hannah picked up her soiled clothes and went down to the kitchen. Mrs Silvers, the landlord’s wife, was giving instructions to the cook. She took the clothes from Hannah and said she would see that the linen was washed and that the mud was brushed from the other items when they were dry, for they were all still damp from their soaking. Hannah then regaled the landlord’s wife with a vivid account of her adventures. Mrs Silvers listened open-mouthed and then ran to fetch her husband, and Hannah had to tell her story all over again. The landlord was greatly intrigued and said she told a rare tale. Producing a bottle of French brandy, he poured Hannah a measure. Hannah was beginning to feel like a sot. After a lifetime of abstinence, she seemed to be making up for it all in a short space of time.

But the brandy, instead of making her feel sleepy, seemed to activate her busy brain more.

She returned to the Blue Room. Emily was in bed and asleep, looking young and defenceless. Her discarded clothes were scattered all over the room.

Not a bad child, thought Hannah, but thoroughly spoilt. How amazing the amount of damage that can be done by one silly governess. She moved about picking up the clothes. Emily’s trunks were open. On the top of one was a man’s shirt and clean neckcloth. Hannah picked the shirt up and took it over to the fire, where a lamp was still burning on a side-table. It was ruffled and of the finest cambric. She returned to the trunk and without a shred of conscience searched its contents. She was relieved to find that Emily had spoken the truth. There were only a few items of men’s clothing. The rest was an assortment of beautiful gowns and underwear. Apart from Emily’s two trunks, there was a large hat box, lying open, hats spilling over the floor. Hannah clucked in irritation and carried them over to the wardrobe and put them on the capacious upper shelf. Among the hats was the man’s wig. No doubt Emily had meant to use it as part of her disguise and had cut her hair short instead. Hannah carried it to a wig-stand and then studied it. It was a fine wig of real hair, white and curled and tied at the back with a black silk ribbon.

She returned to Emily’s trunks and took out dresses and pelisses and mantles and hung them away and then arranged the underwear in the top half of the chest of drawers. Then she opened her own modest trunk and put her own things away. She carried her hairbrush and pin-box to the toilet table. It was already crammed with silver-topped bottles of lotions and creams, brushes, combs and bone pins, Emily having unpacked her toilet things. The towels were
damp and had been thrown on the floor, and it appeared Emily had used up both cans of hot water.

Hannah rang the bell and gave the chambermaid the empty cans and basin of dirty water and the soiled towels and asked for a replacement.

She kept on working until everything was put away and the trunks and bandbox stowed under the bed. The maid returned with fresh towels and hot water. Hannah knew that such luxuries would be put on the bill and was determined Emily should pay for them.

Her gaze fell on that wig, gleaming whitely on the wig-stand. She picked it up, then a clean neckcloth, and then the cambric shirt, and made her way downstairs and asked where she might find the lawyer, Mr Fletcher. She was told he was sharing the Red Room – ‘Top of the stairs and turn left’ – with Lord Harley.

Hannah went up to the Red Room and, forgetting that she was no longer a servant but a guest at the inn, failed to knock, but simply turned the handle and opened the door.

There was a squawk of dismay from Mr Fletcher. The lawyer was stark naked, sitting in a hip-bath in front of the fire. Lord Harley was scrubbing his back.

Hannah retreated.

She waited outside the door, and after a few moments Lord Harley came out and closed the door behind him. ‘What is it, Miss Pym? And do you never knock?’

The answer to that was, ‘No, good servants never knock,’ but Hannah had no intention of letting Lord Harley or anyone else know she had been a servant.

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ said Hannah. ‘I am sleepy and forgot.’

He thought she looked remarkably wide awake, and was further amazed that the sight of a naked man had not even raised a blush to this spinster’s cheek. He could not know that Hannah was accustomed, from her days in the lower ranks of servants, to coming across gentlemen in the buff.

Hannah held out the wig, shirt, and neckcloth. ‘Miss Freemantle will not be needing these items, and I thought Mr Fletcher might appreciate a fresh change of shirt and perhaps a new wig. Mr Fletcher is thin and Miss Freemantle is slim and I felt sure the shirt would fit.’

Lord Harley’s lips curled in amusement. Poor Mr Fletcher. There had been no doubt that Mr Fletcher was slightly ripe. Lord Harley had cajoled him into taking a bath, not wanting to share the bed with a smelly stranger. ‘You had best give these things to me,’ he said, opening the door again to enter. ‘Tact is called for. Wait there.’

‘I have come upon some fresh articles of clothing,’ said Lord Harley, putting shirt, wig and neckcloth on a chair beside the bath. ‘Pray give me your soiled linen and I will take it to the kitchen for washing.’

‘Very well,’ said Mr Fletcher, trying to cover himself modestly with a large bar of soap. ‘But these things were washed last month.’

‘Another washing won’t harm them,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Do you have fresh linen?’

‘In my trunk,’ said Mr Fletcher, feeling like a schoolboy.

Lord Harley searched in it and found items which he noticed were actually fresh and clean. He scooped up Mr Fletcher’s discarded underwear and shirt. ‘Do not wait up for me,’ he ordered. ‘Leave the bath and I shall send a couple of waiters up to take it away.’

Mr Fletcher nodded dumbly. He was not insulted. He thought this bathing thing was a mad foible of the aristocracy, but he was too overwhelmed at the honour of being looked after by a real-live lord to protest.

Lord Harley went out and joined Hannah on the landing. ‘I will take these from you,’ said Hannah briskly.

‘No, I shall come with you. It is early yet.’

He followed Hannah to the kitchen and watched as she gave orders for the clothes to be washed and pointed to a couple of minute tears and asked that they might be stitched.

‘Put it on my bill,’ said Lord Harley to the landlord, who was sitting at the kitchen table eating a late supper. Hannah stifled a sigh of relief. She was thrifty by nature and her recent elevation to the ranks of the middle class had made her realize that five thousand pounds had to be guarded carefully. ‘Is there anyone in the coffee room?’ Lord Harley asked.