Lady Jane's Ribbons (30 page)

‘Of course you are,’ she whispered. ‘You were never really out of them, you just left a few pages dog-eared now and then.’

Lewis joined them then. ‘You’re all right, Henry?’

‘Just about. The poor old Duke isn’t though.’

‘What happened?’

Henry nodded toward the silent group of workers. ‘There were two others, strangers I gather. They flung a log of wood through the wheels as I was passing. I didn’t stand a chance.’

‘And they hopped it, I suppose?’

‘Like stags into that wood over there.’

‘Chapman?’

‘Well, since I hardly imagine it was the Swan’s connections, I have to think that he’s the villain of the piece. Besides, I recognize their descriptions.’

Lewis smiled a little. ‘He usually is.’ He looked at the wrecked coach, and
the ugly piece of wood which had shattered the spokes of the wheels and brought the whole vehicle crashing so dangerously into the ditch. Chapman was ruthless beyond belief.

Henry looked curiously at Lewis then. ‘You’ve taken up the ribbons again then?’

‘The time seemed, er, appropriate.’

‘You’ll never catch that son of a jackal – he’s long since gone on his way. He must be at Maywood by now.’

‘I’ll catch him.’

‘You better had, dear boy; my
£
50,000 is depending on you. Besides, the Iron Duke must be avenged for the indignity that’s been heaped upon it.’ He glanced at Jane. ‘Am I forgiven enough for you to avenge the poor old Duke?’

‘Of course you are.’

‘Was I really that bad?’

‘Worse.’

‘Oh, cruel heart.’

She smiled.

At that moment, Lord Sefton’s curricle appeared along the road, closely followed by the Duke of Dursley, who didn’t hide his delight to see the Iron Duke turned over in so demeaning a way.

Lord Sefton reined his bays in swiftly and came over to them. ‘What on God’s earth happened?’

Lewis quickly told him, and the marshal’s face darkened with cold anger. ‘That’s it! I won’t brook any more from that blackguard Chapman! I’ll see to it that he loses his license and never regains it! And to think that he’s going to get into Brighton first!’

‘Oh no he isn’t,’ said Lewis quietly.

Lord Sefton look at him as if he was mad. ‘How can you say that given the lead he’s got now? Dammit, man, he’d have to go backward not to get in first!’

‘Maywood’s not that far ahead,’ explained Lewis, ‘and where Chapman has to go around it, I am at liberty to cut straight across. You did say there was no hard-and-fast rule about the route, didn’t you?’

Lord Sefton stared at him for a moment and then a slow grin spread across his good-natured face. ‘That’s right, you can go any way you like so long as you get to Brighton, and if you cut out that loop you’ll gain at least ten minutes. But is that enough?’

Lewis nodded. ‘Enough for me.’

‘Have a care at Bolney, for if he knows you’ve got him in your sights, the lord alone knows what he might resort to to stop you.’

‘I’ll be on my guard, of that you may be sure.’

The following carriages were beginning to catch up now, Blanche’s landau still valiantly in the forefront. Leaning from her window and seeing what had happened to the Iron Duke, she gave an audible cry of dismay and gestured frantically for her coachman to stop as close as possible. Then she
was running like the wind toward Henry, her ribbons fluttering and her eyes bright with tears. ‘Henry! Oh, Henry, my love! Are you all right?’

‘Blanche?’ He went to meet her, swinging her into his arms and kissing her on the lips in front of them all. ‘Don’t cry, my sweet,’ he murmured, showering kisses all over her face. ‘I’m all right, it’s all right….’

Lord Sefton tipped his top hat back on his head. ‘Well, that’s them sorted out, I suppose. But we’ve a race to get on with, Ardenley, and the longer you dilly-dally here, the further ahead that damned rat’s going to get.’

Lewis caught Jane’s hand. ‘Come, my lady, we’d best be on our way.’

They ran back to the Swan, just as the Duke of Dursley, furious to
realize
that Henry’s overturn had had the opposite effect upon Blanche to the one expected, turned his purple cabriolet in the middle of the road and drove away again back toward Handcross, causing considerable difficulty and danger to the stream of carriages pouring in the opposite direction. Through the dust which still swirled above the company, Jane distinctly heard the furious curses of the other coachmen as they informed His Grace of Dursley what they thought of him.

Lewis lifted her lightly onto the box again and then vaulted up beside her. He grinned at her. ‘Hold on to your bonnet, madam, we’re about to take to the air!’ Then, with a sharp click of his tongue, he stirred the team into action again. They pushed into their collars, coming up to a swift pace and leaving the scene of the accident far behind.

Within a minute or so the north lodge of Maywood loomed ahead, and the fresh team attended by their grooms. The men’s jaws dropped with astonishment when they saw Lewis himself with the ribbons and none other than Lady Jane Derwent beside him. They set about changing the horses, while Lewis learned that the Nonpareil had passed some nine minutes earlier. By his calculations that meant that Chapman was actually ten minutes ahead, for it would take another minute to complete the change of team. If his arithmetic was right, the Swan should emerge from the south lodge gates at precisely the same time the Nonpareil was due to pass. It would be close, and if the Nonpareil managed to pass the gate first, it would be very difficult to get in front again, Sewell not being one to behave
according
to the rules on the king’s highway.

The grooms had almost finished, and the one in charge looked up a little uncertainly. ‘I don’t like the look of that trace, my lord.’

Jane stared where he was pointing. ‘It’s the one we had trouble with at Sutton!’

Lewis nodded at the man. ‘Will it do?’

‘I reckon so, but keep an eye on it.’

‘Jane, you’ll have to watch it. Tell me if there’s the slightest sign of anything wrong.’

‘All right.’

He gathered the ribbons, pausing for a moment then before bending his
head toward her and kissing her very briefly on the lips. ‘For luck,’ he murmured.

Then the grooms were standing back and he was urging the coach forward again, through the open wrought-iron gates where the cool shadow of the copper beech dappled the drive, and then on up the long, straight incline toward the great house.

Jane’s heart was singing. Could she hope that fleeting kiss had meant anything?
Dared
she hope?

The appearance of a public stagecoach in Maywood’s elegant park caused a great deal of amazement. A line of men scything the grass paused to stare as the Swan swept past, and they hastily removed their hats as they saw that it was Lord Ardenley himself on the box.

Wheels crunching and gravel scattering, the coach dashed on toward the house. A small herd of red deer fled in alarm, making for the shelter of the trees by the lakes, while from the kennels to the west of the house came the sound of excited baying as the hounds picked up the change in the hitherto tranquil atmosphere pervading the estate.

The Swan was close to the house now, and Jane could see the servants gazing down in astonishment. They seemed to be pointing beyond the coach. She turned on the box to look back, and she couldn’t help laughing, because everyone was following the Swan! Lord Sefton’s curricle was close behind, and then the lively company of sporting gentlemen, while beyond them were the private carriages, all of them driving for all they were worth in the wake of the stagecoach. The freshly-raked surface of the drive had already been ruined, and the head groundsman was standing watching with the utmost dismay as the work he and his men had completed only an hour before was undone in a moment.

Lewis eased the team past the front of the house, the noise it made
echoing
from the mellow stonework, and then they were approaching the kennels. The hounds were almost frantic with excitement now, setting up such a clamor that it was as if they were in full cry after a fox. Men emerged from the stables to watch as their master tooled the stagecoach swiftly by, the fresh team moving easily and with a firm rhythm which spoke volumes of their strength and fitness.

Jane’s eyes were shining with excitement and the new feeling of
anticipation
began to quiver through her again. In Lewis’s hands, the Swan was a different coach. She watched how he drove, his grip firm without seeming
to be, his commands so light that she could hardly believe the team was conscious of them.

The kitchen gardens were to the left now, and the faces of the startled cooks and scullery maids peeped over the wicket gate to see what all the noise was about. Then the drive turned southward again, passing the great terrace and the magnificent parterre, where the gardeners straightened from their work to gape as the noisy cavalcade swept down toward the south lodge.

Jane could smell the roses in the formal beds, and see how the sunlight sparkled through the dancing waters of the fountains for which Maywood’s parterre was renowned. It was all so peaceful, but the thunder of hooves and wheels, and the crack of whips made it all seem so unreal, as if she was asleep and in the middle of a wild dream.

The open park was in front of them now, the long ribbon of the drive stretching toward the great copper beech which marked the position of the south lodge. She glanced along the stone wall guarding the estate,
wondering
if at any moment she would catch a glimpse of the Nonpareil on the highway beyond, but there was nothing. Maybe it had already passed! Maybe the wall was too high and that was why she couldn’t see.

Closer and closer to the lodge the Swan drove, moving at such a pace that she didn’t think it would be possible to negotiate the turn onto the road in safety. Then, to her horror, she saw that the gates ahead were closed! ‘Lewis! The gates!’

Lewis grinned at the alarm on her face. ‘Have faith now, Jane.’

‘But….’

He urged the galloping team even faster, as if the gates weren’t there! Jane stared at him and then at the gates. She heard him laugh then, before he shouted out at the top of his voice. ‘Hallo! The gates! Get a move on Tom Martin, or I’ll have your damned hide!’

A startled face appeared at one of the lodge windows and then
disappeared
again. Jane felt as if her heart had stopped. The man could never open the gates in time! They were going to hurtle straight into them!

The lodgekeeper was struggling to push the heavy gates, and then she heard another sound – a whip cracking somewhere beyond the wall on the highway. The Nonpareil!

Lewis’s control was complete. He didn’t check the team’s headlong speed at all, and the Swan swept through the opened gates onto the road just in front of the oncoming Nonpareil. Jane clung onto her seat as the coach lurched sharply, and she heard the furious shouts of Chapman and Sewell as they were pipped for the lead by a rival they thought they’d long since seen off.

As the Swan straightened and Lewis once again urged the team to full pace, she looked back, just in time to see Sewell have to swerve the Nonpareil in order to avoid Lord Sefton’s curricle, which had hurtled out of the gates as unexpectedly as the Swan. Chapman had been standing on the box, waving his fist after the Swan, and the sudden swerve almost catapaulted him over the
wall into Maywood. He sat down again quickly, cursing Sewell for being a ham-fisted Johnny Raw who’d be better employed on a brewer’s dray!

Lewis grinned at Jane again. ‘There now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’

‘I think I left my stomach somewhere back there!’

‘Have you lost your liking for ribbons, my lady?’

She smiled. ‘No.’

‘Stubborn to the bitter end, eh?’

‘Derwent leopards don’t change their spots, I’m afraid.’

‘
That’s
something I’ve come to realize,’ he replied, laughing as he sprang the willing team toward the hill rising sharply ahead of them.

Her breath caught as the coach seemed to leap forward, and she found herself laughing aloud with the sheer exhilaration and excitement of the moment. She looked back again, to see the Nonpareil close behind, George Sewell having recovered his aplomb and driving with gritted teeth as he sought to close the gap. Behind the Nonpareil the cloud of dust marked the progress of the race followers, some of who were traveling so sedately that they’d barely half-crossed Maywood. She wondered where Blanche’s landau was, and Alicia’s. She glanced at Lewis again. Was it really over between him and his mistress?

The team’s sheer impulsion carried them up the hill, and at the top they stretched out almost joyfully, as if they exulted in the wild pace. Bolney was only a few miles in front of them now, and then would come the final change of horses. It was the one place where precious time might be lost and the Nonpareil be able to snatch the lead again. The other coach was very close, she could hear it above the noise of the Swan.

On they dashed, over a windy common where gorse and heather bloomed beneath the warm summer sun, and then the cherry orchards of Bolney were in front of them; in the distance she could see the hump-backed curves of the South Downs, beyond which lay their destination, Brighton.

The people of Bolney had gathered to watch the race, and they cheered as the Swan swept at full pelt along the village street, the team flecked with lather now they were almost at the end of the stage. Jane could smell the purple thyme in the cottage gardens, a sweet, heady perfume which she knew would in future always remind her of this day, just as lilies-of-
the-valley
would always make her think of danger.

They passed the inn where the grooms had the Nonpareil’s final team ready and waiting, and she laughed to see their open-mouthed astonishment that the unfancied Swan had not only survived Chapman’s tactics, but had snatched the lead!

The Maywood grooms were waiting beneath the overhanging boughs of an ancient oak tree, not visible until the last moment because of a sharp bend in the road as it went around a farm with a huge stone barn. As Lewis drew the coach to a standstill for the change, the grooms gave a loud cheer to see their master in the lead, then they went quickly about their work.
Lewis sat back, tipping his hat further back on his head before looking almost lazily at Jane. ‘Well, madam? What is your opinion now of the noble art of ribbon-tooling?’

‘Well, I suppose I have to admit that I can understand its fascination.’

‘Good God, you mean you actually relent that much?’

She smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘What about the leopard’s spots?’

‘I’m afraid they’ve become a little washy.’

‘They have indeed. So, you’re enjoying this little caper?’

‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘I find it exhilarating.’

There was a strange light in his gray eyes as he reached out to put his hand to her hot, dusty cheek. ‘Oh, Jane,’ he said softly, ‘I can think of
something
much more exhilarating….’

‘Lewis, I—’

But she got no further, for at that moment the groom in charge called out to him. ‘My lord?’

‘Yes?’

‘This trace doesn’t look too healthy.’

The trace! She’d forgotten all about it!

Lewis sat forward to look at the heavy metal chain. ‘Will it stand the miles to Brighton?’

‘I don’t know, my lord. Under any other circumstances I’d say no, but when it’s a race….’ The man shook his head helplessly. ‘It’s the devil of a choice, my lord.’

‘Well, Beelzebub and I have an understanding, so I’m sure he’ll waive his rights upon my eternal damnation just for this one day. Now then, for God’s sake get those fresh horses harnessed so we can be on our way before the Nonpareil gets here!’

‘Yes, sir!’ The man touched his hat and beckoned to the man waiting with the last horse, but even as the animal was at last in position, the Nonpareil came seemingly out of nowhere, erupting from behind the stone barn which had muffled the sound of its approach. It was moving at such a reckless pace that Jane could only stare in horror. Surely it would overturn, it couldn’t possibly hold the corner!

A low whistle escaped Lewis. ‘Great God above,’ he breathed, ‘has Sewell taken leave of his senses?’

Jane clutched his arm as the other coach swayed alarmingly. ‘Oh, Lewis….’

His hand was over hers. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured.

The Nonpareil seemed on the very point of capsizing, but the low, wide design saved it, just as Sewell had gambled it would. The straining,
frightened
team heaved themselves into their collars as the whip cracked over their heads, and with another alarming lurch, the Nonpareil righted itself and was thundering past the stationary Swan. She saw Sewell’s delighted
grin and heard Chapman’s derisive, triumphant shout.

It had only been a second or so since the Nonpareil had appeared from behind the barn, but to Jane it seemed like more than a minute. She grabbed at her seat as Lewis galvanized their own team into action, willing them up to a pace to match that of the other coach, but already she could taste the Nonpareil’s dust on her lips, and as the Swan came swiftly up behind, Sewell kept his coach in the center of the road, weaving it from side to side to make absolutely certain there was no chance of passing.

Lewis’s mouth was pressed in a thin, determined line, and there was a steely glint in his eyes as he tooled the Swan easily along. He glanced briefly at Jane and smiled. ‘I’ll get him,’ he said, ‘on the Steyne itself if need be, but I’m damned if he’s going to cross the line in front of me. Keep your eye on the trace,’ he added. ‘We don’t want to do an Iron Duke into the next ditch.’

She stared down at the trace, its heavy links taut now as the team drew swiftly along the road. She could see the suspect link, but it didn’t seem to have changed.

‘Sefton’s keeping up!’ said Lewis.

She turned and saw the yellow curricle moving through the dust kicked up by the battling stagecoaches. Of his companions and the other followers there wasn’t a sign, and she could imagine them pausing to take refreshment at leisure in the inn at Bolney. Looking to the front again, she watched the dust being kicked up from the Nonpareil as it wove from side to side. ‘If he does that all the way, we’ll never get past!’ she cried.

‘If he does that all the way, he’ll have a spent team by the time he gets to Brighton. Let him get on with it, I’ll bide my time.’ His voice was almost drowned by the noise of the coach.

‘As you did at the south lodge gates?’

‘We got through, didn’t we?’

‘Just.’

‘I like to live dangerously.’

‘I believe you, sir.’

He laughed then, and she found herself laughing with him.

The laughter seemed to release the pent-up emotion inside her, making her sharply aware of the sheer stimulation of the race. Excitement began to spill through her in time to the motion of the coach and the thunder of the hooves. Sunlight gleamed on the harness and the team’s coats, and on the ring Lewis wore. She watched his hands, so strong and confident and so completely in control of all the power generated by the galloping horses. It was that strength that had attracted her to him in the first place, for in those few moments when they’d been introduced, she’d sensed that as well as physical strength, he had strength of character as well. Everything about him had drawn her like a pin to a magnet, and it drew her still. She was conscious of the whiplike tension in his body as he concentrated on what he was doing, manipulating the horses with deceptive ease, making it seem that
he was doing so little, when the very opposite was the case.

He felt her gaze upon him. ‘Apply your close scrutiny to that trace, madam, not admiration of my lily-white paws.’

She looked hastily at the trace, a quick flush leaping to her cheeks at having been perceived studying him in such a way.

On and on they drove, over the South Downs where the gulls soared and the tang of salt was in the air, and then they breasted the final hill and the white elegance of Brighton stretched away before them. She willed Lewis on, unable to tear her eyes away from the coach in front as George Sewell flung his team down the incline. Lewis didn’t fling the Swan, he held the team back gently, giving them their heads when they’d almost reached the bottom. But the Nonpareil was still in front. She stared after it in dismay.

Lewis grinned. ‘We’ll give him the go-by, you wait and see! His cattle must be almost on their knees after all that needlework on the road. He wove enough to darn his grandfather’s stockings!’

In spite of her dismay, she had to laugh.