Migraine. Fighting it off
Chapter 15
Gerard and Jane drove into Woburn. The town was bustling with people preparing for the fair on September 14th, and nobody spared strangers a second glance. Gerard drove up to the church, and went in search of the rector.
Having found that worthy, and explained what had occurred, men were sent for to take the body of the young man, whose name turned out to be Percy Penthridge, into the church.
“His horses can be accommodated at the inn, I suppose, until probate,” fussed the vicar, “But I don’t know about the dog.”
“Then I’ll keep him for now,” said Jane. “And you can write to our man of business, Mr. Eversfield, of Sackville Street, London, if anyone comes forward to claim the dog.”
“Er, yes, indeed,” said the rector. “Very good of you to stop and take up the body and bring the horses.”
“Nobody else was going to do so,” said Jane.
They took an early nuncheon, or possibly late breakfast, at the Goat Inn, arranging for the Penthridge horses to be housed until claimed. Star, provided with a hambone, retired under the table to demolish it loudly; and if the landlord objected to dogs or black gentlemen, he did not object to gold.
oOoOo
“We won’t get further than Queen’s Cross, I fear,” said Gerard, as they prepared to start once more. “I did not know how pulled I was from a silly little wound, and not even a ball in me. This delay has not helped.”
“Are you still in discomfort from the pounding of your kidneys?” asked Jane.
“A little, to be honest, yes, having been shaken up as well.”
“We can put the pillow that came with the quilt behind your back; that may help,” said Jane. “Let me hold it for you to get comfortable. And if it does not, then we shall stop at some obscure hamlet, where Frith will not think to look, and if he overshoots us, well, then, that will confuse him further. Then we shall sweep past him and set him off again. It is fortunate that both you and Mr. Franklin drive bays; I fancy from the glimpse I had of them that his have a touch more of the hot blood in them.”
“Yes, he has a fine pair of half-bred Arabians, and they would have a considerable turn of speed, but I think less staying-power than my Cleveland Bays.”
“Let us hope that Frith is a man who cannot tell the difference,” said Jane.
“Even if he is a discerning gentleman about horseflesh, those he asks may be less so, or not feel an urge to volunteer the information,” said Gerard. “However, I have observed that those men who are callous about people are also often callous about animals too. Peter felt that Frith is a man who sees ‘negro’ and cannot see past that, to the individual features, even though Peter is no more than a quarter negro, in my estimation. Most people catching a glimpse of him would, I feel sure, describe him as ‘swarthy,’ as they do me, though he is a shade or two darker than I. The exaggeration of the mask will, however, make certain that they say, ‘black’ which is what Frith is looking for. Of course, close up, it is obvious it is a mask, but if I am seen to be hiding my face, people will peer more, and will draw their own conclusions from a flash of darkness as to why I might hide it. Sing for me, Jane, I may or may not be able to join in, but it will give me heart.”
“Gerard, how can you know it will give you heart? I might sing like a corncrake for all you know.”
“Devil a bit! I’ve heard you singing as you do things about the house when I was courting your idiot stepsister and you have a sweet voice. It may not be strong, or trained, but it pleases me.”
“You’d be well served if I sang nothing but fashionable airs,” said Jane.
“If they please you, they will sound good,” said Gerard. “For I shall hear if you are enjoying the singing of them.”
“Now that robs me of any desire to be outrageous, and sing fashionable songs which I do not like,” laughed Jane. “Helen would have conniptions; she hates me singing and ‘vulgarly drawing attention to myself,’ she calls it.”
Gerard laughed.
“Because your untrained voice is sweeter than Madelaine’s expensively trained one, I suspect,” he said, cynically. “This cushion is helping, by the way.”
“Good,” said Jane. She sang ‘The Last Rose of Summer,’ ‘The Minstrel Boy,’ ‘Where e’er you walk,’ ‘Barbara Allen,’ and was halfway through ‘The Blackbird and the Thrush,’ when she broke off, blushing.
“What is it?” asked Gerard.
“Oh! I learned this from the boot boy, and he must have been laughing up his sleeve at me, for I only just realised what is meant by the ‘little ball of yarn.’”
“Well, let us sing it again, together, and be sure I will always look after your little ball of yarn, my love,” said Gerard.
Blushing and giggling, Jane joined in again, singing,
“Oh, the blackbird and the thrush, they sang out from ev’ry bush
‘Keep your hand upon your little ball of yarn!’”
It was time for afternoon tea when they reached Newport Pagnell.
“I half considered stopping here, but I believe with a rest, I shall push on, but not far,” said Gerard. “The inn at Stoke Goldington shouldn’t be full, it’s a few miles further, but more obscure than staying in town.”
There were a lot of women in town, and Gerard had to negotiate carefully.
“They appear to be laying siege to that haberdashery,” said Gerard.
Jane leaned out of the carriage to ask one of the women clamouring to get into the store.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Dhaka muslin!” said the woman, almost worshipfully.
“Thank you,” said Jane.
“Do you want to join the queue?” asked Gerard. “If it’s the real thing, it’s the finest muslin in the world, and even the Romans valued it – Petronius described women as clad yet naked when wearing it.”[1]
“Thank you, no. I don’t embroider well enough to make beautiful white-work creations on it, and whilst I might like my invisible petticoat, I don’t want almost-invisible gowns.”
“I shouldn’t mind you in a nearly invisible summer nightgown,” said Gerard. “I could tease you through it before taking it off.”
Jane breathed a lot faster, and flushed becomingly.
“You can have one made for me, then, as a gift, and get some from India House,” she said.
“Yes, my lady,” said Gerard. “I shall, then!”
“And then I can be your mistress in the bedroom, and mistress of the house in the ballroom,” said Jane. “And if you are good, I’ll wear it instead of a shift under my gown, and tell you, so that you know I am very much available under whatever very proper gown I wear.”
It was Gerard’s turn to become suddenly very warm. His flushes were hidden beneath his mask.
They turned in at the ‘Swan,’ and an ostler came forward.
“Hey, you!” he said. “Who are you, and why are you driving Lord Wintergreen’s horses?”
Gerard took off his mask.
“Jack Owens, I should have realised you recognised the pair,” he said. “I suffered an accident, and... well, the truth of it is, that my wife and I are helping an eloping couple by being decoys; the young man is a gentleman of colour. And the mask does help my face not to become sore, as well, which is my excuse.”
“Ohho! So you want any irate papa sent after you, do you, my lord? May I offer my congratulations on your nuptials. Looks like you picked a good corky lass!”
“A deplorable way to describe a woman of intellect and spirit, Jack!” said Gerard. “But yes, my bride is anything a man might hope for and with some surprises too. This is a rare lark, but I won’t be able to go far after this.”
“Let me set you up a private parlour, and tell the story to Mr. Ledbury in his private ear, so to speak, and I’ll send a boy with a note to my brother-in-law in Hackleton, at the New Inn, if you can make it that far, so he’s in on the joke. Happen I might have a lad under me late of the sea, black as your hat, and a lass with golden brown curls who ain’t indifferent to him... oh, well, if they’ve a bit of gelt to get wed with, happen they’ll be glad to set up yet a different path for Mr. Sunshine Papa!” he added as Gerard brought forth gold.
Tom Coffee and his Sally were happy to take enough gold to amount for a year’s wages for both of them, to play the decoy, and had set out heading for the Coventry road before tea and cakes were set out for Gerard and Jane. Sally invented a spurious sister in need of care, and the stablehands were ready to cover for Tom, especially as Lord Wintergreen was standing a drink all round for their co-operation.
“Don’t let Mr. Franklin know; I fancy he’d be mortified how much you’ve spent on his behalf,” said Jane.
“I wasn’t going to say a word,” said Gerard. “From my point of view, this is better entertainment than a farce at the theatre, and one pays for entertainment. The idea of Lucy’s intemperate parent trying to figure out which of two wrong couples to follow fills me with glee. I don’t find such – japes – as hunting the squirrel in the least bit funny, nor ‘boxing charlie,’ that is turning the sheltering boxes of the watch to face the wall, trapping the watchman. But that girl was truly frightened, and paying back some of her unhappiness on the fellow fills me with delight.”
“Oh, Gerard, I do love you,” said Jane. “You take a boyish delight in a prank which is only perpetrated if the pranked permits it to be, and in a bit of rough justice.”
“I am glad you understand how I see it,” said Gerard. “You are a wife in a million. Have I eaten all those dainty sandwiches?”
“I had a couple,” said Jane, a little wistfully.
“Ring for some more,” said Gerard.
Much refreshed from some time stretching his legs, and changing position, Gerard was more than ready to go on the extra ten miles, even though the light was going by the time they reached the New Inn. Jack’s brother-in-law was looking for them, and the team was out of sight in a trice, and Jack’s sister tenderly installing the couple into a room.
“We don’t have much in the way of amenities, my lord, my lady, but I do the cooking, and if I say so myself, I have a way with mutton, and when that boy delivered Jackie’s message, I set to baking right away, so you’ll have raised pies, and apple tarts and a nice Hessian soup, and tomorrow a ragoo from the rest of the ox head and neat’s tongue, and there’s a nice pair of kippers each for breakfast.”
“Why, ma’am, you do us proud, and Jack never even told me your name,” said Gerard.
“I’m Lizey Butler, my lord, and I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh, I pray you will give me your recipe for Hessian soup and how to avoid being profligate in using up the meat in a ragoo,” said Jane. “My mother taught me most housewifely arts, but we never had Hessian soup, so I have not prepared it.”
“Well, now, my lady, his lordship looks done to a cow’s thumb, so if you don’t despise my room, you shall come and see my receipt book while he takes a nap,” said Lizey.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Butler. I hope to learn from all of Gerard’s housekeepers and cooks, but it’s always wise to have something they do not know.”
“Oh, you’ll do very well for his lordship, dearie, my lady, I mean.”
“I’d as soon be ‘dearie’ out of earshot of anyone who might care,” said Jane, wistfully. “I do miss my mama; she’s been dead more than four years, and I have not a good relationship with my stepmother.”
“There, now, dearie you shall be, and Lizey will tell you all the secrets of making gentlemen happy with regards to filling their bellies full enough to be tractable when filling yours,” said Lizey with a wink.
Jane blushed, but smirked.
Lizey chuckled.
“Ah, yours is tractable already,” she said. “Well, a bit of good cooking never hurt any man’s temper, unless he already be the most intemperate fool alive.”
“You might be visited by one of those,” said Jane. “Did Mr. Butler tell you what we are up to?”
“Aye, he did that, and it seemed odd to me, but there! A man must go to what lengths he can for a friend.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Jane, deciding not to explain that the friendship was as recent as the decision to play decoy. To her and Gerard, being footloose and carrying no accounting to anyone for a while was a delicious feeling, but she suspected that Mrs. Butler would find the whole concept slightly disturbing.
She spent a happy hour listening to tales of meals cooked for exacting folks between reading the receipt book and transcribing those she liked into her own commonplace book, whilst Mrs. Butler popped back and forth to the kitchen. And when Gerard arose, and it was time to eat, Jane felt it was a meal fit for a king.
She said so, to Gerard.
He sniggered.
“But not for a prince, for any one of the royal princes would consider our whole dinner but one course of many.”
“I wonder how they manage to sire so many bastards, for I would think their manhood must be lost in rolls of flesh,” said Jane, tartly.
“Now, don’t give me visions like that; I can’t erase the thought of Prinny calling for his groom of the chamber to track down the article in question to place in the right place,” sniggered Gerard.
[1] Dhaka muslin came from cotton which grew only in one place and was extraordinarily fine. Where a muslin now might have an 80-100 pick [number of threads to the inch] Dhaka muslin had a pick of ten times as many threads, and a whole bolt could pass through a wedding ring. Nobody can make it now.
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