the alternative bride 11

 

Chapter 11

 

Jane peeped out of Jelves’s communication hatch, convinced that the hoofbeats came from ahead, not behind, and saw a couple driving a rather old fashioned gig.

“Whoa up, Bessie! Whoa up Grissie,” said the driver. “Here’s a to-do, Martha, reckon you as how there be any poor folks in there?”

“You be careful about interfering, Boanerges Hallicutt!” said Martha. “Nobody’s going to stay with a wrecked coach, them horses is gone, they’ll have rid them to somewhere.”

“All very well, Martha, but in Christian charity a man must check,” said Hallicutt.

“You be careful, Bo!” said Martha.

 

“They sound and look honest folk,” said Jane. “But I’ll keep the pistols by me.”

The coach door opened.

“Well, I never,” said Hallicutt. “I was right to check if there was folks in distress!  Martha! Leave them nags, they ain’t got enough gumption to wander off, and come and help.”

“If your good lady has anything to use as a burn salve, I will be glad to purchase it,” said Jane. “My husband was fired on by the footpad, which is why we could not leave the coach. Our groom and my maid have gone for help, but he has suffered a lot of pain.”

“You let Martha look,” said Martha, having heard most of this. “Sit you still, master, and I’ll see what’s needed. What have you used, miss... Ma’am?”

“Lemon meringue cheesecake with cream,” said Jane.

“Well, that was a right clever improvisation, my dearie,” said Martha. “Do you open that window curtain, and... oh, dear, that is a nasty burn, but all on the back of the lids, look, and skin under the blisters, so chances are he’ll be himself again inside a week.  I allus carry a little pot of comfrey and honey balm with me, in case o’ accidents, roads being what they are. Oh! No, miss, don’t you go paying me for it, it’s just a little jar, but you put that on him twice a day and he’ll be as right as a trivet in no time!”

“Bless you, Martha, I did not catch your surname,” said Gerard. “I can feel it soothing me right away. I owe you and your good man a favour.”

“Away with you, lad! A fine thing it is when decent folks can’t look to help others on these perishing roads with bumps, footpads, young idiots in sporting rigs, and old fools with haywains what won’t go one side nor t’other for having overloaded their wain and fearing overhanging trees.”

Jane and Gerard rightly interpreted this as having been a real recent irritation, not merely a hypothetical situation.

“It’s criminal how some people overload wagons,” said Gerard. “And unfair on the horses too.”

“Aye, and the boys will lie on the wagon-tongues, and how often do we hear of them falling off and being runned over? Too often, that’s what,” said Martha.  “You said your man is picking you up? Is he reliable?”

“He put me on my first pony when I was four,” said Gerard. “He made me go driving with him when my family died in a coaching accident, and jumped  off the seat, handing me the ribbons at as spanking a pace as he felt able, to force me to overcome my scruples. Henry Jelves is a good man, and he’ll be here as soon as he’s managed to get some kind of conveyance.”

“Well, he sounds quite one of the family, and a comfort to have around,” said Martha. “Are you sure you will be all right? Only the road do be awful narrow here, and we’m blocking it.”

“No, no, you and your good man get on into town,” said Gerard. “Perhaps we’ll see you later.”

“If the Good Lord wills it,” said Martha.

 

 

Gerard had managed to have a doze with the soothing cream, before the next hoofs were heard. Jane peeked out. The coach was large and imposing, but it seemed larger and more imposing than she might expect Whittington or any of his friends to drive.

It stopped.

“Milord? Milady?” it was Jelves’s voice, and Jane opened the door.

“Oh, Jelves, how nice to see you,” she said. “Not that I wasn’t expecting to do so, but you know how it is, sitting, imagining things.”

“Aye, and in the dark, thinking can play strange tricks on you,” said Jelves.

“There was a barn-owl as well,” said Jane. “But we were glad of the charcoal.  I owe you some chocolate, I raided your store and made it in your mug over the charcoal.”

“Well, now! That’s a good use of it. Barn owl, eh? Now I confess, I’ve ducked and jumped when one o’ them demon-hulluts let rip. Uncanny, it is.”

“Well, I am glad I am not the only one to be unnerved,” said Jane.

“We’m here now, with a borrowed coach and servants, your imperial and trunk’ll be stowed in a trice, if you’ll help me get his lordship down the steps.”

“I can walk fine well, Jelves, if I’ve an arm to grasp,” said Gerard. “A nice couple stopped and the goodwife had a salve on her. It’s doing more wonders than a lemon cream cheesecake.”

“Well, now, I ain’t never used a cheesecake as a dressing afore,” said Jelves, going into a long, silent paroxysm of mirth. “Did it work?”

“Remarkably well,” said Gerard. “I can see light.”

“Well, don’t you go messing around trying to peer at things before you’re ready,” said Jelves. “Alice and me, we’ll pack everything as needs packing, and shift things over, and then Mr. Cage here and his nevvy will get that coach off the road, and find out what’s in that mire as cut Lady’s hocks. Three steps.”

“I know,” said Gerard. “Thank you, Jelves.”

“You’ll soon be right-and-tight, Mister Gerry,” said Jelves.  “I took the liberty of taking a house for a week; you can allus stay there longer, or not, as you sees fit. This time o’ the year when it’s only birds for the shooting, at house parties, and only cubbing season for the foxes, and no real Melton Men in evidence for nearly two months.”

“You anticipate my own thoughts and those of my lady,” said Gerard. “What’s it like, this house?”

“It’s a nice, quiet house on the outskirts, my lord, used to be two workers’ cottages, knocked into one and prettified, and a decent kitchen built to one storey out back. Two bedrooms with quaint sloping roofs, but you can stand in most of it, a proper staircase up, and a sort of dressing-room between the bedrooms. Front rooms made into parlours, and a stable-block where I’ll be happy to sleep over the horses.”

“No reason you shouldn’t have the other room; my wife and I will be happy in one. And what did they charge?”

“Guinea a week; it’s steep for this part o’ the country and so small a house, but I figured that the quiet would be priceless. Happen Alice might prefer to sleep in the kitchen if you’re sharing a bed, she’s young and innocent still.”

“A good idea,” said Jane, firmly, following her husband down the steps. “It was very clever of you to get us a house. Can you cook?”

“I engaged a cook-housekeeper and her husband, my lady, turned off for getting wed, and I assume his lordship will consider where to put them when we move on.”

“I might buy a house here, actually,” said Gerard. “Always handy to have a pied-a-terre on the way to other houses.”

“And no need to worry if you have missed them making a meal in an inn, as one’s own servants will rally round to find something,” approved Jane. “I wonder if Mr. Dauntry would like to purchase my house?”

“Who?” said Gerard.

“My stepfather,” said Jane.

“Oh! Yes, him. Don’t sell yourself short on it,” said Gerard.

“Well, it’s yours to sell, really,” said Jane.

“I would put the price of the sale in trust for you, in any case,” said Gerard. “It shouldn’t go for less than ten thousand at a knock-down price, you know; it’s in a prime location. It should be closer to half as much again.”

“Oh, I do not wish to dun him, but I would not sell it short,” said Jane. “I don’t want Tommy growing up thinking he is entitled to it, though; it might be mean of me, but he is nothing to do with Papa.”

“I think then, you might consider a copyhold agreement with your stepfather, guaranteeing him the use of the house for his lifetime, so he is a sitting tenant; but not permit him to will the copyhold to his son, so there is a house for one of our children at need.”

“Yes, I was thinking of that,” said Jane. “Oh! They are moving the carriage body off the road; they have taken the unbroken wheels off. I wonder if it might be mended.”

“I should think so,” said Gerard.

“Now they are digging around in the leaves in the dip,” said Jane, unashamedly leaning out of the window to look. “Oh, my! There is a great branch with side branches, hidden in the leaves, no wonder it caused us to crash!”

“He set it up,” said Gerard, grimly.

“Well, with luck I hurt him badly enough not to try again,” said Jane.

“Hopefully,” said Gerard. “What a nasty little fellow he is.  It might have been someone else caught first. People like that nice couple.”

“He probably has a spy in the inn; an even better reason not to go back there,” said Jane, grimly. “We must see if we can find out how his health may be.”

“I did write to Bel – his nickname is ‘Belwether’ for having the initials, E.W.E., or Mr. Eversfield for formal occasions, to find out what he could about Whittington,” said Gerard. “You will have to write to him in my name, and ask him to come here.”

“Certainly, Gerard,” said Jane. “Ah, we are moving.”

 

Soon the couple was established in their cottage, and the coachman pulled his forelock.

“My master will be along to see how you do, my lord, but he thought you would do well without visitors for a few days.  Except the doctor; Dr. Endicott will call on you this afternoon.”

“Thank you, and please thank your master,” said Gerard. He passed a discreet vail.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Arthur Whittington was pleased to be collected from Doctor Endicott’s house shortly thereafter. He might have to settle with Mrs. Endicott, at some point, for her shrewd guesses over how he came to be shot, but she was only a woman, and doctors were scarcely in the same class as landed gentry, so nobody was likely to take her word over his. His man had arranged a mattress in the back of a shooting brake driven by his groom.

“The hell!” said Whittington. “I’m not a ruddy invalid; I’ll sit with you, Burton.”

“Yes, sir,” said Burton, who did not much care whether this effort caused more pain to his master than lying in goose down to cushion his arm.

They passed the broken coach; it was now on the verge.

“I wonder what happened,” said Whittington.

“No idea, sir,” said Burton.

“Doubtless it will be in the paper if it was a fatal accident,” said Whittington.

“Yes, sir, doubtless,” said Burton, wondering what his master cared, suddenly, about fatal accidents.

 

oOoOo

 

Dr. Endicott was a cheerful doctor, who examined Gerard’s eyes.

“Martha Hallicutt’s balm? Nothing better,” he said. “I buy mine from her, you can’t beat it.  So, you were attacked by footpads, too?  Well, well, my wife would have it that the young fellow I took the ball out of was not, as he claimed, attacked by footpads, but had been at some horseplay.”

“Oh, really? Badly hurt?” asked Gerard.

“Not fatally, but the poor chap will never use his left arm effectively again,” said Endicott.  “Nasty break, and some tendons ripped out.  There, I probably should not have said, but gentlemen together, it makes no odds.”

“Indeed,” said Gerard. “So, will you pass on my woes to him?”

“No, I’m not his usual doctor, but the locals brought him to me. His groom came for him; I can’t give up a guest room indefinitely.”

Gerard was pleased.

That gave him news of Whittington – he could not think anyone else but Whittington would have been shot in this quiet, rural vicinity – and Whittington had none of him.

“I’m thinking of purchasing a small house in the vicinity,” he said.

“For the hunting?” asked Endicott.

“No, for the quiet country life, with some town amenities nearby, and being on the way to one of my seats,” said Gerard.

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“I see,” he said. “I don’t hold with hunting, myself.”

Gerard shrugged.

“I hunt, occasionally, for the company and for a good ride, but I’m not one of these hey-go-mad neck-or-nothing hunters.”

“Yes, I get more than I like of those as my customers,” said Endicott. “Those on the way to stay with friends in Quorn Country sometimes stop over in these parts. And at times hunt here.”

“Technically I’m headed for Quorn Country, well, something to the north of it,” said Gerard. “A nice quiet honeymoon.”

“Oh, that’s the way of it, is it? Wondered if you were eloping.”

“No need; already married, but I told them at the Sugarloaf we were eloping, just for fun,” said Gerard.

“Hmm, you might not be as crazy as some young men, but I wager you cut a few larks and get into trouble,” said Endicott. “I hope this shooting business isn’t some horse-play.”

Gerard’s face went hard.

“Shall we say, a young man I had never met before tried hunting the squirrel. I called him on it, and would have given him some home-brewed and left it at that. He pulled a foul trick to distract me, and put me down and my wife hit him. Next day, some ruffians tried to abduct her in town, and yesterday, a trap made in the road broke my coach and might have broken the hocks of my horses, and an armed man tried to abduct my wife having shot at me. She shot him with the coach pistol. I do not condone horse-play. There is a dangerous, nasty-tempered fellow out there.”

“Well, mayhap my Molly did call it right, after all,” said Endicott. “Whittington is a well-enough known family around here; I’m not their doctor, but I know the tragic circumstances in which that  youth’s father died.”

“Oh?”

“A hunting accident. Found by a hedge with  a broken neck, and young Arthur inherited in time to pay off his gambling debts.”

“Oh, what interesting timing,” said Gerard.

“Well, coincidences do happen....”

“And there’s no proof....”

“Well, I never made any accusations,” said Endicott, “But if I was the coroner in the case, I’d have wanted to see if a certain small bone was broken which indicates strangulation.”