A Lady's Point of View (3 page)

Although she didn’t recall Peter
clearly, she could see how Karen’s face shone when she spoke of him. Why should
a girl be deprived of a lifetime of happiness merely because she lacked coach
fare between London and Liverpool?

“Very well,” Meg said. “But you
must say nothing of this to anyone. Not to anyone, do you hear? If Mother
learns of it, she’ll send another maid with me.”

“Oh, thank you, miss.” Karen
caught up Meg’s hands and, to the older girl’s embarrassment, kissed them
eagerly. “I don’t know how to thank you!”

“Just be sure you hire the post
chaise before you depart,” Meg said. “With my weak eyes, I could never manage
for myself.”

“Indeed I shall!”

Footsteps approached in the hall,
and Karen busied herself with the ribbons on the dressing table as Angela
entered.

So the days passed until Monday,
when Meg was to depart.

Meg hugged her sister and her
mother twice each, ignoring the indifferent jostling of the crowd in the inn’s
yard. “I shall write as soon as I arrive,” she promised. “You must answer at
once, and tell me about Angela’s come-out. I am certain she’ll have a great
success!”

“We would be happy with a modest
one,” said Lady Mary. “At least we may count on the support of Miss Cockerell,
and her family is well placed.”

“We’re to go to Vauxhall tomorrow
night, have I told you?” cried Angela, who had informed her sister of that fact
no less than three times. “Perhaps I’ll meet a handsome stranger.”

“You must speak to no one unless
you’ve been introduced.” Meg hoped her high-spirited sister wouldn’t create her
own scandal. “Don’t go wandering away from Mother. Vauxhall’s full of footpads
and murderers, and worse.”

“What could be worse?” asked
Angela as their groom handed a trunk to the coachman.

“Never mind,” replied Meg with
the condescension of one who has been out in the world, although in truth she
knew little of what “ravishment” meant save that it ruined one’s reputation
permanently.

Their conversation was
interrupted as the mail guard, splendid in a coat of scarlet with blue lapels
and white ruffles, lifted a curved bugle to his lips and sounded forth a stream
of notes the like of which Meg had never heard before. She suspected he had
composed the music himself.

“We’re off, then,” she said,
giving Angela’s hand a final squeeze and trying to ignore the lump in her own
throat. “It won’t be so many months before we’re together again. By then I hope
we shall be planning your wedding, dearest.”

Aided by the many-caped coachman,
she stepped into the smart maroon-and-black coach. She ignored the half-dozen
riders who gazed down from their perches on the roof, except to wonder how they
would keep from being thrown off when the carriage hit a pothole.

Karen was already within,
awaiting her mistress. Their companions for the journey were a solidly built
merchant and his wife, and a middle-aged woman huddling within a brown cloak,
as if she feared someone would order her off the coach.

A companion or an abigail, Meg
speculated. At any rate, the creature sat apart from the couple and appeared to
be travelling on her own, a situation that apparently contributed to her nervous
state.

As the coachman cried, “All right
behind?” and set his horses into motion, she waved through the window a last
farewell to the two people she loved most on earth.

What sort of match would Angela
make? Meg wondered as she settled into her seat. She was young and sometimes
overeager, but she had enough sense, her sister hoped, to avoid any serious
difficulty.

Much as she loved Angela, Meg was
honest enough to admit the girl was not of such surpassing beauty as to rise to
great heights. She would not be declared an Incomparable or a Diamond of the
First Water by the gentlemen who spent their time at such exclusive clubs as
White’s and Watier’s.

But Angela had charming blue eyes
a shade darker than Meg’s own, and pale blonde hair that never failed to please
gentlemen. With her lively manner and sweetness of disposition, Angela would
surely find a loving husband.

And I? Meg wondered.

She had no expectation of meeting
anyone eligible in Derby. The country squire near her home was of middle age
and comfortably wed, and she knew of no young men of good breeding in that
vicinity. She would most likely never marry or have children.

Never marry. Would that be so
terrible? Meg had heard of women beaten by drunken husbands, and death in
childbirth was not uncommon.

Why then did she feel this
unexpected pain? Strange how she longed to feel a pair of masculine arms about
her, and to hear a deep voice speaking to her tenderly. How arid the future
appeared to one who must journey through it alone.

After a time, as
the mail continued its relentless passage northward, Meg’s musings strayed to
her companions. The woman in the brown cloak was attempting to nap, twitching
awake every few minutes and adjusting herself in an agitated manner. She
muttered inaudible phrases as if conducting some form of debate. Poor thing,
she had the air of one who needed a warm hearth, a nice cup of tea, and a
sympathetic shoulder, not a journey to some unknown situation. It was a relief
when the woman dozed off at last.

The coach made few stops, and
those only long enough to change horses and driver. Toward evening, Meg herself
nodded off to sleep.

She napped fitfully through the
night, from time to time sharing with Karen food and drink from the hamper Cook
had sent along. The sun was well up on Tuesday morning when they arrived in
Manchester.

Although she had been raised not
too many miles from here, Meg had never before visited the city of weavers, and
wished she owned a set of spectacles so that she might see it now. The only
landmark she could define, by squinting mightily, was the fifteenth-century
Gothic cathedral built of red stone.

Beside her, Karen’s hands clenched tightly in her
lap. The girl hadn’t seen Peter in more than a year, and she couldn’t be sure
the message she’d sent had been received in time for him to meet her.

The coach entered the courtyard
amid the shouts of welcome and the barking of dogs. With the coachman’s
assistance, the passengers descended. Karen, displaying an unaccustomed
authority, instructed that her mistress’s trunk and her own valise be
transferred to a private parlour. But despite her weariness from the
uncomfortable night, Meg was in no hurry to retreat. She wanted to absorb
whatever she could of the bustle of the great coaching inn and inhale the faint
sea tang in the air.

She and Karen had proceeded only
halfway across the yard when a great commotion erupted behind them. Turning,
Meg saw the large form of the merchant who had travelled with them, arms waving
in the air as he shouted something about a missing purse.

“What’s happened?” she asked of
no one in particular.

The brown-cloaked woman stopped
beside them. “I don’t know. No need to make such a fuss.”

“Did you see it?” Karen asked.
“Was there a footpad? He’s yelling that someone pinched his purse.”

“Most likely dropped it down his
waistcoat,” their companion muttered. “I do wish he’d stop carrying on so.
Shouting gives me the megrim.” She clutched a worn valise tightly in her hands.

“There. There she be!” To Meg’s astonishment, the
merchant pointed directly at them. In a trice, the trio found themselves
surrounded by a constable, the innkeeper, and assorted spectators.

This could not be happening, Meg
thought wildly. She experienced the same sensation of unreality as on that
dreadful night. less than a week ago. when she cut Beau Brummell. But this time
she had far more at stake, though she could not previously have imagined such a
thing possible. The penalty for stealing was hanging, or transportation to
Australia.

“What? This ‘un ‘ere?” demanded
the constable, pointing at Karen.

“That, sir, is my abigail!” Meg
protested.

“And who be you?” cried a lad who
stood at the constable’s elbow.

“Hush, Eddie, anyone can see
she’s a lady.” The constable turned to the woman in brown. “Is this person with
your party?”

“She did travel down with us from
London, but I’ve only just made her acquaintance,” Meg admitted. It occurred to
her that she might have saved the woman a spot of trouble by claiming a
relationship, but surely the creature’s innocence could be quickly established.

“That must be the one.” The
infuriated merchant singled out the nervous woman. “Sitting right by me. I had
my purse last time we stopped, and now it’s gone. Ten pounds in gold coin!”

An appreciative murmur rose from
the crowd.

“Hand it over, then,” the
constable demanded, fixing the woman with a keen stare.

“I don’t... I haven’t...” To
Meg’s alarm, the woman began trembling violently. “I haven’t touched his purse!
You don’t even know for certain that he ever had such a thing. Why me? I knew
no good would come of leaving London! My charges begged me to stay, but the
doctor said I needed fresh air. Now look what they’re trying to do!” Her thin
frame shook with sobs.

“Oh, dear.” Meg reached out and touched the woman’s
shoulder, trying to steady her. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Maybe you’re in league with her,
then!” the merchant snapped. “Give it here or I’ll see the both of you swing.”

“Mind your tongue.” Karen stepped
protectively forward. “My mistress is a lady and you’re no gentleman, anyone
can see that.”

“Now, now.” The constable held up
his hands. “What about the matter of a missing purse?”

“Arthur! Yoo-hoo, my dear!” The
merchant’s solidly built wife leaned out of the coach, waving something. “It
was here on the floor, my sweet. Must have dropped out while you were
sleeping.”

“Oh, well,” the fellow blustered,
“no harm done then.” The spectators snorted, clearly torn between amusement and
disappointment.

“No harm?” Meg said. “Regard this
poor woman.” Indeed, the creature in the brown cape had dissolved into a fit of
trembling, to the extent that she would have fallen. had not Meg and Karen
supported her.

“Apologies, miss,” muttered the
merchant.

“What am I to do?” A plaintive
whine issued from between the woman’s teeth, which were none too straight. “I
cannot go on, I simply cannot. It was wrong from the start. I must return. Oh,
please—” she grasped Meg’s arm “—I haven’t the fare back to London. I must...
my charges... I simply cannot... God help me, what am I to do?”

Meg leveled a stare at the
merchant. “This is your doing, sir.”

“Well, I hardly thought...” He
shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Oh, dash it, I’ll pay the blasted
fare. Martha!” This to his wife. “Come and help here. Yes, yes, we’ll see she
gets back all right. Why are all these people standing about? Go on, the lot of
you! If you want a show, you’ll have to pay admission.”

The crowd dispersed reluctantly, and the
brown-cloaked woman was entrusted into Martha’s care. Much relieved, Meg
yielded to Karen’s demands that they retire into the inn.

With more self-possession than
she had ever before shown, Karen established Meg in a private parlour and went
out to secure a post chaise to Derby and to see about her own transportation to
Liverpool.

The tea and biscuits provided by
the inn proved tolerable, but Meg nodded off to sleep before she could finish
them. When Karen returned, Meg awoke with a start. “Is everything set?” she
asked.

“Oh, yes, miss,” cried Karen.
“I’ve found a wagon driver from Liverpool who said Peter asked him to look out
for me, but he’s leaving right away. Your post chaise has to change horses, and
the coachman says he wants a spot of food, and then he’ll call for you. Will
that be all right, miss?”

“Yes, that sounds fine.” Even a
woman who couldn’t see properly could hardly get lost if the coachman came to
fetch her. “Good luck, Karen.” She handed the maid a small silver locket. “A
wedding present.”

“Thank you, miss.” Karen flung
her arms around her mistress. “You’ve been so good to me! I’ll write to you
from Canada, as long as you don’t mind the spelling.”

“Indeed not.” This farewell was
even sadder than the ones in London, as Karen and her Peter would most likely
never return to England. A tear slipped down Meg’s face and she made no attempt
to wipe it off.

After Karen left, Meg couldn’t
seem to fall back to sleep. Indeed, she realized with a jolt, this was the
first time in her gently bred life that she had ever been entirely on her own,
without the protection of a servant or relative.

Though it would surely be a
matter of only half an hour, or perhaps an hour at most, before the driver came
for her, Meg listened carefully to every noise in the hallway. She had read
stories of women menaced in isolated castles, and while she wasn’t so cork-brained
as to expect dark-cloaked villains in the hallway, inns sheltered all manner of
people. Nervously, Meg bolted the door.

If only she could see better!
Then she might go downstairs—not into the taproom, of course, but in a place
within public view where none was likely to threaten her. But in her state of
comparative helplessness, she was far better off here.

Her mind returned to the scene
outside. What would have transpired had not the merchant’s purse turned up?
That poor woman might have been arrested; perhaps even Meg and Karen with her.
In London, cheering masses gleefully attended the frequent hangings. Could such
a thing really happen to innocent women?

Never before had she realized how
sheltered her life was. Compared to the danger of arrest, the scandal that had
loomed so large a scant time earlier now faded to insignificance.