The LadyShip (16 page)

Lord Vernon
also forbore to point out to her that she would be placing
herself in much the same position if she went along on this
hare-and-hounds chase, for just then his attention was di
verted by a small waterfall that had begun to drip from the
eaves down into his coat collar. Hopping out of range, he
suggested that they continue their quarrel in the parlour.

“Although why we are having this discussion at all is
more than I can understand. You come along with us, Miss
Bennett. Pay no attention to Marcus’s foolishness—we shall
need you more than they will here.”

This effectively brought a halt to the altercation between
Elinor and Allingham, who reminded Lord Vernon that
Miss Bennett would not be able to bring her entire inn
along for his comfort, no matter how spacious her coach.
Elinor, however, exclaimed gratefully, “Oh, thank you, my
lord! I am much obliged to you.”

“Well, don’t be,” Lord Vernon said gruffly. “Just stop calling me ‘my lord’ and lead the way back to that fire be
fore I catch my death!”

“Miss Bennett will not go,” Allingham persisted obsti
nately, as they crossed the yard. “We need not leave until the morning in any case, our runaways—I believe we are
agreed—more than likely having already stopped for the
night. If Miss Bennett’s wonderful coach is as good as she says, an early start in the morning will be more than suffi
cient.”

Elinor girded herself to resume her dispute with Mr. Al
lingham, but as they came into the parlour once again, she
was checked by the sight of her sister seated in one of the
chairs by the fire. This circumstance in itself was not un
usual, but also seated there was Felix Dudley—apparently
rested and recovered—who was holding Lucy’s netting-
box on his lap while she instructed him in the use of the
needles to make a rabbit-net.  When she looked up at him to
see if he followed her instructions, she blushed a little and
allowed a shy smile to tremble on her lips. Felix, for his
part, was staring at Lucy with a rapt expression on his face
that was easily interpreted.

Lord Vernon broke into laughter. “You see, Marcus, Miss
Bennett may be unconcerned about leaving her duties
here, or her sister—for if I am not mistaken, young Felix
will be happy to deputize for her in the care of both. Apart
from which, you may have the greatest difficulty in tearing
the boy away from The LadyShip any time soon. Unless, of
course, you wish to take Miss Lucinda with us as well?”

At this mention of her name, Lucy woke from her spell,
blushed an even deeper shade of pink, gathered up her
netting-box, and hurried out of the room. Felix started after
her, but Allingham, who stood just inside the door, caught
his arm as he went by.

“Just a moment, young man. Have you lost all sense of
propriety? Think of what your mama would say to this
display!”

Felix stared vacantly at him, appeared to consider it unlikely that Lady Alfred would be suddenly transported to
The LadyShip, and declared rashly, “I don’t care what she would say!”

At that Allingham laughed and let him go. Elinor turned to Lord Vernon, who was still grinning, and said, “Well, I
never! How dare that boy... And Lucy! I thought her to
have more sense than to—”

But then she, too, was obliged to laugh, and the three of
them enjoyed the joke at the expense of their suddenly
smitten juniors. But the matter of the other lovers soon re
asserted itself.

“Mr Allingham,” Elinor said, addressing him with a re
newed gravity, “I am convinced you do not truly mean to
prevent me from accompanying you and Lord Vernon. Do
not let us waste time disputing the matter further.”

She looked up into Allingham’s eyes as if to convince him
by the sheer intensity of her gaze of her sincerity. He said
nothing for a moment, and then shrugged and took her
hand in his. He raised it briefly to his lips, which action
made Elinor quickly avert her gaze and pull away from him;
but he held her hand a little longer.

“If you wish to go, Miss Bennett, it is not for me to pre
vent you.”

“Thank you,” she said in a strangled whisper, wondering
what on earth had come over her to cause this sudden gid
diness. She clasped his hand more tightly, as if for support.

“And another thing, Miss Bennett,” Lord Vernon said, af
ter a pause, as he rose stiffly from his chair. “Please be so
good as to pack a supply of hot bricks and a flask of
brandy—oh, and one for Marcus, too, unless he prefers to
begin his life of adventure under the least comfortable con
ditions possible!”

The sky was
darkening ominously when the closed car
riage Ned Bennett had hired in Calne passed through Marl
borough, with Ned on the box in  a coachman’s high hat and caped greatcoat and Clarissa, heavily veiled, within. This
arrangement was part of Clarissa’s scheme—concocted
during her long days of anxious waiting for Ned to rescue
her from the loathsome clutches of Marcus Allingham—to
pass herself off to any curious persons they might encoun
ter in their flight as an ailing lady in reduced circumstances (thus accounting for her lack of a maid) being driven to her wealthy
grandfather’s home in Leicester by that gentleman’s per
sonally engaged physician, the role assigned to Ned.

They stopped to change horses at Froxfield, which was
little short of the larger town of Hungerford, but it was
Ned’s part of their strategy to avoid such places where en
quiries were more likely to be made by anyone pursuing them. From there, a light dusting of snow could be discerned over the distant downs, if not yet on the road. Ned
then turned north, reasoning further that even if anyone
discovered news of them at Froxfield, there would be no
way of ascertaining which road they had taken to the
north.

It was at the next change that Clarissa declared herself moped to death inside the coach by herself, and descended
to stretch her limbs. Ned felt obliged to protest her show
ing herself to the public view, but Clarissa resolved this dif
ficulty. to at least her own satisfaction, by purchasing from a
bemused ostler his large, broad-brimmed hat, rough cloak,
and voluminous boots. She then wrapped herself up in
these unmodish garments to conceal her elegant travelling
dress and golden curls, and climbed up on the box beside
Ned, who reminded her yet again—although with increasing lack of conviction—of the unsuitability of her actions.
He might as well have spared his breath to cool his por
ridge.

“Oh, pooh!” Clarissa said dismissively. “We are engaged
in an entirely unsuitable mission, so I do not see how I can
make things any worse by sitting up here beside you like
this. No one will know I am a lady, just to look at me.”

This, at least, was true. Ned, making the best of a hope
less situation, kissed his intrepid love under her ugly hat—
which left little doubt in the minds of the staff of that inn, at
least, as to her sex—and shifting the reins to his right hand, picked up his whip and set off again. He assured Clarissa in
his heartiest accents that they would not likely be followed
by this route, so that at least until Oxford they need not be
over-concerned by the notoriety they might leave behind
them.

Clarissa declared her entire confidence to rest in her dear
Ned’s superior wisdom in such matters, and enveloping
herself more tightly in her new-bought finery, she curled
up contentedly at his side. This made driving a trifle hazard
ous, but Ned was reluctant to disturb her—or the warm
spot her presence caused under his sleeve. In any case, he
had no great opinion of job horses hired anywhere but at
The LadyShip, and so did not set these to more than a mod
erate pace. He could not, however, help glancing at fre
quent intervals up at the lowering mass of clouds that was
rapidly obscuring the light, and speculating also on what
might be happening now at Oakwood.

They had planned carefully enough, he thought, that Cla
rissa’s flight would not be realised for several hours—but there was no telling how soon chase might be given once the alarm was raised, nor who might be leading it. He did not think Lord Alfred a likely candidate for this position,
even if he was Clarissa’s father. Their most likely nemesis
was Marcus Allingham, but it had been Clarissa’s message to
Ned—delivered by pre-arrangement to a small inn at Speen —informing him that Mr Allingham was to set off for Lon
don in two days’ time that had set events in train. Allingham, Clarissa had assured him, never deviated from his plans once he had made them. This left only Clarissa’s
brother, Felix, available to be drafted into the pursuit, and
Ned did not think him, from Clarissa’s description, experi
enced enough in dealing with a crisis to execute this charge
with a high degree of competence.

Ned glanced down again at the muffled bundle beside
him and experienced a pang of regret—not for having
wanted to marry Clarissa, but for the necessity of doing the
thing in this hole-in-corner manner. He would have preferred to present his beloved to his sisters in the ordinary
way, and to solicit her hand from her father in the ordinary
way. But Clarissa had assured him that extreme measures
were imperative, and had rendered a heartfelt account of
Marcus Allingham’s implacability and her parents’ horridly
mercenary motives in pressing that match on her.

Ned was acquainted with Clarissa’s talent at tragedy-acting, having witnessed it first in Paris when she had em
ployed it to rid herself of a too-attentive chaperone in order
to walk alone in the Bois du Boulogne with her lieutenant.
He had found it an alternately exasperating and endearing
habit that she would, he hoped, lose fast enough once they
were no longer obliged to dissemble their feelings before
the world. Ned was thus also aware that Clarissa had doubt
less exaggerated the necessity for their flight, but because
he viewed himself as unworthy of winning her in any other
way, he had gone along with her schemes and entreaties.
He made a silent vow to make up these irregularities to Cla
rissa at the first opportunity—once they were safely wed.

They were still several miles short of Oxford when Cla
rissa stirred, wrinkled her nose, and said she was very sorry
to complain to her dearest Ned, but she was growing
hungrier by the mile and did not think she could do without a proper meal very much longer.

“I don’t suppose you can wait until Oxford?” Ned asked
unhopefully. But Clarissa had been too much in a quiver of
anticipation to eat any breakfast that morning and had, fur
thermore, inadvertently left the nuncheon basket she had managed to
spirit out of the house at the milliner’s in Devizes. Ned,
hardened to irregular mealtimes from his years on cam
paign, was stabbed by remorse that he had not himself
thought to procure provisions for their journey—most ne
glectful in a military man who had also learned in Spain to
eat when he could and carry off what he could not eat. He
promised to stop at the very next inn they encountered.

This hypothetical destination materialised into an inaus
picious crossroads inn at the intersection with the road
from Tubney to Abingdon. Making the best of it, Ned de
clared that it might be a good thing after all to stop there to
rest the horses and go on through Oxford with the same
team, thus avoiding the necessity of a postboy, who might
carry tales as well as the hired team back with him. Clarissa
raised herself to behold the low, thatched-roofed inn,
and—although she had no hesitation in stigmatising it as a
common hedge tavern—expressed herself willing to step
inside for a few minutes.

The landlord of the place cast a
sceptical eye on his guests’ apparel and dubious intentions,
but condescended just the same to throw some extra coals
on the fire and scare up a respectable game pie and some
Flemish soup—which was quickly supplemented by the
host’s more accommodating wife with a plate of mushroom fritters and a curd pudding.