Author: Beverley Oakley
Category: Nonfiction
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“Reverend Lilydale is no different from all the rest. He just wants my fortune.”
“Well, miss, the same could be said o’ any gennulman.” Mabel sent Lizzy a stern look over her knitting. “That’s why yer going ter Quamby House. Yer promised Mrs ’Odge."
“Yes, I know, but I intend only to see if I like him well enough—"
Truncated by a cry of alarm from Mabel, Lizzy’s response was properly halted by a tremendous explosion.
“Lor’ miss, we’ve bin shot at!” screeched Mabel as the carriage, that had been gently swaying, suddenly lurched forward as the horses took fright and bolted.
With another scream from Mabel, Lizzy had the good sense to grip the window frame as she was thrown off balance, and their conveyance careered over the bends and curves of the rutted road for a mad dash before lurching into the wilds.
Dodging a low-hanging tree branch that smashed through the window, Lizzy was able to see that the road curved in front of them, and it looked possible the bolting horses might take their carriage across the meadow and rejoin it in time to make it over the bridge.
She closed her eyes and prayed they would do so in time, for the alternative was to plunge over the riverbank and into the fast-flowing water beyond.
“Hold tight!” she screamed to Mabel who was cowering in the other corner, for the horses, having been intent on making the bridge, it seemed, were now apparently spooked again. Clinging blindly to the window frame, Lizzy had no time to assimilate her thoughts before she experienced the oddest sensation of flying.
As the world flashed past and the river loomed ahead, she struggled to open the door but was flung back against the squabs—the shrill neighing of the distressed horses loud and terrifying.
And then the carriage was thrown even more wildly from side to side before it pitched forward. With a tremendous splash as the equipage made impact, water began streaming into the small space Lizzy now discovered she occupied alone, for Mabel had disappeared through the door that was open on the other side.
Lizzy lunged for the open space, just as the carriage pitched several times before flipping lazily, throwing her sideways, and now Lizzy was floundering like a fish, pounding her fists upon the window, the open door leading only to the depths below.
She opened her mouth to bellow, though she knew it was useless for who would hear her in her chamber of doom? Water was lapping at her shoulders, but when she moved, the carriage slipped deeper beneath the muddy depths. Only if she kept very still, she realised, might the carriage be prevented from dislodging itself from whatever tenuous hold it had upon the steep riverbank.
Good lord, was she really going to die?
Tensely, she waited, as quiet and still as she could. The current was strong. She could feel the ebb and flow; could feel the forces at play, trying to dislodge the carriage. It was only a matter of time.
And Lizzy couldn’t swim.
She twisted her head, trying to see a way out of her predicament.
Was this really the end? She gasped in a breath. Should she accept it? Mrs Hodge had punished her so many times during the past five years for not accepting what God intended; what Mrs Hodge intended. Only when she submitted, meekly, after the birch rod had been administered, was she allowed some reprieve.
Was this what she should do now?
Just meekly accept her fate.
Only, Lizzy would never just meekly accept her fate.
A strange, groaning, sucking noise filled the carriage as it dislodged itself, and began its final descent to the bottom of the river.
Lizzy was not going with it.
With a grunt of determination, she smashed her hand through the window, reaching above the water until she felt a trailing branch; but her momentary salvation was swept away as the carriage was dislodged from another momentary halt in its progression downwards.
Closing her eyes and holding her breath, Lizzy waited for the motion of her floating hearse to steady so she could position herself to achieve maximum leverage. Then, with an almighty kick, she propelled herself out of the carriage and into the flowing river.
For a moment, she was wedged between two immovable objects before, miraculously, she found herself clinging once more to the low-hanging branch of a willow.
Finally, she could breathe.
Astonished at having saved herself, Lizzy now realised that long-term salvation depended upon maintaining her tenuous grip on the willow branch for her wet clothing made it impossible to haul herself into a sitting position on the branch. She was still mostly in the water, which exerted a considerable pull as her grip loosened and the insistent river looked set to claim her.
Carefully, Lizzy shifted position, hoping to hook her leg over a partly submerged tree branch but all that seemed to do was tear her skirt from her bodice.
Lizzy closed her eyes, determined not to cry.
Not only would she be discovered dead—if she were discovered at all before she was swept into the ocean and devoured by the fishes—she’d have no dignity worth mentioning.
This sober realisation brought with it something else. Another spurt of determination that if, by some remote chance, she survived this, she would conduct her life on her own terms, and make her own decisions—come hell or high water.
And right now, the water was very high.
Theodore McAlister dropped his rifle and began to run, ignoring the gabble of apologies from the youngster beside him. There were far more important things to worry about than berating Tom for his stupidity in firing over the road which, admittedly, had been without traffic when he’d sighted the hare. It was the lad’s first shooting lesson, after all.
But the bullet had skimmed the top of the carriage, spooked the horses, and now the entire equipage was headed for the river with God knew how many people inside.
As he crested the hill, he saw the carriage door open and a young woman spill out onto the grass, but as he reached her, the young person stood up, then took a few shaky steps, before screaming after the disappearing vehicle, now headed for the river, that her mistress was inside.
It took Theo a good five minutes to reach the water’s edge where the carriage had plunged into the murky depths, thankfully throwing the coachman free. By some miracle, the horses had torn themselves loose and were floundering up the riverbank on the opposite side, but the real horror was that there was still one unaccounted-for female inside the almost fully submerged capsule.
Theodore threw off his coat and kicked off his boots while he kept one eye on the carriage which was lodged fast, thank the Lord, against an overhanging willow branch. But if the person inside could not swim, she was probably fast succumbing to the rising waters and no Herculean effort of his would get him to the other side of the river in time.
He was about to dive into the water when he saw splashing and, with a lurch and a lunge, a young woman emerged, arms flailing as she blindly managed to cling to an overhanging willow branch.
Theodore paused. If she was free, it bought him a few seconds to run to the bridge and cross there, rather than risk being carried away by the swiftly flowing river, himself.
“Hold tight! I’m nearly there!” he shouted, hoping the sound of his voice would give her the necessary few more seconds’ strength she needed.
And perhaps it did for just as her frightened eyes showed she might be about to give up and loosen her grip, they flickered brightly once more with hope as Theodore made it over the bridge, scrambled down the riverbank, and secured himself around a tree as he reached out an arm.
“Grip my wrist, not my hand!” he shouted, thankful there was just enough length in it for him to risk the rescue without tearing him from his own security. He certainly didn’t want to drown in a frenzied rescue gone wrong.
Fortunately, the weather was fine and there was no high wind to carry his words away. Fortunately, also, the young person was obviously not of a panicky constitution for, although he saw the terror in her eyes as she contemplated the
obvious danger in dislodging herself even slightly from her security in order to launch herself forwards, this was overridden by self-preservation and common sense as she thrust out her hand.
Gripping her wrist tightly, Theo hauled her out of the water and onto the riverbank.
It was an incongruous situation, the weather cold but close to perfect on this winter’s evening that was fast closing in. No keening wind or raging storm as a backdrop to this dramatic rescue.
For a few moments, he allowed her to remain unmoving in his embrace, not because of any tender feeling on his part. The truth was, he was simply relieved neither he nor young Tom were going to hang for inadvertently causing an innocent young lady’s untimely death. He was rather tired of rescues gone wrong.
And she was, clearly, a young lady of privilege, on account of the expensive cut of her gown, whereas the bedraggled maid in her cheap grey cotton dress was now coming towards them.
“You saved my life,” the young woman finally said through chattering teeth as he helped lower her onto the grass, and she hunched up her knees, looking at him as if he were some kind of conquering god.
Which, the Lord alone—and all of society knew—was as far from the truth as it was possible to be.
“Don’t go thanking me when…” He was about to reveal that it was a potential poacher’s rifle shot that had inadvertently led to the drama then decided against it. No point in embroiling anyone unnecessarily in anything. Theodore’s impulsiveness in telling the truth and taking decisive action had got him into too much trouble already.
He adopted a brisk tone of voice in order to bring the drama to a close. It was getting late and Theo was ready to return home to a nice warm fire and another tolerably enjoyable, solitary evening. “Now, miss, where are you headed so I can help reunite you with your loved ones?” He scanned the horizon which was showing the dismaying signs of a fading sun. Hopefully her kin would not be too far away.
“My loved ones?” She screwed up her nose as she tilted her face to look at him. “No loved ones where I’m going, or where I’ve come from. I believe there was still another four hours of travelling before we reached our destination. My maid told me—”
She broke off, gasping, before seeing the small personage a few feet away. “Thank goodness you’re all right, Mabel!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “And where’s John Coachman? And the horses?”
At least on this score Theodore could be honest and deliver the reassurance she needed, for John Coachman had already climbed into Theo’s cart having tied up the horses.
Tom, the miscreant who had fired the offending shot had long since bolted, but he’d not taken the donkey cart that was half stacked with firewood. This left just enough room for Theo’s three passengers—all of whom he intended depositing somewhere safe so he could return to planning the far from straightforward travel itinerary that would see him heading for France in a little under five days.
And, indeed, he seemed well on the way to achieving this when the innkeeper cheerfully agreed to accommodate John Coachman, before adding, “Though it’ll be in the loft above the stables, of course, as all our rooms are taken.”
Miss Hipplethwaite, who ran the Ladies Seminary in the village was the next possibility Theo dreamt up in his desperation to be rid of young Miss Lizzy Scott—as he discovered she was called—but when he announced his intentions, with a flick of reins to direct the donkey there, he was faced with a conundrum as he stared across at the bright brown eyes that shone from the mud-smeared face of the young lady he had just rescued.
“I have had enough of Ladies Seminaries, though thank you for thinking of it, Mr McAlister. Really, I am not concerned in the slightest if I don’t go home tonight or tomorrow—or ever, really,” she said with a frightening air of sincerity as she and her maid bounced along in the gathering twilight.
A rather heated feeling of desperation warmed Theodore’s neck under his carelessly knotted necktie as he handled the reins, now heading towards his home, which seemed the only place he could take her at this late hour.
“You may not be concerned, but I fear your family will,” he muttered, leaning across to tweak the blanket that covered her sodden clothing so that it better hid her torn gown. The last thing he needed was to be put into a compromising situation when his own matrimonial plans were finally proceeding as designed. This little chit, who resembled a water rat with her hair hanging damp and loose over her shoulders, had shed her shock with remarkable speed and now appeared to regard this as a wonderful adventure.
“Besides, if you are taking Mabel and me to your house where your sister lives—you did mention a sister, I think—there’s no need for concern,” she went on.
Theo steeled himself and said stiffly, “My sister died last year. The publican failed to mention that in the conversation you overheard, Miss Scott. No, it will not do to take you to my home, but I don’t know what else to do with you. Fortunately, Mabel is here, and tomorrow I can make arrangements to deliver you to your family.”
She sighed. “I wish I’d not told you my real name. At the third Ladies Seminary I was sent to, I started to call myself Miss Marzipan, that being something that I’m quite partial to, but was never allowed because Mrs Hodge refused me anything beyond porridge. I could only imagine what most sweetmeats tasted like since Mrs Hodge, who looks after me, refused me every pleasure in life.”
“Indeed?” Theo said, unmoved. “And did she lock you up in the attic, tied to a chair, and feed you only bread and water every three days, too?”
“Near enough. But Mabel risked her life to smuggle in the victuals necessary to sustain mine, didn’t you, Mabel?” Miss Scott turned her head to address Mabel cheerfully.
“Now, miss, I didn’t quite risk me life, but—” the maid began doubtfully, earning a grumble from her mistress as the girl turned back to Theo.
“Mabel has loyalty and good sense in abundance, but she has no sense of occasion.”
“But a proper sense of occasion is rather necessary, given the seriousness of this one, don’t you think?” Theo enquired. While he found her chatter momentarily diverting, his concerns over the next few hours prevented him from entering into conversation that was a little more lighthearted. “We need to get you somewhere safe and respectable.”
“But you have already decided you can’t do that tonight, surely? It’s too dark to go anywhere,” she pointed out. She clutched the blanket to her and shivered theatrically. “Unless I am warmed in front of a blazing fire very soon, I shall catch my death of cold—and it will be at your door, Mr McAlister.”
She could have no idea of the chill her supposedly lighthearted words sent through him. Theo stared woodenly ahead and tried to ignore the cacophony of images—newsprint pages and parodies involving him and a young woman, now dead—that had all but destroyed his life.
“What would Mrs Hodge say?” he managed, instead. Lame words but the only safe, innocuous words he could manage.
“She won’t know, and we don’t need to tell her. She’s a bitter, sour old puss, and I’m the opposite of her; as sweet as marzipan. Surely I’d be a nice addition to your evening?” She stretched her arms, adding, “You can send me on my way tomorrow. But for now, I shan’t be any bother, I promise.” The way her mouth turned up did nothing to improve his humour.
“The sooner you are back in the schoolroom, Miss Scott, the more relieved your benefactress and I will be.” He knew he sounded grumpy when he should be offering the soothing comfort needed by a young person who’d been through such a terrible ordeal—of which he was not entirely innocent—but the last thing he needed right now was a young lady on his hands who might prove difficult to reunite with her family.
“I’m no longer in the schoolroom, Mr McAlister. In fact, I am on my way to a house party to decide if I shall wed.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise, and this clearly delighted her. “You wouldn’t look so astonished if you’d seen me bedecked in jewels and wearing the modish gow
n my evil benefactress finally sanctioned for my ‘coming-out’ ball.” Her smile dissolved. “Not that I’ll be wearing that or any of the other lovely gowns Mabel packed for the Yuletide Ball in five days, or the other entertainments that have been arranged. I gather you couldn’t find my trunk, Mr McAlister.”
“To be perfectly honest, I gave it no thought until I was on my way out from seeing your coachman. However, I’ve instructed the local publican to do a thorough search, with a reward.”
“I hope it’s not at the bottom of the river,” she said anxiously. “Imagine if I lost all my beautiful clothes. I don’t think anything could be worse.”
“Your betrothed would be a great deal more anxious about your safety than the safety of your wardrobe. You’ll need to get a message to him, and your benefactress, though I would suggest you leave my name out of it.”
“He’s not my betrothed as I haven’t accepted him yet.” Miss Scott shrugged. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure I will, which makes my evil benefactress wild with fury. Oh, I do love it when I can do that.” She hugged herself, but he saw her shudder and wondered if it was from the cold or contemplation of the wonderful effect of her wickedness. He couldn’t help but admire that, at least. He’d felt exactly the same when defying his late pater.
As he drew up in front of the stone farmhouse in which he lived these days, he turned, dropping the reins loosely in his lap, and asked, “Despite the fact that you are all but betrothed, would you really choose to spend the night under the roof of a strange gentleman because you refuse to pursue any other of the many alternatives I have put to you?”
She smiled, and he scowled back as he reached out to remove a willow leaf that had become encrusted in the mud on her forehead.
“Yes, Mr McAlister, because there are no alternatives. If you did lodge me with any respectable female, such as the lady who runs the Ladies Seminary, for instance, she would be most put out at this late hour, and even though I realise doing such a thing would be far preferable to you—who regard me as a burden—I also suspect she is very skilled at making young girls tell her things they don’t want to.”