Her coachman, Robert, made a quick but thorough inspection and reported that the rear left wheel had been damaged and the left door cracked. He had already seen to the horses, who had been rearing and neighing loudly in fright. Miraculously, they had managed to avoid serious harm.
The baggage, however, was another matter. Standing in the rain beside Janet, Elizabeth saw that both her trunks had broken loose from the force of the jolt and had burst open on the rocky verge. Her clothes - everything from gowns to stockings - were scattered in the mud and draped over the bushes beside the road.
‘Oh, milady!’ Janet wailed at the indelicate sight. ‘All your lovely frocks....’
‘Never mind, Janet,’ Elizabeth interrupted her. ‘What is more important is that we are all alive. Clothes may easily be replaced.’
‘But what shall we do?’ The maid continued to cry softly, holding her right shoulder with her left hand. ‘We’ll likely catch our death of cold out here!’
The girl was shaking, even as she spoke, and her teeth were chattering, although it was not excessively cold. Fearing that she might be on the verge of hysterics, or worse, Elizabeth turned to Robert. Masking her own fears, she forced herself to address him in a calm and rational manner.
‘Robert, is there anywhere nearby where we might find shelter for the night?’
Her coachman nodded, obviously appreciating her stoicism. But after all, someone had to remain clear-headed enough to make decisions, and her rank dictated that she must be the one to take the lead and see to the needs of herself and her servants.
Robert informed her that there was, if he were not mistaken, a village named Upper Tredleigh not more than a mile ahead. There they might find suitable lodgings for the night, someone to mend their carriage - and, most importantly, someone to mend Janet.
‘Fetch Janet’s travelling-bag and my jewel case from inside, Robert,’ Elizabeth commanded briskly. ‘We had better get started at once.’
They started to walk. Robert was ahead with the horses, to which he had tied the bag and jewel case. Elizabeth, trudging behind him along the slushy road, supported the much-agitated Janet. That walk in the rain seemed endless, although it was actually not much more than half an hour before they reached the edge of Upper Tredleigh. A small cluster of rustic buildings appeared dimly through the silver curtain around them.
As they approached the main street, the rain stopped abruptly. The sky remained overcast, however, and Elizabeth suspected that it would not be long before another shower descended upon them. Luckily, there
was
an inn, and it was not many minutes before they had passed through the entrance.
‘We must look like a trio of half-drowned rats,’ Elizabeth thought, as she marched up to the rather stout, red-faced man who appeared to be the landlord. He was obviously surprised at the rain-soaked apparitions before him, and seemed none too eager to admit them. But as soon as Elizabeth began to speak, he became intensely solicitous. He did not need to be informed that she was the Countess of Dansmere, nor to be acquainted with the details of their accident, for it was perfectly plain to anyone with even a modest portion of intellect that a member of the gentry stood before him.
The inn was small, boasting only a half-dozen bedchambers, but Upper Tredleigh was not a much-frequented place, and all the rooms were at that time unoccupied. Elizabeth easily procured lodging for herself and her servants, while the fat landlord, Mr Shymes, directed Robert to a nearby blacksmith’s shop where he might find the nearest equivalent to a good wheelwright. He also offered to summon the local physician to attend to Janet.
Elizabeth got Janet up to her room and helped her to undress. It proved to be a slow and painful process because of her poor arm. Mercifully, the rain had not penetrated her travelling-bag, so all the maid’s garments were dry. Elizabeth got her into her sleeping-gown and into bed, to await the arrival of the doctor.
‘I fear I must trouble you for one of your gowns, Janet,’ she began, extracting a plain grey poplin one from the bag.
‘Oh no, milady!’ Janet cried, starting up from the bed at this scandalous suggestion. ‘You cannot wear one of
my
dresses. I have nothing near good enough—’
Elizabeth gently but firmly restrained the poor girl before she could inadvertently do further injury to herself.
‘Do not be nonsensical, Janet.’ She turned back to the bag. ‘I cannot possibly remain in this wet gown tonight, and my others are in no fit state to be worn.’
Janet still looked distressed at what she plainly considered to be nothing short of sacrilege. ‘It isn’t fitting, ma’am. It’s not right.’
‘I assure you, I do not mind in the least. In fact, I will be most grateful to you.’ She hoped that this would mollify the girl. ‘Thankfully, we are much the same size.’
‘At least let it be my white muslin,’ Janet pleaded, accepting the inevitable. ‘It’s my very best dress, ma’am - my church dress.’
‘Very well.’ Seeing that Janet was likely to worry herself into a fever, Elizabeth thought it best to humour her. She looked about in the bag and easily discovered the plain white gown amongst the meagre belongings inside. She also selected a pair of stockings which she remembered having given the girl at Christmas time.
‘I have instructed the landlord to send the doctor to you as soon as he is able.’ Janet looked a little apprehensive at these words. ‘Should he arrive before I have done changing, tell him I shall be here directly to settle his bill.’
With what she hoped was an encouraging smile, Elizabeth left her and went next door to her own chamber. It was only slightly larger and better furnished than Janet’s, though Mr Shymes assured her it was the best he could offer.
She washed herself in a large basin of tepid water before donning the simple muslin, which was so much easier to manage than the elaborate creations of Elizabeth’s London mantua-maker. Then, brushing her hair with quick, brisk strokes, she arranged it very plainly in a tight coil at the nape of her neck. It was all she could do without Janet’s assistance.
Eyeing herself critically in the small mirror perched atop the dressing-table, she smiled to see herself decked out in her maid’s apparel. What was it like, she wondered idly, to be someone of Janet’s class and position? Janet was poor, with few prospects of ever bettering her condition, yet she seemed contented and even happy with her lot in life. A pert redhead, she was always smiling and high-spirited - with the exception of the present day, of course.
Janet was being courted by the young footman, James. Elizabeth had, on occasion, overheard the other servants quizzing one or the other of them. She could not help but be amused at how tongue-tied and distracted James became whenever Janet was present. The girl would be looking forward to seeing him again when they returned.
It must be a wonderful feeling to have a handsome young lover eagerly awaiting one’s return. She thought of Gerald and sighed softly. Her visit to Wiltshire had been an all too brief reprieve from the cold, forbidding isolation of the castle and the repressive company of her husband.
It was not so very many years since
she
had dreamed of finding a daring young lover - of loving and being loved by someone. But persons of her station could rarely afford such a luxury, and reality had a way of destroying dreams very thoroughly. Youthful hopes must be left behind, however reluctantly, to be replaced by the claims of duty and the compromises demanded by the less pleasant circumstances of life. But it was difficult not to envy Janet at this moment. Her situation might deprive her of many privileges, but still she had the very real possibility of finding love and fulfilling dreams which others had been forced to abandon.
In order to put a stop to such uncomfortable thoughts, Elizabeth returned to Janet’s room. Dr Setchwick, a rather gaunt and funereal man, was already with her and had just completed his examination of the patient.
‘No bones broken,’ he reassured them both, ‘but it is quite possible that the shoulder is cracked a little - which can be just as painful, I’m afraid. It is certainly badly bruised.’
‘Is there anything that can be done to relieve the pain?’ Elizabeth asked.
The doctor pursed his thin lips and paused, considering the question. ‘I’ll give her a sedative draught for tonight, and perhaps enough for the next day or two. Otherwise, only time and rest are of any real value.’
He soon had the girl more comfortably settled. Elizabeth judged him to be rather more capable than many members of his profession, and felt reasonably confident that he knew what he was about, despite his morose manner. After she had paid him and thanked him gravely for his help, she went down to confer with Robert, who informed her that the carriage was already being brought into town. The wheelwright promised to have it ready this very evening.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am,’ Robert said diffidently, ‘but I ventured to tell ‘im that ‘e’d be paid ‘andsomely if ‘e finished tonight.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Quite right, Robert. We will leave first thing in the morning, then. His lordship will be most annoyed if we arrive very late.’
‘Just so, ma’am,’ the coachman replied, with a speaking glance.
Elizabeth returned to Janet’s room to see how she was faring. Under the influence of Dr Setchwick’s sedative, the girl was fast asleep.
Going to her own room, Elizabeth tidied herself a little and applied a dab of scent. On a sudden impulse, she removed her ornate gold wedding band. Perhaps tonight she could forget that she was a wife and a countess, and pretend - if only to herself - that she was a simple country lass like Janet. On this pleasantly absurd thought, she went downstairs once again to partake of a light supper.
Her landlord was all obsequious attention, which would certainly have been most inappropriate for a maid. The meal was a good one, however, if very plain: some cold ham, hot soup and buttered bread, washed down by a surprisingly fine wine.
Afterwards, Elizabeth retired to a corner of the room with a lamp, a well-worn copy of
Marmion,
and her wineglass, which she had brought along in lieu of a flesh-and-blood companion.
The rain had begun again, accompanied this time by the low rumble of thunder and occasional flashes of lightning. Under such circumstances, it was unlikely that she would be able to sleep, and reading was a pleasant way to pass the next hour or two. Her host seemed eager to frustrate her plan by constantly asking after her comfort, and pressing her to try any and every concoction which would procure her a sound sleep. With a few choice words, she eventually managed to make it plain to him that she needed nothing but solitude, the remainder of her wine, and her book, and he took himself off for the rest of the evening.
For some time she remained alone in the quiet semi-gloom of the parlour. Shortly before ten o’clock, however, a gentleman was ushered into the room, and sat down at once to eat his supper. Apparently, another guest had arrived at the inn.
* * * *
At first the man did not notice her sitting quietly in the shadowed corner, so Elizabeth was able to observe him at her leisure. He was not much older than herself - about five-and twenty perhaps - tall and slim, with crisply curling chestnut hair cut fashionably short. As he was neatly but not richly dressed, she judged him to be a member of the commercial class - possibly the son of a country solicitor or some such thing. No landlord waited upon such a lowly person, of course, and he was attended to by a plump, middle-aged serving-wench.
Suddenly, he seemed to become aware of Elizabeth’s presence, and she found her curious gaze being returned with equal interest by a pair of hazel eyes which held a distinct twinkle. Her own eyes she lowered at once, aware that she was blushing at having been discovered staring at a total stranger in a common inn. It was most unfair, she thought ridiculously, that he should be so exceptionally good-looking. What on earth must he be thinking of her?
O,
young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
she read silently, vainly attempting to concentrate on the printed page before her. But how could she, when a man who might have been the model of Lochinvar himself was seated but a few feet away from her?
She reached for her glass, and was surprised to find it empty. It had been her second tonight. She rarely drank more than one glass. Perhaps that explained the curious fluttering in her stomach.
As the stranger across the room continued to eat his supper, she found her gaze returning more than once to his handsome profile. More than once, too, as she looked up, she saw that he was surreptitiously studying her as well. For more than half an hour this exchange of glances - advance, engage, retreat - continued. Finally, she heard a scraping of the floor as the stranger pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. She knew with absolute certainty that he was going to speak to her.
‘That must be a most interesting book,’ his attractively deep voice declared, somewhere above her head.
Though she had fully expected this, Elizabeth gave a start which was quite genuine. ‘I - I beg your pardon, sir?’ she stammered, feeling remarkably foolish.
‘I merely enquired as to the nature of your book.’
‘It is - it is
Marmion,
sir.’
‘Ah!
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,’
he quoted blithely,
‘there never was knight like the young Lochinvar.’
Elizabeth felt her colour deepening and knew not which way to look. He could not possibly have guessed...!
‘I hope you do not think me too presumptuous,’ the gentleman spoke into the uncomfortable silence. He appeared contrite, though she thought she could detect a faintly quizzical gleam in his eyes. ‘The truth is, I am much in need of company, and as you appear to be the only other guest here at the moment, I felt emboldened to seek your acquaintance. I am Nick Markham - at your service.’
It was obvious that, in her plain gown, she had been mistaken for a servant: a lady’s maid or a governess, perhaps. She had best make him aware of her true position at once, before he became too familiar. Then she caught her breath as the most outrageous thought occurred to her. What would it be like if he
did
become familiar? What if she
were
a lady’s maid? What if she were Janet? She had amused herself with such imaginings earlier. Now she was presented with the opportunity to discover, in some small way, the reality. After all, what harm could it do? He was a stranger to her. She would never see him again.