Prelude to Love Page 3

  After he left, Vanessa tried to stick a thick letter into the bosom of a lightweight sprigged muslin gown. Its four corners stuck out, calling more attention to it than Papa would care for, or than was quite comfortable for herself. She held it in her hands a moment, looking around for a better place to hide it. She had a small valise on her bed, the only case she intended taking. Elleri came into the room again. "The letter would be safer in the large trunk, would it not?" she asked.

  "We are not taking a large trunk. There isn't time to pack one."

  "It is half packed, goose. Go to Ipswich without a trunk? You are mad. Give me the letter."

  "No, I'll keep it," she said, putting it into her small valise and folding a spare petticoat on top of it. “We had better go now."

  "I shall be ready in two minutes," Elleri said casually, then went back to her room to sort in a leisurely fashion through her gowns, selecting one, and pushing another aside. She trotted back and forth, down the hall, reminding her charge to pack extra stockings, for a stocking was bound to poke out a toe on a trip; to bring her own soap—there was nothing but lye soap to be had at an inn, and a dozen other non-necessities, till the trunk was filled to the brim. When the servants took the trunk down, her aunt even picked up a glass-faced traveling clock, framed in brass, with a ring on top to aid carrying.

  "We would not want to be without a clock in the carriage," she said. "Handsome, is it not? My father gave it to me when he died—in his will. I never travel without it."

  Its handsome hands showed the half hour allowed by Colonel Bradford for their departure had doubled to an hour, and still they had not left.

  Their exit down the front stairs was silent, to prevent his hearing at what time they were finally going. When they got in the carriage, Vanessa noticed that in all the confusion, she had worn her oldest slippers, blue ones that were so very comfortable but not at all stylish.

  Abovestairs, Bradford sat worrying that he should have sent some outriders with the ladies, but he did not wish to call any extraordinary attention to the vehicle, and hoped the groom and footman between them would follow his instructions. They had been told to go at top speed, changing teams as often as necessary, and hang the expense. Parkins had packed a brace of pistols under the box seat, after giving the groom a hasty lesson in how to use them.

  Bradford ordered his batman to bring him a large pot of what he called Irish tea, which conveyed that milk was to be left out, and whiskey used instead. It was his favorite restorative in India, where milk had seemed to come curdled from the cows.

  While he sipped and worried and made more plans to counteract the invasion, the carriage pounded its way northward, causing much consternation in the hearts of the occupants. They were strongly inclined to have it stopped and jump out when they saw the number of scarlet jackets milling around town, in the vicinity of the assembly rooms. Major Rooney and Captain Schroeder, cantering past them, lifted their right hands in the quasi-military salute used to honor ladies.

  "I wonder where Forrester is," Miss Simons said, giving voice to her companion's very thought.

  "He is probably inside the rooms. They say the hall has been done up like a Persian tent for the night."

  "I heard at Fischers yesterday he sent all the way to London for a dozen orange trees. The hall will be half full of greenery if they are right. But the Fischers exaggerate everything. How I should love to see it."

  "Papa said to hurry," Nessa answered, but in her heart she was strongly inclined to add to her sorrow by seeing just a little of what she would be missing that night.

  "Bother!" Miss Simons exclaimed suddenly. "I have forgotten to bring along my vinaigrette. I could not dream of undertaking a trip without one. I must have the carriage stopped," she said, already jerking on the check string. "As the assembly hall is only a step away, we might as well take a look in."

  "With a glance at the traveling clock on the seat beside her, Vanessa knew they were behind schedule. She also suspected that had the assembly hall been located next the drapery shop, it would be stockings that were required, but she was not so convinced of her trip's urgency that she undertook to argue with her companion. The carriage was stopped. To satisfy the groom, she did indeed pick up a vinaigrette, but the ladies also went to have a look at the yards of pink and purple silk suspended from the ceiling of the assembly hall, tethered close to the floor with satin rope swags. The orange trees had just arrived. There was some confusion and good-natured bantering going forth amongst the officers who were in charge of distributing them along the wall. At the end of the hall stood a trestle table to be used for refreshments that night. It seemed hardly worth the stop—Forrester had not yet arrived. The scarlet jackets were gratifyingly eager to stop and chat, each wearer asking for a dance that night.

  "You waste your breath, gentlemen. Miss Bradford will not be here," Miss Simons said. Vanessa nudged her elbow, trying to urge her to silence. Papa had not said to be quiet in front of the officers, but this was only because he never dreamed they would be so indiscreet as to stop at the village. An outcry was heard from the men, who had to hear why this was necessary.

  "I am going to visit a friend," was all Vanessa said.

  "Must you go today?" one officer demanded.

  "This very moment," she said, drawing her aunt away. Miss Simons tarried, her glance sliding often to the door to see if Forrester had come yet. At the edge of the group, one gentleman hung back. He was not in scarlet, but stood with a few civilians who were there to gawk. His face took on a look, first of sharp interest, then of suspicion, as he considered this sudden trip north by Colonel Bradford's daughter. It must be an important matter to take her away at such a time. He remembered his meeting on the beach the night before, and the crucial business discussed there.

  Was it possible Bradford had overheard them? As soon as the ladies left, he went to the inn where he was registered and called for his curricle. A curricle traveled at a faster pace than a carriage; he was in no fear of losing them. He would not overtake them before they stopped at an inn for the night. His dealings could not be executed on the King's highway in broad daylight, unless he wished to turn highwayman.

  Chapter Four

  They drove for four hours, stopping only once, to make a change of team, before continuing on to Maidstone, where they were to take lunch. Miss Simons hired a private parlor, where they could ease their bones in privacy from the merciless jostling of a carriage in a hurry.

  "I expect I should have had the letter taken out of the valise and brought in with me," Vanessa said with a twinge of conscience:

  "I should not think it at all likely Boney's spies will root through your linens, my dear. They have better things to do," her aunt replied with a lifted brow.

  "Papa did say to behave as though it were an ordinary trip, so perhaps it would be best not to call attention to the valise," Vanessa rationalized.

  When eventually they went out, the valise was still strapped to the top of the carriage. "We took turns grabbing a bite so the carriage would never be abandoned," the groom whispered aside to Miss Bradford.

  "Did you think that necessary?" she asked, wondering why it should be so, when the letter, for all they knew, was with herself.

  "In case anyone should try to sabotage the carriage—smash up a wheel or axle," he explained. "Since we got a late start, we don't want to risk any more delays."

  "No one tried such a thing?" she asked, becoming alarmed.

  "No, no. Not with one of us there the whole time. You won't be dallying around town, ma'am?"

  "We shall leave at once," Vanessa answered, concluding the servants were taking her errand more seriously than she was herself.

  It was back on the road, for another long jolt all the way to Tilbury, before they stopped for the night. The shadows were lengthening, and while they might have covered a few more miles before darkness actually descended, Miss Simons announced, when she saw the signs of a town before her, that she would not travel anoth
er inch that day, if she carried in the letter word of an assassination attempt on the King himself. Vanessa too was weary, and agreed. As she got down from the carriage, her toe caught the edge of a cobblestone, and the sole of her old blue slipper pulled away a little from the upper.

  "What a nuisance! And I haven't packed another pair. What shall I do, Auntie? This will be flapping and making it impossible for me to walk before we reach Ipswich."

  "Take a run down the street and see if the cobbler's shop is open, while I hire us a room. What a shabby place it is, to be sure. The White Swan—no imagination. There is nothing but George's and Swan's and Greenmen from one end of the country to the other. Hurry, Nessie. We want to be sure of a private parlor.''

  "Gretch, will you personally look after my valise?" Vanessa said. She was embarrassed to tell him why. "My jewelry is in it," she said instead, to ensure his closest scrutiny.

  "Nay, Miss Bradford. I’ll go with you to the cobbler's, and Harrow will look after the valise," he told her. Gretch, the groom, was the senior servant, who felt it his duty to tend the letter.

  She hesitated, wanting him to stay behind. "Now, miss, this is no time to be thinking I'm not fancy enough to go with you. You'd prefer Harrow's smart livery, I know, but your papa told me to guard you, and guard you I shall." He turned back to the footman. "Look sharp there, Harrow, to Miss Bradford's valise," he ordered before leaving.

  After a hasty walk down the street, they found the cobbler's blinds drawn for the night. With a sigh, Vanessa looked at her slipper. It was not actually flapping. Only an inch had torn loose at the toe. "It will hold till we reach Ipswich," Gretch told her. "You won't be doing any walking."

  By the time they returned to the White Swan, her aunt was waiting in the lobby. "Ah, good, you are here. Did you get it fixed?"

  "No, it was closed. Pity."

  "I don't know why you wore those old slippers in the first place, when you have your new patent ones that look much better. It is no matter; no one will see us. I have hired a private parlor, but want your opinion on our chambers for the night. They do not have two adjoining. They have two a mile apart, or one large we might share. Which do you prefer?"

  Vanessa, unaccustomed to public inns, had no desire to be pitched all alone into a room for the night. Neither was she eager to share a room with her talkative aunt, for she had done so at a house party once, and been kept awake half the night with her chatter. "It would be more comfortable to be together, and safer," she added, but with little relish.

  "That was my thought. I took the larger room. It is at the far end of the hall, on the right. It's called the Three Cygnets, our room. Here, take the key and freshen yourself for dinner while I give them our order. We shan't change."

  Vanessa went above, carefully watching room signs to discover which was theirs. The White Swan had suites called after its name: the Great Swan, La Plume and such things. At the end of the hall, she slid the bulky brass key into the lock, turned if, but the door did not open. She turned it back again, and the door opened instantly.

  Elleri had gone away and left it open, she thought with a little spurt of annoyance. What if the letter had been there, in her valise? Anyone might have walked off with it. But as she entered, she saw their cases had not yet been brought up. She worried why Harrow had not done so. Surely there had been time. She took a step into the center of the room to survey it, and was felled from a swift, hard blow to the back of her head. She was immediately knocked unconscious, without even experiencing much pain. When she opened her eyes a few moments later, she found herself stretched out on the canopied bed, with her clothing all disarranged.

  "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, sitting up and looking all around her, frightened. Her assailant was gone. There was a dull ache in her head, but she had already had a little headache when she alit from the carriage, and did not fear she had been permanently or seriously disabled. Looking down, she saw the neck of her gown was open, her skirts mussed. She felt certain she had been subjected to attack by a sexual maniac of some sort. But he had hardly had time to do more than look, she thought. She knew she had not been violated, and though she was frightened half to death, she was not in the state of hysteria the worse fate would have caused.

  The door was closed. Her next thought was to get out it, down to her aunt and safety. She leapt from the bed, fussing with her gown, then saw on the floor, at her feet, her reticule, its contents shaken onto the floor, the straw bag severed from its silken lining. She picked it up, stuffed the contents hurriedly into it and ran along the corridor quickly, feeling that every door was likely to send a pursuer after her.

  Her aunt was just issuing from a small room belowstairs, and smiled at her. "You look a perfect fright, pet. Come in and have a glass of wine. It will put some color back in your cheeks. I have ordered ..."

  "Elleri, I have been attacked!" Vanessa said.

  Without a word, her aunt grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the private parlor. "Never say it in public, Nessie. It would give people such an odd idea of your character. Attacked, you say? The villain! We'll not stay another minute in this place. We shall report it to the manager at once, and to the constable.... Only it is very vulgar. Oh, dear, and if they want you to be giving evidence, my dear, I would not dream of it. Word would be sure to get about you were raped. Nothing is more likely to ruin your reputation. You weren't, were you?"

  "No, it is not that. Don't you see? Someone was after the letter."

  "Rubbish. Why would anyone want to read Henry's foolishness? He can't get Forrester to listen to a word he says. He is only complaining to Sir Giles of goings-on at the garrison. And how would anyone know we are here? Depend on it, the brute was planning to ravish you. He certainly had not time to do it; you were not gone above two minutes. Oh, what should we do? What would Henry want?''

  "He would want us to make sure the letter is safe. Thank God I did not put it where Papa suggested, or it would certainly have been stolen. My reticule too was dismantled, my clothing searched—there can be no other explanation."

  "Was your money stolen? It might have been a simple robbery."

  Nessa scrambled amongst the nibble of lining and oddments in her reticule, to extract a leather money bag holding all her money.

  "Mercy, I wonder if you could be right," Elleri said, turning a shade paler. "That was a shabby trick Henry played us, sending us into such danger. Why did he not send Parkins?"

  "I have no idea, unless he required Parkins at home to help him in the affair. This is something more dangerous and excit—important than we thought, Auntie. Oh, the letter! I must get it from Harrow. Why didn't you lock our room door?"

  "I did lock it. I remember perfectly well turning the key, and twisting the knob to see it was locked."

  "My valise was not in it, I hope?" Vanessa asked, her eyes staring in horror.

  "No, indeed. He had not brought the cases in yet. It was only my traveling clock I took up. There is a clock here on the wall, you see, so I left it abovestairs. I always carry it into the inn myself, for it is quite valuable. They did not used to have many clocks in inns in the old days, for they were taxed most dreadfully, which is why Papa bought mine."

  "I must get the letter. I shan't let it out of my sight again." She ran into the lobby, to see Harrow just coming with her own and her aunt's small cases. "Your jewels are all right and tight, ma'am," he said. "I didn't let it out of my sight. You'll be wanting the trunk left strapped on the carriage, I fancy?"

  "Yes, thank you, Harrow," she said. "Just bring the cases into our parlor, if you please."

  "Could I not take 'em up to your room for you?"

  "No, we'll keep them with us."

  Miss Simons sat sipping wine and fanning herself with her handkerchief, vexed to no small degree by all the many unpleasant happenings of the day. "The Fischers would be sitting down to dinner now with Colonel Forrester and half a dozen officers, and how are we to spend our evening? Sitting in a very ugly inn room, looking at ea
ch other."

  There was more of the same sort of talk, all of which went unheeded as Vanessa unfastened her valise and lifted her petticoats to extract the envelope, safe and sound where she had put it. "What shall I do with it?" she asked.

  "Put it into the mail," her aunt said angrily.

  This too went unheeded. The bodice seemed a poor spot, the first place the man had looked. The reticule was no safer, yet she strongly wished to keep it about her own person. Her light muslin gown boasted no pockets. In desperation, she raised her skirts and stuck it down the top of her stocking, where it felt as cumbersome as a stiff sheet of cardboard, and as dangerous as a poison snake. Then dinner arrived, and they sat down to eat.

  Elleri chattered on about the raised pigeon pie, the sauce quite good, but the crust as tough as tanned leather. And where, one wondered, had they found such chewy peas, so original. The syllabub was denigrated as certainly having been made with old milk, when anyone knew it was only edible if rushed from cow to kitchen.

  Throughout the meal, Vanessa was minutely aware of the bulge in her stocking. While Elleri reverted, over coffee, to the Fischer dinner party, Vanessa began to wonder whether she should not have the carriage called out and continue the journey with a fresh team, not stopping at all till they had reached Sir Giles. Elleri, she knew, would balk at this uncomfortable plan, but she mentioned it anyway.

  "You are a widgeon, Nessa. What would be easier than holding us up on a pitch-black road in the dead of night, with no one but Gretch and Harrow to come to our rescue? It is the most foolhardy thing you could possibly do. We shall bolt our door here, and take turns about staying up all night if you wish. I never sleep anyway; it will make no difference to me, I assure you."

  These claims of insomnia were totally unfounded. Elleri often dozed off in front of the grate at home by nine o'clock in the evening. But going alone down an empty, dark highway did suggest more danger than Vanessa liked to consider, so she had half decided to remain overnight. This decision still wrinkled her brow when a tap was heard at the door.