Chapter Eleven

 

 

Sophie spent the next two hours lying rigid in the truckle bed, fuming with anger, jealousy and humiliation that she should feel like this. What was Hal doing? Oh, do not be such an innocent, she chided herself. Of course you know what he’s doing, what any red-blooded man would be doing, given that much encouragement.

When he finally came to bed the church clock was striking midnight. Sophie lay still on the narrow bed trying to make her breathing deep and regular, listening to the muffled sounds of Hal dragging off his boots and clothes. When he got into bed she could tell from his breathing that he had fallen into a deep sleep almost immediately.

‘Grr,’ Sophie snarled into the pillow. No wonder he was finding it so easy to sleep after two hours’ drinking and whatever other entertainment that, that harlot had provided.

 

The sound of whistling cut across Sophie’s dreams and woke her. She lifted her head from the pillow and saw that the sunshine was streaming across the boards and Hal stood in front of the dresser, dragging a cut-throat razor through the foam covering his cheeks. Sophie watched him between half-closed lids, wondering how he managed to shave and whistle at the same time. At that moment he broke off to carefully shave his upper lip and she gave a little snort of laughter at the expression of concentration on his face.

He did not turn, but remarked, ‘Ah, you are awake at last, are you? Sleep well?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something cutting about the previous evening, but she swallowed the words. ‘Yes, thank you.’

Hal wiped his face with a towel, threw it down and pulled on his coat. ‘I’ll see you downstairs in the parlour in a few minutes. I want to have a word with the ostlers, see if they had any sight of our quarry yesterday.’

Sophie scrambled out of bed, poured Hal’s shaving water into the slop bucket and refilled the bowl from the ewer. It was her turn for the tepid water so she washed and dressed hastily, reflecting that one of the less obvious advantages of men’s clothing was the ease with which one could get dressed.

After last night Sophie expected there to be some constraint between them, but Hal seemed quite relaxed when he joined her at the breakfast table. They arrived together, coinciding with the waiter bringing their coffee and rolls.

‘And some cold meat and a tankard of ale, if you please,’ Hal asked the man. He turned to Sophie approvingly. ‘That was quick work.’

‘Short hair and no petticoats,’ she responded, provoking a grin from Hal. ‘Have you found anything out about Elizabeth?’ She poured herself some coffee and broke open a warm roll.

‘Yes, some firm news at last.’ Hal waited for the waiter to put down the meat and go. ‘They are still about half a day ahead of us. They did change horses here, the ostlers remember them. And what is more, from what one of the postilions said, they are heading for York.’

‘York? Why on earth would Justin Fanshaw be taking your sister to York?’

Hal shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I suppose he might have had some idea of getting a special licence from the Archbishop, but then, he could get one of those from any bishop, providing he could persuade him that Elizabeth was of age. No, I have no idea what young Mr Fanshaw might be about, other than getting his hands on Elizabeth’s fortune, of course. The only good thing about all of this is that my younger brother is chaplain to the Dean of York. And he is married so we have somewhere to stay and somewhere to take Elizabeth when we find her.’

A rather grim silence followed. Sophie ventured, ‘Surely it is encouraging that they are keeping on the move? He can hardly be...er...’ She couldn’t say the words, but Hal knew her meaning exactly.

‘Oh, yes, he could,’ he said darkly. ‘And when I get my hands on him I am going to kill him.’

Sophie looked at his set, hard face and realised with a shiver that this was no idle threat. ‘But think of Elizabeth’s reputation.’

‘All right, she can marry him first and then I’ll kill him.’

‘Hal, you cannot do that. And, there is always the chance that she still loves him.’ Thinking back on her own experience that seemed highly unlikely, but she did not like to say so.

A grunt was all the reply that she got in what Sophie thought was a typically male response. But, watching him covertly as he did justice to the cold meat, she reflected that he was far from typical.

It seemed as though she had known him for ever, instead of a matter of days. In that time she had seen so many facets of his character: Hal happy, Hal angry, concerned, Hal aroused to both humour and passion...

And all that anger directed at Justin Fanshaw sprang purely from his deep affection for, and worry about, his sister. If only George had cared as much for her, but all he cared about was propriety and that was one word she had never heard Hal use about Elizabeth’s predicament.

And despite the madness of being here with him, of chasing the length and breadth of the country, she was loving it, loving being with Hal. Loving Hal... A deep sigh escaped her and he looked up over the rim of her tankard.

‘What’s the matter, Sophie? Are you tired? This must be very exhausting for you; I keep forgetting you are a girl.’

Sophie put down her mug with some emphasis and glared at him. Hal returned the affronted look with a wicked grin, completely unabashed. ‘Well, I have to admit there have been moments on this journey when I have been forcibly reminded of your femininity, but on the whole you make a very passable boy.’

 

Half an hour later they were ready to leave. Sophie stood with her saddlebags over her arm, waiting for the stable boy to lead out her mare when there was a stir at the doorway of the inn and Hal’s friend of the evening before emerged. She walked slowly across the cobbled yard, lifting her skirts the better to reveal feet shod in blue kid and rather too much silk-clad ankle for Sophie’s liking.

She shot a look at Hal standing beside her and muttered, ‘Your mouth’s open.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he countered automatically, then shot her a look between narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t be so waspish.’

The lady glanced round, artistically appeared to catch sight of Hal for the first time, and trilled, ‘Sir! A very good morning, is it not? I trust you slept well.’

‘Very well, I thank you, ma’am,’ Hal returned with such a straight face that Sophie was left still speculating whether or not he had passed part of it with the lady in question or not.

Getting into the carriage proved a lengthy performance, involving showing even more ankle, drawing on a pair of exquisitely tight gloves and finally blowing Hal a kiss as the carriage bowled out of the yard.

‘You didn’t tell her who you were, then?’ Sophie enquired sweetly.

Hal turned and looked at her closely. ‘Do you imagine I have spent any time with her to exchange names? Even if it was wise to do so.’

‘Did you not?’ she challenged.

‘Give me credit for preferring subtlety, Sophie,’ he said with a grin. As they swung up into the saddle he added, ‘And you are altogether too easy to tease.’

They cantered in silence for several miles, stirrup by stirrup. As the morning wore on the weather improved and with it Sophie’s mood. The countryside on either side of the turnpike was lush and green. Here and there the hedges were splashed with white blossom and the wildflowers covered the verge and banks.

The amount of traffic on the highway surprised her. There were farm wagons, a slow-moving dung cart that made its presence felt for some distance, several gigs and traps with one or two occupants, but the most thrilling sight was the Mail at full stretch with a fresh team in the traces, heading for London. Hal reined on to the verge as that went past, sending their horses curvetting and sidling at the upset.

They made good progress and lunched at the inn in Markham Moor. Hal left Sophie sitting outside on a bench under a spreading oak tree and emerged five minutes later followed by a waiter laden with a tray of bread, butter, cheese, ham and two tankards of ale.

Sophie, who had worked up a fine thirst, found she could swallow the ale without so much as wincing now, earning an amused glance from Hal who offered helpfully, ‘Now, Ned would wipe the foam off his mouth with the back of one hand.’

Sophie did, then spread butter on a hunk of cottage loaf and proceeded to demolish it in a most Ned-like manner.

Fifteen minutes later, full, she closed her eyes and lay back against the tree trunk, wondering if she could snatch ten minutes to doze in the sunshine. Hal, however, was wide awake. He dumped the tray on the ground, swept the crumbs off the table for the waiting sparrows and spread out the route map he was carrying in his pocket.

‘Come on, Ned, wake up and pay attention. We need to decide on our route.’

Reluctantly Sophie sat up and peered sleepily at the map. ‘Can’t we just keep going up there?’ She pointed vaguely at the line of the turnpike as it headed towards Retford and Doncaster.

‘We could do, but the stretch of road south of Doncaster is notoriously bad in the spring and could hold us up. A friend was telling me he had a nightmare journey south only two weeks ago. He got stuck in the mire and had to be pulled out by farm horses.’

‘Yes, but we could ride round, couldn’t we?’ Sophie leant both elbows on the table in a manner which would have produced a severe rebuke from her sister-in-law, and began to take an interest.

‘We could do, but I wondered whether we couldn’t strike across country from Retford. See, here.’ Hal said, leaning forward and pointing.

As she bent over the map Sophie felt his hair touch her temple. It tickled, but she made no move to pull away. ‘Yes?’ she said, controlling her breathing with an effort.

Hal seemed to notice nothing. ‘If we ride due north we should strike Thorne and spend the night there, or even at Snaithe. We could reach York by tomorrow evening at that rate.’

The road to Retford was good, if winding, and they made steady progress without unduly tiring the horses. After that, heading north, they had a long, easy canter across country for about ten miles. The day had fulfilled its promise and was now warm, without a cloud in the sky. At one point, when they reined in to walk the horses, Hal shrugged off his coat and, twisting round in the saddle, strapped it on to the saddlebags.

‘Why don’t you do the same?’ he asked.

Sophie hesitated. then unbuttoned her coat with a sigh of relief as the cool air fanned through the coarse linen of her shirt.

She had just secured the buttons again when two farm workers rounded the bend in the lane ahead, hoes over their shoulders. Both tipped their hats at the sight of a gentleman and his servant and muttered, ‘Afternoon, sir.’

Hal reined in. ‘Good afternoon. Are we on the right track for Mattersey?’

‘Aye, sir,’ the older replied. ‘Less than a mile up ahead.’

Hal tossed them a coin with a word of thanks and rode on. After they crossed the Gainsborough road they found themselves in far less inhabited country. The land rolled gently away without a village in sight, crossed here and there by quickset hedges, fields of sheep and the occasional meandering line of trees marking the course of a stream.

The hotter it got the worse the clouds of gnats became. When they cantered the wind took them away, but when they walked the horses the insects swarmed, irritating both riders and mounts. Sophie rode with her hat off, swatting them away from her face and wishing they could canter again.

But just as Hal gathered up the reins she felt the grey mare peck. ‘Hal, stop, I think she’s picked up a stone.’

Hal dismounted and rummaged in his saddlebags until he produced a hoof pick. ‘Which foot?’

‘It felt like the off-fore.’ Sophie shifted her weight as Hal ran his hand down the mare’s foreleg and it obediently lifted its hoof.

‘Yes, nasty little flint.’ Hal levered carefully, then held up a jagged stone for Sophie to see before tossing it away. ‘Try how she goes on now.’

The mare was still not happy, pecking at each step and when Sophie reined her in, cocking the hoof up.

Hal walked up from where he had been watching the animal’s gait. ‘Hmm... must have bruised the frog of the foot, it was jammed right up into the middle. We’ll only do her a permanent damage if we make her walk far tonight, but if it’s soaked she ought to be better in the morning.’

Sophie stood up in the stirrups and shaded her eyes. ‘I think there’s a river ahead. Look, can you see the willows?’ She dismounted and began to lead the reluctant mare down the gentle grass incline.

When they got to the river bank they found a grove of willows, an area of flat, dry grass and a shallow stream that bubbled clear over a pebble bed. Hal looked around. ‘If we have to spend the night in the open, I doubt we could find a better spot.’

‘Spend the night?’ Sophie echoed, then pulled herself together. ‘Yes, of course we must.’ After all, it was no different from spending the night with him in the inn. In fact, one could argue that this was more proper, being roomier...

Hal found a dip in the bank where the mare, snorting at the cold, let herself be led in to stand fetlock-deep in the soothing water. ‘You hold her head. Sophie, and I’ll find some firewood.’

‘You can light a fire?’ Sophie queried.

Hal grinned, ‘I come very well equipped. A tin of lucifers, a twist of salt, the heel off our breakfast bread, and a flask of brandy. The water looks and smells clean. We’ll not be very well fed, but we can always find a farm for breakfast in the morning.’

Sophie stood idly on the bank watching the swirl and twist of weed in the current. There was a sudden flash of shimmering silver. She leaned forward, scarcely daring to breathe and there it was again. A trout. In fact, as she watched, she realised that there was the flash of sunlight on scales down the length of the little river as far as she could see.

When Hal returned, his arms full of dry twigs and some broken branches, she dropped the mare’s reins on the bank, placed a stone on them and said, ‘If you light the fire and stay here I’ll fetch us some dinner.’

‘Dinner? And why have I got to stay here?’

‘Because you have big feet,’ Sophie said enigmatically as she ducked under the willows and moved upstream.

 

After ten minutes Hal had made and lit the fire. Sophie still had not reappeared, so he led the mare out of the water and tethered her with his gelding on a lush piece of shaded turf. She lowered her head to graze, seeming comfortable enough.

What had happened to the girl? Despite her instructions, he was not going to sit around and wait for her to reappear. Moving quietly, Hal ducked under the willows and followed the bank around the next bend.

At first he did not see her. Then he stumbled over her waistcoat, boots and stockings lying abandoned on the bank. She was lying full length on the very edge of the bank ahead of him, bare legs in the air, her feet waving gently as she concentrated on the water only inches below her nose. Hal was puzzled for a moment, then he saw that her right shirt sleeve was rolled up to the shoulder and her arm was in the water. He began to advance stealthily, but she gesticulated irritably with her left hand.

Then he saw that in amongst the grass on the far side of her lay a fish. Hal froze. She must be tickling for trout and his footsteps were sending vibrations through the bank and scaring them. Big feet, indeed. He cautiously eased off his riding boots and stockings and tiptoed up beside her. He dropped to his knees and lay full length, holding his breath as he watched her fingers moving gently under the water, tempting the fish to investigate this strange intrusion into their world.

One slim trout nosed up, hesitated, swam a little further forward, right over the palm of Sophie’s hand and she struck, closing her fingers and lifting her hand. But she had not reckoned on Hal being so close and her fast-rising hand hit his shoulder. The trout flew into the air and landed behind them in grass, Sophie, her body rolling with the throw, hit him sideways and together, with nothing but each other to hold on to, they fell with a resounding splash into the shallows.

Hal landed underneath, the cold water almost knocking the breath out of him. Sophie, arriving on top, gave a shriek as his efforts to get up threw her into the deeper, colder water beyond the shelving edge.

Hal lurched to his feet, shook the water from his eyes and yelled, ‘Hang on, Sophie, I’m coming, don’t panic.’

With frigid dignity Sophie rose to her feet, waist deep, water-weed streaming from her body. ‘I hardly need rescuing, Hal. It can’t be more than three foot, and in any case, I can swim.’

Of course you can. Hal reached out. ‘I begin to think there is no limit to your talents, Miss Haydon. Presumably, if you had had enough time, you would have built us a boat and – ’

He was cut off as Sophie gave his proffered hand a sharp tug, hard enough to pull him into the deep water alongside her.

Hal emerged, water sluicing down his face, his hair in his eyes. ‘You witch,’ he observed, then, before Sophie could splash out of the way, grabbed her and fell back.