Talk of the Ton

It was the following day before Beth was able to escape to the potting shed where she expected to find Toby at work. He was nowhere to be seen.

She was about to turn back to the house, but changed her mind. She had come to talk to Toby about the latest developments in her life and she did not want to go back without unburdening herself to him. She set off for Orchard House, where he lived with his father on the edge of the estate.

‘Is Toby here?’ she asked when Mr Kendall answered the door himself. He was a well-educated man who had been estate manager since before her father died, and Beth knew her mother set great store by him, trusting him implicitly. In his turn, he worked assiduously to keep the wheels of Beechgrove turning. Beth had assumed it was an easy task, but, since her mother’s revelation, she knew he must be finding it increasingly difficult. Poor Toby would never set off on his travels unless a miracle happened. She was as sad for him as she was for herself having to go through the charade of choosing a husband.

‘No, Miss Elizabeth, he’s gone.’

It was then she noticed the bleakness in his grey eyes and the downturned mouth. What had happened? ‘What do you mean, gone?’ she asked.

‘Left. Gone on his travels. To Calcutta.’ It was obviously not something that pleased the man who faced her.

‘But how could he? The day before yesterday he was saying he did not know how he was ever going to manage it. What has happened?’

‘Miss Elizabeth, I think you should go home.’

‘I will when you have told me what this is all about. How can he have packed up and gone at a moment’s notice? There are any number of things waiting to be done in the garden and glasshouse, he surely would not have left them to someone else.’

‘He has. Pershore’s lad has been given instructions.’

‘I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t go like that, certainly not without saying goodbye to me. And his instruction would have been to me. He would trust me to follow them implicitly.’

‘It’s all for the best,’ he said wearily.

It was then that enlightenment dawned. Toby had been banished; it was not his choice. ‘Who sent him away?’ she demanded. ‘And why?’

‘Go home, Miss Elizabeth, please. It is not fitting you should be here. Put your questions to your mama.’

What did her mother know of it? A little seed of suspicion began to grow in her mind. ‘I will. Thank you, Mr Kendall.’

She could hardly wait to see her mother and dashed up to her boudoir and flung open the door. Her mother looked up from the letter she was writing to confront a daughter whose dark eyes blazed angrily. ‘Beth, what is the matter?’

‘Toby has gone.’

‘Yes, I know. He has always wanted to travel to find new plants and the opportunity arose—’

‘Very suddenly it seems,’ Beth interrupted her. ‘So suddenly he was not even allowed to say goodbye to me.’

‘It was for the best.’

‘That’s what Mr Kendall said. I want to know what he meant.’

‘Sit down, Beth, and calm yourself.’

Beth took a deep breath and sank on to a stool close to her mother’s chair. ‘I am calm.’

Harriet smiled. Calm her daughter certainly was not, but she was waiting for an answer and deserved one. ‘You know Toby has always said he wanted to go plant hunting?’

‘Of course I do, I was the one who told you that.’

‘Well, he has been given the opportunity to go and it was too good to miss.’

‘But, Mama, he’s gone without me.’

‘Of course he has. You did not seriously think you would be allowed to go with him, did you?’

Beth stared at her. ‘He’s been sent away from me, hasn’t he? I wondered what you meant when you asked me if he had been filling my head with ideas about working for a living. You were afraid I might…What exactly did you think I might do, Mama? Elope with him?’

‘No, of course not,’ Harriet answered so swiftly that Beth knew that she had unwittingly hit the nail on the head. ‘But you must admit you have been seeing a lot of him and I believe it is because of him you are so against having a come-out…’

‘That has nothing to do with Toby.’

‘Nevertheless, a little time apart might be beneficial…’

‘And what did Toby say?’

‘He understood.’

‘The traitor!’

Harriet smiled. ‘No, he was being sensible.’

‘Why didn’t he say goodbye to me? Did you forbid him to?’

‘No, that was his decision. No doubt he will write frequently to his father and Mr Kendall will give us all his news.’

Beth’s thoughts suddenly took a sharp turn. ‘But where did the money come from? After what you said…’

‘Beth…’

‘Uncle James! The Duke of Belfont is rich enough to buy people.’ She laughed harshly, a sound that made her mother wince. ‘It was all so unnecessary. I did not need separating from Toby. There was nothing untoward going on, or likely to. I have known him since I was a tiny child and he is like a brother to me. Did you not understand that?’

Harriett sighed, knowing that she had been wrong to confide her unease to James. Her brother had done what he thought was best, but they had made a real mull of it between them. ‘I’m sorry, Beth, truly sorry, but you must realise—’

‘Oh, I realise, Mama. I realise I am to have no say in how I live my life at all.’ And with that she fled to her own room, where she flung herself down on her bed and sobbed.

If she could not make her mother understand, who could she talk to? There was only one other person and that was Toby. But Toby had gone, left her without a word. Why had he been so easily persuaded? Oh, she knew that he had always wanted to go plant hunting and the temptation to accept whatever it was he had been offered must have been very great and she could hardly blame him for it. But why go without explaining himself to her or even saying goodbye? That was what hurt most, the abruptness of it. Uncle James must have been very persuasive. Had he given Toby to understand she knew about the offer beforehand? Did Toby think she did not care?

If it had been done openly, she could have been part of the planning, the deciding what luggage and equipment to take, the boxes and barrels for keeping plants in, the beeswax and special paper to preserve the seeds and prevent them going mouldy in the dampness of the ship’s hold on the journey home. They would have talked about the ship he would sail on, the area he would explore, the kind of plants he hoped to find, the journal he would keep and the reports he would send regularly to her. And he would have told her exactly what to do to look after the plants he had left behind. She would have waved him goodbye with a cheerful heart if that had been the case.

How far had he got? He wouldn’t have sailed yet because it would be necessary to stop off in London and equip himself and book a berth on a ship—no doubt an East Indiaman, which regularly made the journey back and forth between England and India. Could she catch him before he sailed, just to speak to him, to tell him that, if he had been banished, she had had no prior knowledge of it, to ask for instructions and say goodbye? She imagined his face lighting up at the sight of her. He would take her hand and lead her on board to show her his quarters and the equipment he had brought with him, and when the ship sailed she would return to the quay and watch until the vessel was out of sight.

The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed. All she had to do was find out the name of the ship, take the stage to London and hire a cab to take her to the docks and there he would be! She knew she could not go with him, but it would be some compensation to be there when he set out and reassure him that she did not condone what her mother and uncle had done. Her tears dried on her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet and hurried down to the drawing room, where she found the newspaper she had seen her uncle reading after dinner two nights before.

She sat down and quickly scanned it for the shipping news. And there it was. The Princess Charlotte had arrived at the East India docks with a cargo of tea, spices and ornamental objects, and was due to depart again as soon as it had taken export goods, passengers and stores on board. The East India Company prided itself on its fast turnaround. But supposing, when she got there, Toby wasn’t sailing on the Princess Charlotte? What then? It would be a wild goose chase and she would have to turn round and come home. But what an adventure!

She sat, staring at the newsprint until the words danced in front of her eyes. Princess Charlotte sailing on the afternoon of the following day—dare she go? What would her mother say? But it wasn’t as if she was running away or anything like that, she was simply going to see a friend off on a journey, and then she would be back, almost before she was missed. Ought she to take a companion? But who? Miss Andover would treat her like a naughty child and report her to her mother, and none of the servants would agree to go with her for fear of losing their place. It was go alone or not at all.

She folded the paper and replaced it where she found it on the fender where it would undoubtedly be used for lighting the fire next morning, and hurried back to her room where she fetched out her purse and counted out the money she had. Her uncle had given each of the girls five guineas in order to buy fripperies before their trip to London and Beth had not spent hers. She also had the better part of a quarter’s pin money, which her mother had put into her hand at the end of March. It ought to be enough for the coach fare and a little to eat. She would not need an overnight stay because she would be coming straight back; coaches to and from Bury St Edmunds and Norwich called at Sudbury all the time. She smiled suddenly, wondering what her uncle would say when he knew his generosity had inadvertently made her journey possible.

How she managed to behave normally at dinner—which was taken at five o’clock, that being a compromise between town and country hours—she did not know. Afterwards she sat in the drawing room with her mother and Livvy, who was full of what she intended to do and see in London, most of which involved riding in the park, visiting Tattersalls to see the horses and going to the races and what young men they might meet. If anything could make Beth decide to go ahead with her plan, that was it. Once they arrived at Belfont House, there would be no more adventures. As soon as she could, she excused herself, saying she was tired and went up to her room. An early night was called for if she was to be up betimes.

It was a long time before she fell asleep, her mind was whirring with what she meant to do. If it had not been for her uncle sending Toby away in that high-handed fashion and that dreaded Season in London, which she looked upon as the end to all her freedom, she would never have contemplated it. It made her feel a little better about what she was doing, but only a little.

It was the dawn chorus just outside her window that woke her and she silently thanked the birds or she might have overslept and missed the coach. She sat at her escritoire to write a note to her mother, which she left on her pillow, and then dressed quickly in her father’s breeches and a clean shirt. There was also a full-skirted coat with huge flap pockets, years out of date, but she didn’t care about that—it would be safer to travel as a young man. The ensemble was completed with riding boots and a tricorne hat. She fastened her long hair up with combs and pulled the hat down over it. She put her purse containing her money in her coat pocket and opened her bedroom door.

There was no one about. She crept downstairs, aware of every creak of the treads, and the rattling of utensils coming from the kitchen where the scullery maid was beginning her day’s tasks. Carefully she withdrew the bolts on the front door, let herself out and sped down the drive.

It was only a short walk into Sudbury and Beth’s only concern was that no one should see her and recognise her, but, as it was not yet fully light, she thought her disguise would pass muster. She had never been in an inn before, had never travelled on a public coach, not even with an escort, never mind alone, and she was nervous. Pulling herself together and pretending nonchalance, she approached the ticket office and asked for a seat on the next coach to London. It was hardly in her hand when the coach arrived in a flurry of tooting horns, sweating horses and scurrying ostlers. The horses were changed, those passengers who had left their seats for refreshment and those starting their journey in Sudbury were called to their places and they were on their way.

It was only as they left the town behind, that Beth, squashed between a fat lady with a live chicken in a basket on her lap and a countryman in a shovel hat who had not washed in a year, began to appreciate the enormity of what she had done. It had seemed easy enough when she had been in her room at home, nursing a grievance against her mother and uncle, not to mention Toby himself; all she had to do was get on a coach and she would be conveyed to London. But now she was on her way, she was beset by doubts mixed with a good helping of guilt. Had her mother missed her? Had she understood the letter she left behind? Would she be very angry? Would she send someone after her? There would be no reason for that, she decided, considering she had made it clear in her letter that she would be back the following morning.

The other passengers were giving her some strange looks and she shrank back in her seat, wishing she could stop the coach and get off. Would the coachman let her off or would he say that she must go on to the next scheduled stop? She pretended to look out of the window at the hedgerows flashing past and chided herself for her lack of spirit. What was so frightening about travelling by stage coach? People did it all the time.

They rattled on, stopping now and again to change the horses and to put down and pick up new passengers, and just under seven hours after they set out, she was climbing down in the yard of the Spread Eagle in Piccadilly. She was hungry and considered going into the inn and ordering food, but nervousness overcame her again and she decided she could wait until she saw Toby. They would eat together while they talked.

‘Where do I go for a cab?’ she asked an ostler, who was carrying tack across the cobbles.

‘There’s a row of them in the street. Take your pick,’ he said, without stopping. She was inclined to be annoyed by his lack of courtesy, but then remembered she was supposed to be a boy and a young one too, considering her chin was as smooth as silk. She thanked him and went in search of a cab.

Half an hour later she was being deposited at the entrance to the East India docks. The smell of the river dominated everything and beyond the buildings that lined the dock, she could see the tall masts of ships lying at anchor. She walked forward slowly, unsure of herself. The quay was busy; dockers, sailors, passengers, luggage and mountains of stores vied for the available space. One ship was being unloaded, but another was almost ready for departure, judging by the seamen scurrying about on deck. The name on its side was Princess Charlotte. The gangplank had not yet been raised and she hurried to the foot of it, wondering if she dared climb aboard.

She became aware of a group of sailors watching her as she hesitated.

‘Running away to sea?’ one of them asked her suddenly.

‘No. I’m meeting a friend—’ She stopped suddenly because they were laughing.

‘Meeting a friend, eh?’ said the man, moving towards her, making her step back in alarm. ‘Now would that friend be going or coming?’

‘Going. On the Princess Charlotte.’

‘Then watch out you don’t get carried away alonga him. Pretty little boy like you would be welcome…’

She cringed away from him, frightened by their raucous laugh. If only Toby would come. She wondered whether to cut and run, but decided that would make matters worse and stood her ground.

Andrew Melhurst was directing the loading of his luggage from the customs shed on to a large flat wagon. It was extraordinary how much one accumulated in seven years of living abroad. He had pared it down to necessities before leaving, but there was still enough to fill the wagon. It had been dumped on the quay when the ship was unloaded, as if the shipping company, having conveyed it thus far, wanted nothing more to do with it. Too concerned about his grandfather’s health to bother with it right away, he had paid to have it stored in the customs shed and gone home, intending to send others back to fetch it for him.

He had been relieved to discover that old Lord Melhurst had rallied while he had been on the high seas and so he had decided it was safe to return with a couple of estate workers and hire a wagon to oversee the moving of his possessions himself. Besides the usual things like clothes and personal possessions, there were antiquities and stuffed animals and carefully wrapped seeds he had collected in the mountains of the Himalayas, which he hoped to propagate. He had also brought one or two plants, carefully packed in special containers, which he had taken home with him. Leaving them on the docks to be handled by hired help who would not understand the need for care would not have been a good idea.

He noticed the young lad standing at the foot of the gangplank facing a group of seamen because he looked so nervous. A new cabin boy, he surmised, judging by his slight figure and smooth cheeks. Too smooth, he decided, for the rough and tumble of life at sea. Had he been forced into it by an impatient parent in order to make a man of him, or was he running away to sea and thinking better of it? His clothes were very loose fitting and years out of date, but they had once been of fine quality. He was from a good family then, fallen on hard times perhaps. The seamen were obviously intending to have some sport with him and he was looking decidedly nervous.

He strolled over to them. ‘Let the young shaver be.’ It was said quietly, but with such authority he was instantly obeyed. ‘Go about your business.’

The men strolled away laughing, and the boy turned towards him. ‘Thank you, sir.’ The voice was high-pitched, not yet broken. ‘Am I too late to go on board?’

‘Not while the gangplank is still in place, though you need to be quick. You will probably get a roasting for being late.’

‘Roasting?’ she said, remembering to deepen her voice. ‘You mistake me, sir. I wish to speak to someone on board before the ship sails.’

‘Oh, I see.’ He looked closely at the oval face, the troubled brown eyes fringed by long silky lashes, the slight heaving of the bosom as he looked upwards. By God! It was not a he but a she and a very beautiful one. How could he have ever imagined that figure belonged to a cabin boy? Running after a lover, was she? Was the lover intent on escaping?

‘Is it permissible to go up there?’ She nodded in the direction of the deck.

‘I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,’ he said, thinking about the crew who, like the sailors she had already encountered, would undoubtedly have some fun with her, not to mention the humiliation of discovering her lover did not want her. ‘Tell me the name of the party and I will go and bring him to you. There might yet be time.’

‘Oh, would you?’ The smile she gave him was all woman. ‘His name is Toby Kendall. He is sailing as a passenger.’

He sprinted up the gangplank and had a word with the sailor who stood at the top, ready to give the signal for it to be hauled away. Beth watched him disappear. She kept her eyes glued to the rail, expecting to see Toby come running. Nothing happened. The activity on deck reached a crescendo as seamen swarmed up the rigging and spread themselves along the spars and someone ran to the last mooring rope, ready to cast off. Now she began to wonder if the man who had gone on her errand would be trapped on board and carried off to sea. Her heart was in her mouth.

She saw a movement, but it was not Toby running to greet her, but the man returning. Did that mean Toby was not on board? Had he boarded some other ship? Had he not gone at all? She was beginning to feel a thorough ninny.

‘Was he not there?’ she asked as the man rejoined her. Too late she forgot to lower the tone of her voice.

‘Oh, he is on board, Miss Harley, but he declined to come out to you.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ In her agitation she had not even noticed he had addressed her by name. ‘He wouldn’t refuse to see me.’

‘I am not in the habit of lying, Miss Harley.’

The emphasis he put on her name made her realise Toby had given her away. ‘You know who I am?’

‘Indeed I do.’ Behind him he heard the shouted commands, was aware that dockers were freeing the mooring rope and pulling the gangplank free. ‘The question is, what am I to do with you?’ The crack of sails being let down almost drowned his words.

‘What do you mean, do with me?’ The sails were filling and the ship was beginning to move. Sailors were scrambling down from aloft and, almost hidden behind a stanchion, she saw a familiar face. ‘Toby!’ she shouted, waving like mad.

He waved back. He was saying something, but she could not make out what it was. It was then she realised the predicament she was in. Toby had refused to see her, she was miles and miles from home, alone with a man who knew she was a girl. And he had said, ‘What am I to do with you?’ She had been nervous before, but now she was truly frightened. She looked about her. On one side was the river, murky and full of flotsam, on the other the warehouses, customs shed and chandlers that lined the docks. Dockers and seamen hurried back and forth, men driving lumbering carts, shabby women, ill-clothed barefoot children, a few better-dressed gentlemen, but not a single well-dressed lady. Certainly no cabs.

He must have realised she was considering flight, because he took her arm. ‘You had better come with me.’ And, though she resisted, he propelled her towards a carriage that stood a little way off, calling to the man by his wagon, ‘Simmonds, I’ll leave you to finish loading that and I’ll see you at home in due course.’

‘Let me go!’ Beth shouted, struggling with him so that her hat fell off and her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, making those around grin with amusement. Still holding her, he picked the hat up and crammed it back on her head.

‘Come on, I haven’t got time to argue.’ And with that he bundled her into the coach and climbed in behind her. ‘Back to town, Jerry, as fast as you like,’ he commanded his coachman.

Chapter Two

‘What are you going to do with me?’ she asked, trying to push her unruly hair under the hat again as the carriage moved off. It was a luxurious vehicle, its seats padded in red velvet. The man who occupied the opposite seat was fashionably dressed in a well-cut tail coat of green kerseymere and coffee-coloured pantaloons tucked into polished Hessians. His cravat was tied in a simple knot. He was handsome too, fair haired and bronzed from living in a climate warmer than that of England. It seemed to emphasise the blueness of his eyes, which were looking at her with something akin to amusement. She wondered how old he was; nothing like as old as her Uncle James, who must be forty, or as young as Toby, who was only a year older than she was. Twenty-seven or eight perhaps.

‘Oh, do not fret, I have no designs on your person,’ he said.

‘Then let me go.’

‘That, I think, would be considered unchivalrous.’

‘No more unchivalrous than holding a lady against her wishes.’

‘If the lady has no idea of the danger she is in, then a gentleman has no choice.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Whatever made you think you could pass yourself off as a boy? A more feminine figure I have yet to meet.’ His eyes roamed appreciatively over her coat and breeches as he spoke. The only slightly masculine thing about her was her cut-down fingernails and the brownish stain along the cuticles. He was intrigued by them. ‘It is a good thing I intervened when I did.’