The Reluctant Escort. Mary Nichols

ye sow, so shall ye reap,’ she said.

      ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

      ‘You will have a poor harvest.’

      ‘Quite the philosopher, aren’t you?’

      ‘No, but I am interested in people and why they do the things they do. You, for instance…’

      ‘I am a dull subject for your studies.’

      ‘Not at all. You may be from the poor side of the Connaught family, but I believe you have been educated as a gentleman, you have served as an officer and you have a grandmother who is very fond of you, so you cannot be all bad. With a little instruction and application, you could become a real gentleman and find some more fitting occupation.’

      ‘Heaven preserve me from reforming women! I am as I am and that is an end of it.’

      ‘Very well,’ she said meekly. ‘I am, after all, in your hands to do with as you please. I have no wish to fall out with you.’

      He smiled to himself as they bowled along. She was an amazing mixture of innocence and wisdom, child and woman, and one day, when she had learned the ways of the world, she would be a charmer, even a heartbreaker. And he did not want his heart broken again.

      Unaware of his introspection, or perhaps deliberately ignoring it, she continued to chat happily to him until they turned into the yard of the Crosskeys at St Faith’s just short of Norwich, and drew to a stop.

      ‘Well,’ she said, turning towards him. ‘Are we to test my theory?’

      ‘Theory?’ he queried. ‘It seems to me you have a great many theories. Which one are we to test?’

      ‘Why, that it is Captain Stacey and his wife who will stay here overnight.’

      ‘Good God, child, have you any idea what that means?’

      ‘I believe it means we must share a bedchamber.’

      ‘And what happens in that bedchamber?’

      ‘How am I to know that?’ she asked. ‘I never did it before. But it doesn’t signify, does it, because we are not really married but only pretending?’

      ‘And if there is only one bed?’

      ‘Oh, Captain, I am quite sure you can contrive something.’

      Before he could find a suitable reply an ostler came out from the stables to see to the equipage. Duncan jumped down and reached up to help her alight. ‘Come inside and we will decide what’s to be done with you,’ he said.

      The inn was small and very old. Duncan had to duck his head to enter the doorway. He stood looking round the company, which consisted of a farmer and his wife who were quarrelling loudly, and four men, intent on playing cards. They were evidently playing very deep for there was a pile of coins on the table between them and their conversation consisted of grunts, unintelligible except to each other. The only other customer was the man with the scar. Duncan led Molly over to join him.

      “Bout time too,’ the man said. ‘Did you stop to admire the wayside flowers?’

      ‘No, but I had to answer questions from a bumbling town constable and I could not appear too eager to depart.’

      ‘And you still have the trailing petticoats, I see.’

      Duncan turned to Molly and took her hand to draw her forward. ‘Miss Martineau, may I present my good friend, Sergeant Frank Upjohn? Frank, this is Miss Molly Martineau. We have spoken of her.’

      ‘Miss Martineau, your obedient.’ He did not seem particularly pleased to see her, she noted as he rose to acknowledge her.

      The innkeeper came forward, wiping his hands on his apron, to ask their requirements.

      ‘Food,’ Duncan said. ‘And plenty of it.’

      The man went away to give the order to his wife and Duncan and Molly joined Frank at the table.

      ‘You do not approve of me, Mr Upjohn,’ she said, arranging her long skirt about her as she sat down; it was now more crumpled than ever. ‘No doubt you think I am an encumbrance, but I assure you, I intend to help you both.’

      ‘Whether we will it or not,’ Duncan murmured, leaning back in his chair, a faint smile playing about his mouth.

      ‘You said I did not do so badly,’ she protested. ‘And if you were escorting me from Stacey Manor to London you would not have had time to hold up a coach, would you?’

      ‘Hold up a coach?’ Frank repeated, looking sharply at Duncan. ‘Who said anything about holding up a coach?’

      ‘I certainly did not,’ Duncan answered. ‘Madam, here, has added two and two and made five, as I pointed out to her.’

      ‘There is nothing wrong with my arithmetic,’ she said. ‘Two men, one bigger than the other, one riding a fine black horse with a white nose-flash, and the other with a scar beneath his eye. I cannot think of a better description of you both. You were absent from the inn at the relevant time and the horses were removed from the stable on a pretext I find unbelievable, not to mention the fact that you did not deny it when I said you had been with me all night.’

      ‘I could hardly contradict a lady,’ Duncan said, smiling at the look of astonishment on Frank’s face at this statement. ‘And if you were so sure, why did you not denounce me, instead of dreaming up another cock-and-bull story?’

      ‘I was curious as to why you did it, if not for gain.’

      ‘I thought you were going to send her back where she came from,’ Frank muttered as the innkeeper’s wife brought plates and tureens to the table.

      ‘How?’ Duncan demanded. ‘There was no public coach, her mare had been hidden and I had no time…’

      ‘It was necessary to put the constable off the scent,’ Molly added. ‘Besides, I want to go to London and I thought of a great ruse…’

      He turned to Frank. ‘She wanted us to pretend to be married; she even told the constable at the Red Lion that we were. I have persuaded her it will not do. We can’t look after her. Quite apart from the practical difficulties, just think what it would do to her reputation.’

      ‘And yours,’ Frank said with a wry smile. ‘The hard man who has no time for females, making a cake of himself over a chit. And we have work to do, or had you forgot?’

      ‘No, I hadn’t forgotten,’ Duncan said, watching Molly pile her plate with roast chicken and vegetables. He disliked women who picked at their food in the pretence of daintiness. The longer they were together, the deeper became the coil he was in, and the inn, though perfectly adequate for him and Frank, was certainly not suitable for a lady. He wished he had thought of that before suggesting the rendezvous. It just showed how long he had been out of genteel society and how unmannerly he had become. ‘But I must admit it would be easier to take her with us than try and return her to Stacey Manor.’

      He could not tell Frank the other reason why he was even considering taking her with them because it had nothing to do with his own plight. He wanted to make her happy and if taking her to her mother made her happy, then why should he not do it? But not as his wife. Never that. ‘We must make ourselves into a proper escort and that means another female and a coach and horses.’

      ‘Oh, yes, please,’ Molly said, brightening. ‘That would be the very thing. I could enter London in style and no one would think any the worse of me.’ She stopped and gave him a meaningful look. ‘Nor you either. Everyone would admire you for it and your reputation would be quite restored.’

      ‘What do you say, Frank?’ Duncan asked him. ‘Would Martha act the maid?’

      ‘Martha?’

      ‘Yes, why not?’

      ‘Who is Martha?’ Molly demanded.

      ‘She