The Keepsake. Sheelagh Kelly

The girls had played together as children and Etta genuinely cared for her. ‘But for the moment I don’t want to arouse suspicion by us both going out laden with luggage. I promise to send word of my address later, but until then I shall have to manage without your help.’

      ‘Aw, I’m grateful, miss! But I couldn’t do it without the master’s say so, and he’s bound to ask me where you’ve gone.’ Rather more conservative of nature, Blanche envisioned herself being expelled and bringing shame on her parents, who also worked on the estate.

      ‘All the more reason that you don’t know what to tell him.’

      ‘I know the gentleman’s name.’

      ‘But you won’t divulge it.’ Etta sounded confident.

      ‘Not if I can help it.’ Blanche handed over a pair of earrings, saying anxiously as her mistress’s excited fingers fumbled in putting them on, ‘I hate to keep putting hurdles in your way, Miss Etta, but what about the coachman?’ The latter would be transporting Etta to this afternoon’s venue. ‘You know, the master’s –’

      ‘Got his spies everywhere,’ Etta supplied darkly. ‘Yes, I’m all too aware of that. I shall just have to risk it. By the time any tittle-tale reaches my father I’ll hopefully be far away. Now, shoo!’ The command was accompanied by a conspiratorial smile. ‘Before anyone should catch my future husband.’

      Swept up in the excitement and anticipating someone far more eligible, Blanche was shocked to discover the individual of modest means behind the bush, and her first thought was that Miss Henrietta had mistaken his identity.

      ‘What’s your name?’ she demanded rudely.

      Thinking the game was up, Marty rose and tugged his jacket straight, hoping she wouldn’t spot the damp patch where the dog had pissed on his back. ‘Lanegan, miss, I –’

      ‘Oh good grief, it is the right one then,’ muttered Blanche, and her suspicious frown turned to one of incredulity. Nevertheless, she shoved the bag at him and, to his delight, reported Etta’s instructions.

      The latter meanwhile was summoning her transport, and, without a backwards glance, hurrying down the stone staircase and into the coach’s leather interior. Only at the gate did her composure slip when she banged on the roof and shouted for the coachman to make a detour from his previously instructed route.

      Bag in hand, Marty had barely arrived at the meeting place when the vehicle pulled up and his beloved alighted. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time all over again. He felt he might choke with desire as her face came aglow at the sight of him.

      Similarly smitten, Etta wanted to rush to him, but she restrained herself for now, first instructing the coachman firmly to ‘Wait here for me, I shan’t be long’ before approaching Marty at a casual pace.

      Her expression told him not to do anything rash, so he followed her lead, initially just standing to admire her accomplished deportment, but especially the sweep of breast and buttock under the pink figure-hugging dress, the froth of white lace at her bosom, privately smiling at the ridiculously large hat, then turning to stroll alongside her as she came past, murmuring to him, ‘Just act as if we’re discussing the weather.’

      Parasol aloft, she sauntered down the tree-lined country road, Marty alongside.

      ‘I thought we’d get the carrier,’ he told her, as they inserted some distance between themselves and the coach. ‘He goes from the village green so we’d best not walk too far. I know to my cost he’s a mean sort and won’t pull up except at the proper stop.’

      ‘He will for me,’ replied his assured companion. ‘I refuse to turn back for anything.’ She urged him to keep walking, then linked his arm daringly. ‘I thought you’d never come!’

      ‘This is the third time I’ve been here – third time lucky.’ He could smile now at how long it had taken, for during the interim he had accrued a few shillings. Normally his mother would be the one to benefit from his tips, but lately he had become a miser. In addition he had spent the last three weeks trying to earn money in other ways, though it was still barely enough to fund his elopement.

      He dared not look over his shoulder at the straight road behind, but felt the coachman’s eyes boring into his back and said so. ‘Wouldn’t it have been wiser to send him away? He’s seen you with me now.’

      ‘In retrospect it might have been wiser not to bring him at all but I had to make everything appear normal. If I’d sent him home he’d guess of my intention to abscond and would run directly to my father. By telling him to wait for me I’ve ensured that he daren’t disobey – at least for a reasonable period.’

      By the time the carrier came past they were fifty yards or so from the village, but Etta turned out to be right. At the commanding wave of her parasol the driver obligingly halted for the lady and her companion to get onboard, the other passengers shuffling up to make room. Huddled close together on the wooden seat, the horse clip-clopping onwards, she and Marty looked back along the arrow-straight road to where the coachman still waited obediently in the distance.

      Marty chuckled sympathetically. ‘He won’t still be standing there in the dark, will he?’

      Overwhelmed by happiness, Etta smiled and gripped his hand. ‘Don’t waste your pity, he’ll have none for us when he speeds off to tell Father the moment this vehicle disappears. But at least we’ve gained a head start.’

      Her suitor felt a pang of concern, wishing he had planned this better. After the previously abortive attempts at elopement he had not visualised success this time and consequently had omitted to arrange anywhere for them to live. However, he didn’t tell Etta this, not with a cart full of people eyeing the mismatched couple suspiciously. In fact, under these strained circumstances, they were to say little to each other at all during the two and a half hour journey that followed.

      Only when they were finally standing on the antiquated pavement of York and his young bride-to-be looked expectantly at him for direction did Marty confess. ‘Sorry, I haven’t managed to secure us any lodgings yet.’

      Etta was unfazed, deliriously happy just to be with him, clinging to his arm and gazing up into his eyes. ‘Didn’t you say your work occasionally involves you having to sleep at the hotel? You can sneak me into the room where you stay.’

      ‘I’m sure Ned would be delighted.’

      ‘Who’s Ned?’

      ‘The bloke whose turn it is tonight.’ Despite the joke, Marty felt inept. ‘Besides, it’s the first place your father will look for us.’

      ‘I’m afraid I haven’t enough money to pay for accommodation,’ said Etta. ‘I did manage to acquire some since we last met but in my rush to meet you I completely forgot it. I feel terribly foolish.’

      ‘No, you’re not.’ He patted her. ‘There’s only one thing for it. It’s risky, but if I can find out which rooms are unoccupied I could hide you in one of them for a day or so, until I can organise somewhere else.’

      Her eyes sparkled, such intrigue adding spice to the romance. Marty, too, felt not fear but elation as they made their way from the busy Rougier Street, under a carved limestone arch in the Bar Walls, and on to the magnificent edifice that was the Royal Station Hotel. Advising Etta to wait in the sunlit grounds, heavy with the scent of roses, he affected a casual entrance to the hotel via the door marked tradesmen, as if arriving for work, yet his appearance drew amazement from the others. ‘Can’t stay away, Bootsie?’

      He dealt them as carefree a laugh as he could. ‘Aye, I love it so much. No, I just nipped in to ask Joe if he wants to go for a drink tonight. Is he about?’ Told that the page was upstairs, he made his way there. ‘It’s Wilko’s day off too, isn’t it? Nobody to catch me then!’

      But upon finding Joe there was no mention of beer. Marty used a different fib. ‘I just came to collect something I left behind the other day – busy, are we?’