Sir George by admitting to having been a servant.
‘Strange.’ Mrs Courtney’s green eyes fairly snapped with curiosity. ‘And are you an old friend of Sir George?’
‘A very old friend,’ said Sir George firmly. ‘We have not seen each other this age, and there is so much to talk about.’
‘I am sure you are both wishing me gone,’ said Mrs Courtney with an artificial laugh but showing no signs of getting to her feet.
‘I could never bring myself to say such a thing.’ Sir George leaned back in his chair and smiled blandly on Mrs Courtney. ‘But I fear you will find Miss Pym and me boring company, for we have so much to discuss.’
Mrs Courney bridled. The hint was too obvious. She rose to her feet. ‘But I am so sure I have met you, Miss Pym. Do not worry. I shall recall where and when. I have an excellent memory.’
‘And that is a threat,’ said Hannah gloomily when Mrs Courtney had left the shop. ‘She did meet me at Thornton Hall. She came to find out whether Mr Clarence planned to divorce his wife and quizzed me on the subject. I would have told her but I did not want to shame you by revealing you were taking tea with a servant.’
‘An ex-servant,’ said Sir George. ‘Of what were we talking? Ah, yes, the gardens at Thornton Hall. On your next return, Miss Pym, write to me of your arrival and I shall take you to see them.’
‘I should like that above all things,’ said Hannah, feeling as shy as a girl.
He smiled at her, thinking it was pleasant to squire such a grateful and entertaining lady.
Hannah did not want him to be the first to suggest that they leave, and so she reluctantly gathered up her gloves and reticule.
‘Where are you going now?’ asked Sir George as they stood outside in Berkeley Square. ‘Kensington?’
‘Now,’ said Hannah. ‘I shall go to the Bell Savage in the City and buy a ticket for the Bath coach.’
‘Then let me summon a hack for you.’
‘I would rather walk, sir,’ said Hannah, who was by now so happy and excited that she felt she would burst if she did not get some exercise.
‘As you will, Miss Pym. All success and good fortune on your next journey.’ He raised his hat and bowed low and Hannah dropped a curtsy. She turned back, however, after a few moments and watched Sir George’s tall figure cross Berkeley Square in the dim light and stood there watching for quite a while after he had disappeared from view.
Then Hannah set out for the City. She wanted to jump, to skip, to shout aloud. He had invited her to see the gardens. She could enjoy her next journey without wondering whether he would remember her or would see her at all.
She stood under a street lamp and pulled a folded newspaper cutting from her reticule and studied it. It was an advertisement for the Bath coach.
FLYING MACHINE
As those desirous to pass from London to Bath, or any other Place on their Road, let them repair to the Bell Savage on Ludgate Hill, London, and the White Lion at Bath, at both which places may be received in a Stage Coach every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, which performs the whole journey in Three Days (if God permit) and sets forth at five in the morning.
Passengers to pay one pound five shillings each, who are allowed to carry fourteen Pounds Weight – for all above to pay three halfpence per Pound.
She put it away and set out with a brisker stride towards the City.
Hannah no longer felt lonely. There was so much to look forward to. Lord Harley’s wedding, the visit to Thornton Hall gardens, and a whole new adventure on the Bath Road.
The wonderful thing about a stage-coach was that it was a great equalizer. The upper classes, although affecting to despise this mode of travel, often stooped to use it, for a lady, say, could travel with only her maid rather than having to use not only her own carriage but hire five attendants to protect her from the perils of the road.
Hannah finally reached the Bell Savage and purchased an inside ticket for the Bath coach. She stood for a little while afterwards in the bustle of the inn yard. The coach had just arrived from Bath, swinging into the courtyard on its high red wheels. She could smell it, that smell of wood and leather and horse sweat.
Her heart began to beat hard with excitement. She stayed watching and listening for quite a long time before setting out on the long road home. By the time she reached Hyde Park corner, she realized she was tired, but no driver of a hack was going to risk the perils of Knightsbridge Road in darkness and so Hannah forged on alone, nervously looking to right and left, dreading every moment she would be attacked and wondering why she had not gone home immediately after leaving Gunter’s.
But at last she wearily climbed the stairs to her rooms above the bakery. She made up the fire and sat down exhausted in a battered armchair and kicked off her shoes.
Her eyes began to droop and once more she felt the swaying of the coach and the long blast of the guard’s horn as the Flying Machine bore her through the length and breadth of England.
About the Author
M.C. Beaton is the author of the hugely successful Agatha Raisin, Hamish Macbeth and Edwardian murder mystery series, all published by Constable & Robinson. She left a full-time career in journalism to turn to writing, and now divides her time between the Cotswolds, Paris and Istanbul.
Titles by M.C. Beaton
The Travelling Matchmaker series
The Edwardian Murder Mystery series
The Agatha Raisin series
