there,’ he said and disappeared.
He was replaced by the aristocrat, who lifted Hannah out, then Mrs Seaton, the youth, the lawyer, and then finally, with a great heaving, Mrs Bradley.
‘You are a Trojan, sir,’ said Hannah to their rescuer. ‘I am Miss Hannah Pym.’
He smiled and swept off his hat. ‘And I, Miss Pym, am Harley. Lord Ranger Harley.’
Behind Miss Pym, the youth gave a slight moan and fainted dead away.
‘Puny little fellow,’ said Lord Harley with contempt. ‘Move aside, Miss Pym, and I will rub some snow on his face.’
In a flash, Hannah remembered her dream about Mrs Clarence. Something made her say urgently, ‘No, leave him to me.’
Lord Harley strode off and cut the traces and led one of the wheelers free, mounted it and rode off in search of help. All the other horses were, amazingly, unharmed.
While Hannah knelt down beside the fallen youth, the other passengers and the coachman and guard stood around in half-frozen attitudes, including Captain Seaton, who was cursing and mumbling and swearing blind he had seen a highwayman.
Hannah loosened Edward’s clothing and discovered that her budding suspicions had been right. ‘Edward’ was in fact not a beautiful young man but a beautiful young woman. But something prompted Hannah to help this girl keep up her disguise. She held a bottle of smelling-salts under the girl’s nose and watched those violet eyes flutter open. Then the eyes became wider with fear. ‘Hush,’ said Hannah, ‘do not say anything. Help is on the way.’ She raised the girl to her feet and kept close beside her.
The coachman was now sitting on a mound of snow drinking brandy, occasionally putting his flask down and moving his arms as if driving phantom horses. The guard had replaced his carbine with a blunderbuss. A sudden movement in the snow made him shout, ‘Highwayman!’, and point his blunderbuss. And the curious shepherd who had approached from behind a bush to view the stranded party turned too late to flee and got his backside peppered with shot. Hannah was reluctant to leave the girl, but something had to be done for the poor man. Mrs Bradley, revived from her dismal frozen torpor by the sight of the accident, bustled after Hannah carrying her basket and rummaging in it for all sorts of medicines to relieve pain. The shepherd was given brandy by the guard and then the ladies placed the afflicted man next to the coachman.
Hannah returned to the girl’s side. She was standing huddled beside the overturned coach in the shelter of the shallow pit. ‘Do not worry,’ said Hannah, ‘Lord Harley will fetch help.’ The girl shuddered and turned her face away.
Just when Hannah began to think she would never be able to feel her feet or hands again, she saw lights bobbing across the snow. The rescue party had arrived and kept on coming despite the fact that the guard shouted, ‘Foot-pads!’ and fired in its direction.
There was no sign of Lord Harley, but there was the landlord of the Nag’s Head at Bagshot, who had been told of the travellers’ plight by Lord Harley, beaming all over his face at the thought of visitors, and leading stable- boys carrying torches and ostlers carrying staves. There was also plenty of brandy for the frost-bitten and a post- chaise for the wounded.
The coach was righted and the horses hitched to it again. The captain commandeered the post-chaise for himself and his wife and the shepherd travelled inside with the lawyer, consulting him about damages.
Freezing and weary, the travellers entered the inn at Bagshot to find themselves facing the best welcome an English inn could offer the storm-bound stage-coach traveller. A great fire blazed, and on a huge long table sat iris- tinted rounds of beef, marble-veined ribs, gelatinous veal pies, colossal hams, gallons of old ale, bottles of wine, raised pies, tartlets, fruit and jellies and custard.
Hannah was never to forget that welcome. No one wanted to change out of his wet clothes; they were all too tired and hungry. Hannah could not ever remember being quite so ravenous. They all sat around the table. Lord Harley was already there. Having sent out help, he said he had seen no need to go along with it. There were the two other outside passengers: a round-faced farmer and a shabby gentleman with a pleasant face. The farmer said his name was Mr Burridge, and the shabby gentleman introduced himself as Mr Hendry.
They made a jolly party, Mrs Bradley telling all and sundry that she had a little jar of goose fat, the best thing for chilblains.
But as they ate themselves stiff and drank themselves silly, a certain acrimony began to creep in. The guard, still smarting from the coachman’s insult, started to mutter about the folly of being tied to a drunken sot.
The captain began to feel his nose had been put out of joint by this Lord Harley and began to talk darkly about adventurers and penniless younger sons who were no better than they should be. His wife tried to hush him; he snarled at her, and she looked at him in horrified amazement. The captain rallied and patted her hand and said he was the worst of beasts.
Lord Harley was studying ‘Edward’, and Hannah did not like the growing gleam of amusement in those dark eyes. He started to raise his glass to Edward, saying, ‘Take wine with me, Mr Smith.’ The custom demanded that Edward drink a glass of wine and raise a glass in return.
The landlord came in to say that the bedchambers were all ready and it was time to decide who slept in the same bedchamber with whom, ‘And be sure the party is congenial,’ he joked, ‘for you’ve got to share the same bed.’
The first surprise was when Mrs Seaton said in a trembling voice, ‘I shall share with Mrs Bradley.’
‘Come now, my dove,’ said the captain, affecting a hearty laugh. ‘You have had too much to drink.’
‘I have not had too much to drink,’ said Lizzie in a wobbly voice. ‘I am not Mrs Seaton, I am Mrs Lizzie Bisley, widow, and we are not yet wed, Captain Seaton, and I will not share your bed until we are.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘We’re as good as married,’ said the captain, breaking the silence. ‘We’re to be married in Exeter.’
Good heavens, thought Hannah, her nose twitching with excitement. Lizzie is not Mrs Seaton, and Edward is not Edward. Whatever next?
‘O’ course you can share with me, my duck,’ said Mrs Bradley, her eyes flashing. ‘Fie, for shame, Cap’n. You pigs o’ men can’t wait to get your leg o’er a lass. Come along, come along. I’ll make you a posset and you’ll sleep like a log.’
The captain stared ferociously into his glass while Mrs Bradley led Lizzie away. ‘That’s a fine woman, a fine woman, Seaton,’ said the little lawyer, Mr Fletcher, with unexpected ferocity, ‘and deserving of every courtesy and kindness.’
‘Want to make something of it?’ sneered the captain.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Fletcher, jumping to his feet, his wig askew. He bunched his thin fingers into fists and panted, ‘I’ll draw your cork.’
‘Sit down,’ ordered Lord Harley. ‘No one is going to fight anyone. Have we not all endured enough? Back to the sleeping arrangements, if you please.’ His eyes glinted oddly at Edward. ‘I suggest Mr Smith and I will get along tolerably well.’
Edward turned milk-white. Hannah rose to her feet and leaned on the table and glared at Lord Harley. ‘That will not answer, my lord, and well you know it.’
‘Indeed, Miss Pym,’ said his lordship in a silky voice. ‘And may I ask why?’
‘I am not Edward Smith,’ said the girl in a voice that shook pathetically. ‘I am Miss Emily Freemantle.’
‘I thought so,’ said Lord Harley laconically. ‘You don’t make a very convincing man.’
‘Hey!’ said the landlord. ‘What’s a goin’ on?’
‘My family betrothed me to that monster against my wishes,’ said Emily. ‘I ran away. I am going to my old nurse at Exeter until they change their minds and call off this disgusting marriage.’
‘I do not want to marry a silly little chit like you,’ said Lord Harley icily.
‘Then why did you come after me?’ demanded Emily. She had made an odd figure, dining with her beaver hat on. She took it off and placed it on a chair beside her, revealing a crop of auburn curls.
‘Your parents, minx, guessed where you had gone and I volunteered to search the posting-inns for you,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Did you never stop for one moment to think of the distress you were causing them?’
‘Why?’ said Emily in a voice thick with tears. ‘They never thought of me. They know I am in love with Mr Peregrine Williams, but did they listen? No! “You are to marry Lord Ranger Harley,” they said. You are old, sir, and have the reputation of the devil.’
