predicament but becaue he remembered how infectious Emily’s laughter had been outside the kitchen door.
Mr Fletcher began to laugh as well, until a thud from the next room and the captain’s voice roaring, ‘Quiet!’ effectively reminded him of his worries and his laughter died.
‘There is something nasty about that fellow,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Watch how you go.’
‘I shall. I shall indeed. What a gross individual.’
‘And I suspect a cruel one,’ said Lord Harley slowly. ‘Do not let yourself be alone with him.’
‘If he tries anything, I shall trounce him,’ said Mr Fletcher.
‘You cannot trounce a knife in the back,’ said Lord Harley.
6
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast
Is that portentous phrase, ‘I told you so.’
Lord Byron
Mr Fletcher’s leg proved a bad weather-vane. The storm was raging as viciously as before when the travellers met in the kitchen. Emily was subdued. She had put on her wool gown again after giving it a good brushing, muslin having proved too cold for even a well-fired English inn. It was all very well to wear delicate muslins and silks when there were gentlemen to charm, but who was there to charm among this odd assembly? Certainly not Lord Ranger Harley, unfeeling brute that he was. He must know she was delicate. He had seen her faint at the very sound of his name. Hannah had pointed out to Emily that her faint wasprobably due to overexcitement and lack of food, having noticed that ‘Edward’ had eaten nothing on the journey until they reached Bagshot.
Emily was feeling martyred and rather enjoying it. She looked at her pink, burnt fingers with a certain amount of satisfaction. How her parents would exclaim at her treatment. There would certainly be no question of their frail and beautiful daughter marrying such an ogre. But then that old uncomfortable thought crept into her mind. Lord Harley showed no signs of wanting to marry her. As she began to clear away the dirty dishes, she cast him a sidelong look. He was sitting at his ease at the head of the table. He was wearing a black coat with silver buttons and a ruffled shirt. His black hair shone in the lamplight and his black eyes were lazy and amused. Lizzie, too, was helping to clear up. She had collected a heavy pile of dishes. Lord Harley promptly jumped to his feet and took them from her. He never would have thought of doing that for me, sulked Emily, stalking off into the scullery.
‘It looks as if we are allocated dishwashing duties this morning,’ came Lord Harley’s voice behind her. ‘I observe you have burnt your fingers. You had best let me wash and you dry.’
‘It is nothing,’ said Emily mournfully. ‘I am become accustomed to pain.’
‘Mortification is good for the soul,’ he said heartlessly. ‘When you return to your pampered life and that chuckle-headed governess of yours, you will appreciate all the cosseting as never before. You willtell your future husband times out of number of your dreadful adventures on this particular journey, for no more adventures will happen to you.’
‘And what makes you think that?’ demanded Emily, watching him take off his coat and roll up his sleeves.
‘You are not the kind to have adventures,’ he said. ‘You think too much about yourself. People who think of others somehow make for themselves an adventurous life.’
‘But I do think of others!’ exclaimed Emily, cut to the quick.
He gave her a gentle push aside and lifted a bucket of hot water from the floor and poured it into the sink. ‘Who, for instance?’
‘For instance,’ whispered Emily, ‘poor little Mrs Bisley. She must not marry that captain.’
‘And how do you think that can be prevented?’
Emily’s eyes shone. ‘You could challenge him to a duel.’
‘I do not duel with such as Captain Seaton. In fact, I go to extreme lengths to avoid duels.’
He handed Emily a dish to dry.
‘So,’ said Emily, rubbing
Mr Fletcher began to laugh as well, until a thud from the next room and the captain’s voice roaring, ‘Quiet!’ effectively reminded him of his worries and his laughter died.
‘There is something nasty about that fellow,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Watch how you go.’
‘I shall. I shall indeed. What a gross individual.’
‘And I suspect a cruel one,’ said Lord Harley slowly. ‘Do not let yourself be alone with him.’
‘If he tries anything, I shall trounce him,’ said Mr Fletcher.
‘You cannot trounce a knife in the back,’ said Lord Harley.
6
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast
Is that portentous phrase, ‘I told you so.’
Lord Byron
Mr Fletcher’s leg proved a bad weather-vane. The storm was raging as viciously as before when the travellers met in the kitchen. Emily was subdued. She had put on her wool gown again after giving it a good brushing, muslin having proved too cold for even a well-fired English inn. It was all very well to wear delicate muslins and silks when there were gentlemen to charm, but who was there to charm among this odd assembly? Certainly not Lord Ranger Harley, unfeeling brute that he was. He must know she was delicate. He had seen her faint at the very sound of his name. Hannah had pointed out to Emily that her faint wasprobably due to overexcitement and lack of food, having noticed that ‘Edward’ had eaten nothing on the journey until they reached Bagshot.
Emily was feeling martyred and rather enjoying it. She looked at her pink, burnt fingers with a certain amount of satisfaction. How her parents would exclaim at her treatment. There would certainly be no question of their frail and beautiful daughter marrying such an ogre. But then that old uncomfortable thought crept into her mind. Lord Harley showed no signs of wanting to marry her. As she began to clear away the dirty dishes, she cast him a sidelong look. He was sitting at his ease at the head of the table. He was wearing a black coat with silver buttons and a ruffled shirt. His black hair shone in the lamplight and his black eyes were lazy and amused. Lizzie, too, was helping to clear up. She had collected a heavy pile of dishes. Lord Harley promptly jumped to his feet and took them from her. He never would have thought of doing that for me, sulked Emily, stalking off into the scullery.
‘It looks as if we are allocated dishwashing duties this morning,’ came Lord Harley’s voice behind her. ‘I observe you have burnt your fingers. You had best let me wash and you dry.’
‘It is nothing,’ said Emily mournfully. ‘I am become accustomed to pain.’
‘Mortification is good for the soul,’ he said heartlessly. ‘When you return to your pampered life and that chuckle-headed governess of yours, you will appreciate all the cosseting as never before. You willtell your future husband times out of number of your dreadful adventures on this particular journey, for no more adventures will happen to you.’
‘And what makes you think that?’ demanded Emily, watching him take off his coat and roll up his sleeves.
‘You are not the kind to have adventures,’ he said. ‘You think too much about yourself. People who think of others somehow make for themselves an adventurous life.’
‘But I do think of others!’ exclaimed Emily, cut to the quick.
He gave her a gentle push aside and lifted a bucket of hot water from the floor and poured it into the sink. ‘Who, for instance?’
‘For instance,’ whispered Emily, ‘poor little Mrs Bisley. She must not marry that captain.’
‘And how do you think that can be prevented?’
Emily’s eyes shone. ‘You could challenge him to a duel.’
‘I do not duel with such as Captain Seaton. In fact, I go to extreme lengths to avoid duels.’
He handed Emily a dish to dry.
‘So,’ said Emily, rubbing
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