Chapter 27
The following days felt like some of the most tedious and drawn-out that Lucy had ever experienced.
It was not for the lack of activities, for the pending nuptials of Charlotte Wyndham gave rise to several events that Lucy was obliged to attend.
Normally she would have managed the dress shopping and picnic celebrations despite her usual discomfort at social events, but what dragged out the time was the anticipation and focus of her thoughts on the approaching full moon and the racing it entailed.
The appeal of this was threefold. First and foremost was the chance to see her construction and design come to practical form in a racing coach. Ever since she was young, fascinated with her model, she had dreamed of one day having that chance on a grand scale, and better yet to see it race.
Racing itself was the second attraction.
Her skill as a messenger in the prior race and the compliments from Dashwood had proved to her she was more than capable of the role.
She was well aware of the physical risks and of the unseemliness that would reflect on her if her part were to become known in society.
Yet in the world of the Night Races, it did not seem inappropriate at all.
Perhaps what concerned her most from her one and a half races was that they had given her a taste of something she could not deny she wanted more of.
But the rush of wind, the speed of the wheels, the pounding of her heart – those were more visceral desires, ones that could not so easily be rationalised.
Nor could the third attraction: the company of Captain Dashwood. She silently chastised her sister for bringing that to her attention. Yet Margaret had only given words to something that clearly already existed.
She had found in the gentleman a level of ease she had seldom known.
He took no offence at her eccentricities, and so made it that much harder for her to critique herself in his presence.
In fact, he seemed to approve of some of the habits she had long learned to keep hidden.
For all his admirable talents, his greatest might be that of allowing Lucy to feel at ease with herself around him.
Whether constructing, conversing or careening through the night, it was clear she wished to spend more time with him.
This was something entirely new to her and she was not, for the most part, inclined to new things.
Ever since her sister had mentioned it, Lucy had begun to overthink it.
Were it a normal connection, in good society, she could have made use of society’s clear rules.
But it was definitely not a normal connection.
Those were formed at balls and picnics by gentlemen seeking a companion of good character and good family, not a fellow racer, coach-builder and defender of the realm.
Such a courtship fitted nowhere into the framework Lucy was familiar with.
It was a game she did not know the rules for.
More frighteningly, it might be a game for which there were no rules at all.
And so, as frustrating as Lucy found them, there was at least order and distraction in the social events she was taking part in. Had she been at home alone, she had no doubt her mind would be whirling, so the brakes of society at least had a practical purpose.
She had never been close to Charlotte Wyndham, but there could be little doubt that the woman was happy and excited about the upcoming events.
A supper party at Wyndham Manor was among the least appealing of the activities for Lucy, but one she knew she must attend.
The young women in attendance were not great in number, just under twenty, but the noise they were able to generate seemed to exceed that of a full assembly.
Lucy found herself trapped in a conversation about fashion with Sarah Mayhew, Katherine Dyer and Felicity King.
They persisted in asking her opinion, which she answered with increasing difficulty, not due to the questions themselves, but rather the rising cacophony around her.
If either the questions or the noise stopped she might be able to focus, but as they both persisted she found herself in an increasingly agitated state.
When she found herself contemplating whether Felicity would fit in the fireplace if pushed hard enough, Lucy decided to throw nicety to the wind and break away from the conversation without excuse.
The spring evening air was no cooler than that inside, but she immediately felt relief as she stepped onto the empty patio, steadying herself on a railing.
‘Underwood, Thornbrook, Rawleigh, Pemberley Cross, Norfolk,’ she listed quietly.
As she drew even breaths and felt her tension melting away, she heard a noise that attracted her attention.
Charlotte Wyndham had stepped outside, and for a moment Lucy was afraid she was there to ask her back in.
But there was an uncertainty about the woman’s step, and her high spirits were far more muted than Lucy had seen them in many days.
The out-of-character appearance made Lucy ease away from her inner turmoil and ponder what might have brought about such a change.
‘Miss Elliot,’ the bride-to-be began, ‘I find myself in an oddly perilous position in talking to you. In a time where I am surrounded by merriment, there is a matter I fear requires a more sober perspective. Thus, seeing the opportunity that we may speak alone, I thought it wise to take it.’
‘And what is the cause of this perilousness?’
‘Perhaps I overstate myself. My fear is of you. Forgive me if I am uncivil, but you have been curt with me before in a manner that I have been embarrassed by, and yet now it is that very candour I seek. I must trust that you will keep this conversation between us … that you will not laugh at me.’
‘I swear I shall neither share nor laugh.’ Lucy nodded. ‘Though if it is a matter regarding marriage, I fear I am ill-equipped to offer any advice.’
‘Were it an issue of my engagement to Mr St Martin I should have no end of open ears and helpful mouths. This is a much more curious matter. I know I am given to colourful tales, but I assure you that I do not indulge in that now.’
Lucy could not imagine where Charlotte was going, so she simply let her speak at her own pace.
‘Last night, I dined at St Martins Hall. My father had planned to be there, but business dealings in London prevented him, so I was the sole representative of my family. It was a pleasant dinner. George was his delightful self; his father was eager to know all about my family and even the other Mr St Martin seemed in good spirits, when he is so often sombre. I played at the pianoforte for a short time after dinner and then left in the St Martins’ coach to return home.
It was all a perfectly ordinary and enjoyable evening …
until we come to the part that I swear you to secrecy on. ’
Here she hesitated and Lucy was forced to coax her.
‘I assure you, Charlotte, I have known greater secrets than what you are about to tell me, and I would not laugh when you are so clearly in earnest.’
The other woman nodded then continued. ‘As we left the estate, I heard a noise behind us, of hooves. My first thought was that I had left something behind and George had ridden after us that he might return it. But when I opened the shutters – I can scarcely believe it even as I tell it – there was a horseman following us, Lucy. Not at pace to catch up, but riding steadily.’
‘That does not seem so odd. There are many on the roads at this time of year, especially as the moon waxes.’
‘I have not yet told the extraordinary part. It was a horse and rider both all in white. I could see them in the moonlight. Yet … the rider had no head.’
Whatever Lucy had expected, it wasn’t this. She glanced about, half-suspecting this was some manner of prank. But Charlotte seemed genuine and shaken in her tale.
‘A headless horseman?’ Lucy said.
‘I know how ridiculous it sounds.’ Charlotte sighed.
‘You understand my quandary? I am fond of telling ghost stories or local legends. They are entertaining. In moments of fancy I might believe them to have grounding. But it is quite another thing to see such with one’s own eyes.
So who now am I to tell? My friends are so fixed upon my marriage that I can hardly raise it, and if I did then they would pass it off as another of my stories.
’ She met Lucy’s gaze earnestly. ‘So I turn to you, Lucy, not in spite of your past bluntness but because of it. You have a rational mind that will not entertain foolishness. So it is to you that I hope I may unfold my story and be believed.’
As strange as the entreaty was, Lucy did believe her, at least in as much as she was recounting the experience as best she could.
‘How did you react when you saw the rider?’
‘I was quite paralysed. I wished to call the coachman, but found myself unable to speak. It was quite a sense of dread that overtook me. I wondered at the absurd notion that the rider might have come for me as penance for all the malicious tales I had told about him. Foolish, I know, but in moments of anxiety one may think the strangest things.’
‘You say the rider did not gain on you?’
‘No. If anything, we drew further apart. This gave me some relief it might just as likely be an omen as a vengeful spirit.’
‘And how long did it follow you?’
‘Some way. The last I saw it was upon Rushmore Hill, just after the branch to our grounds. Just as I was fearing it would follow me all the way home, it stopped. I saw it briefly on the hilltop then it turned and headed back the way we came. You cannot imagine the relief I felt, and yet I have tried ever since to make sense of it. What advice do you have for me, Lucy?’
Lucy pondered what she might say that was honest but did not offend the poor girl, who was now trembling though the evening air was still warm.
‘If the rider meant you harm, I should think it was quite capable of it, so that threat may be disregarded,’ Lucy explained. ‘If it is an omen, then it is an ill-defined one. If it wishes you to amend your behaviours then it must work harder to clarify its intentions.’
To this Charlotte chuckled slightly, which Lucy approved of.
‘In all honesty, Charlotte, I think you were perhaps the subject of a strange prank. The rider neither appeared nor disappeared as a spirit might. It rode upon the path as you or I would. Were it not for the absence of a head, I am sure you would not have thought it anything supernatural.’
‘Perhaps not. But the absence of a head is not easily dismissed.’
‘A misdirection, I should think. There are many ways such an effect might be achieved. You were in a moving coach, some way off, in the night. And the horse, I take it, was of no ethereal nature whatsoever?’
‘It was white,’ Charlotte countered. ‘Though I see now that is hardly cause to assume it a spirit.’
‘It is a curious incident, Charlotte. That I do not deny. But we cannot derive meaning of it yet, be it of this world or another. You should not trouble your mind on events uncertain and beyond your control.’
‘Thank you, Lucy.’ Charlotte nodded gratefully. ‘You swear you will tell no one?’
‘No one. But it is most peculiar. You must speak to me if it occurs again.’
‘I most certainly shall,’ said Charlotte. ‘Shall we go back in? I am sure they will be noticing my absence by now.’
Lucy agreed and they walked back towards the house. She dismissed the idea of ghosts, but a mysterious rider on roads plagued by highwaymen? That was most certainly something to keep note of.