Chapter 51
In unspoken agreement, the travel-worn trio went in search of food. In no time at all, they were drawing towards an impressive-looking, bustling pub. Etta suddenly felt extremely shabby in her mud-covered borrowed dress: she wasn’t entirely convinced there was going to be room at this inn for them.
Max and Charlie had also clearly realised this as they entered the yard.
She saw an ostler point to her and start asking questions.
Max approached him and said something in an angry voice.
The ostler went off, giving her a cynical once-over on the way.
Max offered her his hand as she got down from his horse and brushed down her skirts.
‘So, old chap,’ said Charlie, ‘you got us rooms, then. How on earth did you explain Etta’s appearance?’
Max raised an eyebrow. ‘I told them she had been kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped?’ Charlie asked.
‘Couldn’t think of anything else to explain her lack of baggage, maid, or clothing. Charlie, they didn’t have two rooms available, so we’re going to have to share.’
Charlie gaped at him. ‘Share? With my damned sister?’
‘If your mother wants us to marry in your family church, I don’t see any other option.’
Hetty looked down at her crumpled, mud-strewn dress. ‘What about my clothes? I can’t wear this dress. I’m filthy.’
Max smiled, guiding her inside. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve hired a carriage to take us home first thing tomorrow. We’ll smuggle you in through the back entrance.’
As Max’s breathing evened out from the floor beside them and Charlie and Etta settled awkwardly, top to toe, into a small, lumpy bed, Etta realised she could hear sniffling by her feet.
Charlie tossed and turned next to her. ‘God, Henrietta, stop moving the blankets. You’re making my feet cold.’
His voice sounded hoarse, almost like …
‘Are you crying?’ asked Etta.
‘Never you mind.’
She sat up and got out of bed, shuffling around to his end.
‘You might as well tell me, you know. A problem shared is a problem halved.’
‘Not this one,’ said Charlie, but he sat up nonetheless and adjusted the ridiculous bedcap he’d borrowed from the landlord of the inn. He paused, and Etta waited while he wrestled with himself. Finally, he spoke.
‘I feel terrible, old girl. We’ve treated you appallingly, haven’t we? Me, really. I’ve been a complete blighter. You weren’t mad at all. We just didn’t – we didn’t give you a decent chance at things.’
‘Charlie …’ Etta put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t think I tried much either, did I?’
‘No, but we – Mama and I – we shouldn’t have just given up on you like that.’
‘You didn’t, though, did you?’ said Etta, a faint smile playing on her lips. ‘I seem to recall this all started with you strapping me into that chair in the cellar.’
Charlie brightened at this, taking his head out of his hands.
‘I say! I do believe you’re right there!’
‘Don’t go thinking it’s all down to you,’ Etta warned. ‘No way am I letting you—’
‘… Write a paper for the Royal Society? Gosh, I daresay I could actually get in! Imagine that?’
Etta’s grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.
‘Or not,’ Charlie continued, chastened. ‘Just glad you’re all right and tight, old girl.’
‘You’ll be dressed to the nines from now on, Etta,’ said Charlie, as she pulled at her dirty, travel-stained dress in the carriage the next morning. ‘Stanhope’s full of juice, aren’t you, old fellow? Should actually get him to take you to Paris and get you rigged up in all the latest fashions.’
‘I’ll take her anywhere she wants to go, and she can wear anything she likes.’
Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to manage this. Like April and May, you two. Very unfashionable, this sappiness.’
Etta yawned, then grinned. ‘What happens in Dover stays in Dover, Charlie.’
‘Too many secrets going on at the moment,’ Charlie grumbled. ‘Not sure how we’re going to keep track of them personally.’
‘I suppose the secrets are rarely written down for history, only the gossip.’
Max looked thoughtful. ‘Yes. I suppose when we look back, we’ll only have the newspapers, the tuppenny gossip sheets and the satirical comics to look back on. How depressing.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve been keeping a diary.’
They entered the house through a back door and were let in by an emotional Bessie. ‘Oh, miss, such a note you left me. I thought we’d never set eyes on you again!’
Max eyed Etta suspiciously. ‘Just how many notes did you leave?’
Her maid was looking sheepish as she pulled a glittering chain from her pocket. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, but I didn’t think you’d want to leave just yet, miss. I hope you don’t think I’ve done you wrong.’
‘No. I think you’ve done me the greatest favour possible,’ said Etta, clasping Bessie’s hands. ‘Bessie, you’ll be coming with me to live with Max, won’t you?’
Bessie looked deeply offended that Etta would have considered any alternative. ‘You wouldn’t leave me here, would you? Not take your lady’s maid?’
‘Well, no, but I wasn’t sure if—’
Bessie gasped. ‘That I’d not want to become lady’s maid to a marchioness? Begging your pardon, my lord. I know he’s not corked it yet, but …’
Max sank further into the background as a wailing Lady Bainbridge appeared and immediately clasped her errant daughter to her bosom. ‘Henrietta, you must never leave me again!’ She paused, collecting herself. ‘Well, I know you are to be married, but …’
Etta hugged her mother back. ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t go too far away, I promise. Only the next country estate along, remember.’
Lady Bainbridge hugged her again, impulsively. ‘Oh, Henrietta. Come, we must plan your trousseau. And the Bramley girls will want to see you, too. They visited this morning and were most concerned not to see you.’
Etta spared one final loving look for Max as she followed her mother obediently.
‘Yes, Mama, but … What’s a trousseau?’