Page 33

‘I’d like to point out, Miss Gray, it was you who raised it.

I was contentedly reading my book when you decided to poke your nose into your friend’s business.

’ He settled back, looking pleased to have claimed the last word.

Eliza turned away. He was right, she had been patronising towards Rose whose letter had told her she knew her own mind and made her own decisions about her life.

Eliza’s thoughts whirled with so many new and shocking ideas.

Rose would be gone from her for ever and she herself had just received a backhanded marriage proposal from someone she considered no more than a brotherly presence at best. Were Rose Bowman and Mr Flynn, with their pragmatic attitude to relationships between men and women, the wise ones – and she, the romantic fool?

Lacking family connections or prospects, she had declined out of hand a new life and marriage to a good, decent, attractive man who was as rich as Croesus, just because she had given her heart to another who she had been warned could not return her regard. What folly was this?

Such disquieting thoughts were interrupted as the coach drew into Hounslow for a change of horses, the wheels of the Wolfe coach clanking over the cobbles as they turned into the yard of The Crowing Cockerel.

After a hurried stop, everyone scrambled back into the coach; before nightfall they had to reach Knowl Hill where Mr Wolfe had booked them rooms. As the vehicle rolled towards notorious Hounslow Heath there was a frisson of expectation, even though the tract of rough grassland and scrub was nothing like as dangerous as it was in the previous century, when hundreds of highway robbers on horseback or foot had lurked in wait for travellers.

But its reputation remained, and Eliza saw the coachman place his blunderbuss across his knees.

Although she felt sure she saw a horseman waiting half-obscured in a scrubby copse of stunted trees, the journey through this windy wasteland was without incident.

Soon dusk was falling and the coach arrived at The Bird in Hand.

Eliza spent a restless night in a lumpy bed and could hear Emma wailing next door and Corinna and Meg’s soothing voices.

The child had seemed out of sorts on the journey, sleepy and grizzling, and Eliza hoped she was not ailing.

She felt a sympathy for Corinna, on whose pale face anxiety was writ large.

This onerous journey was all in aid of her search for family and she was aware of it being yet another imposition on her generous hosts.

At last, at the end of the third day, the coach and its weary passengers were finally on the outskirts of Bath, its pale limestone buildings gleaming pink in the sunset.

The river Avon ran through its centre and wooded hills to north and south seemed like a great amphitheatre for the spectacle that was the city itself.

‘It is beautiful,’ Eliza said, craning forward so she could see better in the vanishing light.

Mr Flynn looked up from his book. ‘I won’t read out the disobliging comments in this guidebook about how Bath has declined since its grand days last century when it really set the rules of fashionable life.’

‘I know, people complain it’s now filled with the elderly, ailing and lame. And far too many sad, unmarried women who eke out their diminishing allowances as companions or guides.’ Corinna was once again light-hearted, relieved that her daughter seemed to be better.

The coach lumbered over Pulteney Bridge, with its bright souvenir shops overlooking the tumbling weir below.

It pulled up outside a tall, imposing house on the south side of Great Pulteney Street.

The travellers climbed out, tired, hungry and stiff-limbed, and were relieved to find that Alick’s Aunt Jane had left instructions for the skeleton staff, who remained in residence, to welcome them in her absence.

Her under-butler, Toby, opened the door.

Still informally dressed, he ushered them in, taking bonnets and pelisses, then showed them the dining room where a cold buffet of roast beef, bread, ale, burgundy and pastries awaited.

Meg and Corinna had taken Emma upstairs to settle her for the night.

Zadoc Flynn and Eliza were left alone and after he had piled his plate with meat and bread, he sat down with a tankard of ale.

Suddenly aware of her own hunger, Eliza joined him at the table and he carved her some beef.

‘I intend to race Ohio, as you know, and am very keen to try her out at this famous Owners’ Race at Epsom. ’

Eliza nodded. ‘Lord Davenport has a beautiful stallion he intends to ride in that same race. I think he has an animus against Lord Purfoy whom he determines to best.’

‘Well, Purfoy on Horatio is the champion. ’Tis a pity he’s so haughty; everyone wants to beat him.’

Eliza sprang to his defence. ‘He’s not haughty! He is just the most skilled horseman with the best mount.’

Mr Flynn was eyeing her shrewdly. ‘As you know, Miss Gray, I’m too heavy to ride Ohio in a race. But you could.’

It was the second time since they had set out that he had completely astounded her with a plan. ‘Of course I can’t ride. I am not Ohio’s owner and I’m not a man.’

‘Both of those obstacles can be overcome.’ He was chuckling at his own ingenuity.

Eliza was even more emphatic when she said, ‘And most importantly, there is no way I’d be part of a ruse to deprive Lord Purfoy of his rightful crown.’

‘Oh don’t be so prosy and honourable, Miss Gray. You’re the best rider I know, and you’re lightweight. There’s little doubt in my mind you and Ohio would win.’

Eliza put down her ale glass and said, ‘Well, Mr Flynn, you’ll have to look to someone else.’ She stood up just as Corinna entered and sank, exhausted, into a chair. Eliza picked up a plate and said, ‘Can I collect you something to eat? It’s been such a long day.’

‘I’m so tired I think I’ll retire soon.’ Corinna sighed. ‘At least Emma seems to have recovered. I’m so relieved.’

Both women bade goodnight to Mr Flynn then walked up the stairs to their bedrooms on the second floor. Eliza turned to Corinna. ‘I can’t believe I’m in the same city as my father. I’m so grateful to you for making this possible. I’m sorry it’s been such a tiresome journey for you.’

Corinna laughed. ‘Wait until you’ve met him, my dear. You may not be thanking me then.’

* * *

Eliza woke early and contemplated the day ahead.

The sounds of the city in the street outside were unlike the sounds of London.

The wide thoroughfare of Great Pulteney Street meant carriages were driven faster, so the horses’ hooves sounded rhythmic and the jingling harnesses strangely soothing.

The calls of the delivery boys were in a soft West Country brogue.

There seemed to be more birdsong. Excitement rippled through her.

She felt she was on the brink of a new stage of her life.

She was about to meet her father and that thought alone made her heart beat faster.

Perhaps once she discovered where she belonged in the world it would help her understand her restlessness and hunger for affection: perhaps it would put her feelings for Lord Purfoy and Mr Flynn’s practical proposal of marriage into better perspective too?

Eliza dressed carefully in a day gown she knew flattered her colouring with its saffron silk twill and smart Cossack spencer in lilac wool to complete the outfit.

She examined her appearance in the looking glass and felt such an outfit would protect her from any but the worst buffetings of life.

As she was struggling to tame her mane of hair into a tidy bun, Polly tapped on the door and entered to immediately work her magic with plaits and tease her curls.

‘You’re very lucky, Miss Gray, to have such hair. Like an angel, miss.’

‘Thank you, Polly,’ Eliza said demurely but did not add what was in her heart: I wonder whether anyone in my family shares the same hair.

She then ran down the stairs in search of some paper and a quill.

The desk in the library was the obvious place to start and in the middle drawer she found a pile of creamy paper, some newly cut quills and a small bottle of already mixed black ink.

It was difficult to know how to address a man she could not remember ever knowing.

Her hand was shaking as she introduced herself, mentioning his cousin Lady Dauntsey, and asking for an audience.

Her signature was more constrained than usual; anxious as she was not to give the Marquess any reason to refuse her, she tried to make herself as unremarkable as possible.

Quickly folding the paper, she addressed and sealed it, then handed it to Toby.

‘Would you see that this is delivered to the Marquess of Bathwick at Bathwick Court?’

The young man was keen and talkative. ‘I know the place. Gloomy pile at the end of the road and yon Marquess as tumbledown as his lair. I shall deliver it me’self. Do you need a reply, miss?’

‘Yes please, Toby.’ This longed-for reunion suddenly felt real. To steady her nerves she walked through to the dining room in search of some coffee.

Corinna appeared, her face pale and tired. ‘Oh, coffee. Good,’ she said as Eliza poured her a cup. ‘Emma’s not very well again. I don’t know what might be ailing her.’

Eliza knew that childhood illnesses were dreaded by parents who understood too well how quickly a small body could succumb to infection. ‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you with her?’