Page 27 of The Book of Lost Stories

Driven

Now fear also imprisoned Cecily, for the accidents that seemed to dog her footsteps were too numerous to be anything other than an attempt on her life, and she was sorely afraid.

Could she – should she – trust Simon de Lombard? His dark and silent form dogged her every footstep, although whether he was gaoler or protector she had yet to determine.

Ravish’d by Cruel Fate by ORLANDO brOWNE

Alys put on one of her prettier walking dresses the next morning as armour against Lord Rayven’s unwanted and sardonic presence, but it was a decision she was later to regret.

She was ready in very good time and, as usual, immediately set forth to give Pug an airing in Portman Square before leaving him with Sammy.

It was really the nicest day they had had since her arrival in London, she reflected, stepping into the quiet road with Pug and heading towards the sooty expanse of grass that passed for a garden.

He had caught an intriguing scent and was tugging at his lead, and she only hoped it was not something unsavoury, for he was a changed dog these days and had developed a nose for such delicacies as old fish heads and the like.

Unfortunately, he was not bright enough to realize that his only reward for such cleverness was to be bathed, a procedure he hated.

The sudden sound of hoofs and the rumble of wheels warned her of a carriage’s fast approach. Looking up, startled, she glimpsed it almost upon her: the flared red nostrils of the horses, their flashing hoofs and a caped figure driving them, his face concealed by a hat pulled low and a muffler.

Reacting without thought, she scooped up Pug and flung herself aside, staggering as the vehicle rushed past, then sat down hard upon the road.

Pug must have slipped from her grasp, for he walked up and licked her face, before settling himself down next to her in a fidgety sort of way, like an old gentleman uncertain if he wished to sit on so dirty a surface.

Alys was very certain that she did not, yet she seemed to have lost the power to rise to her feet.

The carriage had not stopped, or even slackened speed, and now vanished, leaving only a slatternly maid as audience to her mishap. She was standing some yards away regarding Alys with her mouth open, but as a smart curricle drew up she scurried away, as if she might be blamed for the incident.

Alys flinched, but it was merely Lord Rayven. He leaped down, tossing the reins to his groom and, stooping over her, demanded urgently, ‘Miss Weston? Are you hurt? I had no very clear view of what happened, for I was just turning the corner, but I did not think you were struck.’

Alys looked up … and it seemed a long way up … to his concerned eyes.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘can you stand? We must get you indoors again. I cannot think how you come to be out here alone in the first place.’

‘Too autocratic …’ she murmured, hauled to her feet and dizzily leaning on his arm.

Then she pulled herself together and stood erect, smoothing down a gown that was beyond repair and straightening her bonnet.

‘I was taking Pug for a turn up and down the square, as I do every morning before I go out.’

‘You should not do so.’ He retrieved the end of Pug’s lead and handed it to her.

‘For fear of an accident?’

‘Does it not strike you as odd that a carriage should almost hit the only pedestrian in the street at this time of the morning and then drive on without stopping?’

‘There was a maid … but she is gone. And I suppose the driver was so aghast at the result of his lapse of attention to the road that he was afraid to turn back. But thank you for your assistance, Lord Rayven.’

‘It is as well that I was early,’ he said cryptically, then added, ‘I do not suppose you still mean to go out today?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘I do not see why not. I must change my dress, of course, but that will not take me more than a very few minutes, and then I wish to see Westminster Abbey. Nell says the effigies in one of the chapels are horrid .’

‘I suppose they are, but we need not look at them.’

‘Not look at them? Why, had I known about them earlier, I would have already visited the Abbey! But you cannot wish to see sights that must be commonplace to you and I will be perfectly safe there, surely, so that—’

‘I will await you,’ he said firmly, and he was very surprised when she did indeed run out again in little more than ten minutes, still tying the pink ribbons of her bonnet and a little hampered in that task by the ominously fat guidebook under her arm.

Lord Rayven’s horses were fresh and lively, but it was a relief to see how well he handled the reins: indeed, it made her realize in comparison how very poor her cousin Nat’s skills in that direction were.

She stole a look at her companion’s hawk-nosed and arresting, if not precisely handsome, face, and thought he looked as if he was wishing himself elsewhere.

‘How quiet the Town is so early. It is quite my favourite time of day. But I am sorry to drag you from your bed, for it seems to me that fashionable folk are out half the night and asleep most of the day.’

Mr Rivers, she had noticed, very often did not come home at all, for his candle was still on the hall table when she went out in the mornings. But she supposed Nell was only too glad not to have his company these days.

‘You forget I was a soldier, Miss Weston, and so have not managed to attain the habit of sleeping late. I find my head very clear for transacting business first thing, and then often ride in the park before breakfast.’

‘Then I am sorry to divert you from your usual habits, although it is quite your own fault for insisting. I cannot imagine why you do so.’

‘Why, I hope to make some amends for so grossly mistaking your character in Harrogate, by rendering you this small service,’ he said lightly.

‘Then are you not afraid that people will think it very odd behaviour in you, should it become known that you are driving me about every morning in this fashion?’

She saw by some slight change in his expression that she had hit the nail on the head, and he was regretting his impulsive offer, for fear that she – and the world – should take his attentions to mean a warmer interest in her than he felt.

‘Should anyone mention the matter, I would advise you to say that I do so at the particular request of your grandfather,’ he suggested, ‘and I will do the same.’

‘Oh, it does not matter to me what people assume, for since I have no intention of marrying I do not fear that your actions will put off potential suitors. In fact, I will probably tell anyone vulgar enough to mention the matter that I cordially dislike you and that you inflicted your company on me without any encouragement whatsoever.’

‘Thank you, Miss Weston,’ he said, rather tight-lipped.

‘You are very welcome, sir. I would not for the world cause any pang of jealousy in the bosoms of those numerous eligible young ladies who are, I am convinced, hoping that you will cast the handkerchief in their direction.’

Since choosing a suitable bride had been his intention this season, he felt unreasonably annoyed, and piqued.

‘It seems we understand each other,’ he said shortly, and then said no more until they reached their destination.

Alys was pleased with Westminster Abbey, which so early in the day had a gloomy air of importance, as if it knew many secrets she did not, which she supposed it might well do.

But the chapel with the rather decayed effigies particularly took her fancy.

Lord Rayven watched her in some amusement as she carefully looked over each, before standing in the middle and murmuring, with her eyes half-closed, ‘At night, illuminated only by rays of moonlight shining through the windows? If this should be the chapel of some Gothic mansion, and she is locked there, alone … She tells herself there is nothing to fear from the dead or from the waxen figures, but then one begins to slowly move towards her …’

She opened her eyes and saw that Rayven was watching her with a very odd expression on his face. ‘Oh, pray excuse me,’ she said with an unconvincing laugh, ‘for I have been reading too many novels, you know, so that my imagination runs away with me.’

‘Yes, so I perceive. Perhaps you should read the more sober works of Miss Austen until you have recovered from such fits of fancy?’

‘I very much enjoy her books already, for her heroines are sensible and she sorts out the tangles so neatly—’ She stopped.

‘Well, if you have seen enough, perhaps we should return home?’ he suggested.

Alys cast a last lingering glance at the still figures around her, then reluctantly accompanied him out, intending to write down the scene that had occurred to her the very second she could, for it was so vivid in her mind.

Lord Rayven left her at the Rivers’ house with an admonition not to walk Pug alone any more, to which she answered nothing, not meaning to let one unfortunate accident stop her – although she might, for the time being, avoid crossing the road …

*

Alys just had time to pen a description of her accident and her impressions of the chapel at Westminster Abbey before breakfast. They would have to be written up later, for not only was she to learn the steps of the quadrille that day, but also visit her grandfather again.

An escape from under the wheels of a mysterious carriage would become an exciting new chapter in Death or Dishonour , a deliberate and murderous act on the part of the villainous Sir Lemuel Grosby, who wished to kill his wife and so leave the way clear to marry Drusilla, who was an heiress, although she did not yet know it.

Perhaps when she snatches Lady Grosby from under the very wheels, Drusilla catches sight of the fury on Sir Lemuel’s face, but he explains it as being directed at the driver …? Alys mused.