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CHAPTER XXXIV

Booker was, indeed, in high agitation and already dressed in her cloak. When Mary entered the bedroom, she sprang up in alarm.

‘Oh, it’s you, thank the Lord.’ Booker sank back into her chair, with a hand on her heart. ‘I’ve been that worried about a maid coming in and seeing the place …’

Two sealed trunks stood against the wall, screaming intention. The wardrobe was emptied; the washstand was cleared.

‘And how was the mistress then?’

‘Oh, Books .’ Mary staggered across the room, fell on to the bed and curled up like an infant. ‘She was … kind. Charming and honest and really – yes! – very kind .’

‘Humph.’ The maid shrugged. Once effort had been spent in coming to judgement, she would not go to the trouble of revising it. ‘All put on, I don’t doubt. Well, she picked a fine time to start …’

Mary gave a sad shake of her head. ‘Booker, you are a darling. But sometimes, you come across like my father …’ She sat up and hugged her knees. ‘It did not feel like pretence. Indeed, I truly believe that, for the very first time, she was at last being frank. It led me to wonder—’

‘There’s no time for wondering, miss.’ Booker rose, grabbed her hat and marched to the mirror, armed with a pin. ‘We’ve got a coach to catch.’

‘Oh, do sit down! We still have a whole, interminable hour and you are making me anxious.’ Mary needed to talk. ‘It led me to wonder how things might have been different. We could have had a better relationship, my mother and I. And perhaps I am to blame as much as she.’ Mary stared at the ceiling. ‘She must have viewed these five, motherless children as objects of terror. And we did not make it easy for her, that I confess. It was not as if we asked for a stepmother – who on earth ever would? We resented the role she was to play in our lives but, in so doing, did we ever consider the nature of the woman herself?’

‘Well, I’ve never heard such nonsense in all of my days.’ Booker stabbed pin into hat with some violence. ‘ She was the adult, and she is to blame. And that reminds me …’

She strode back to the chair and, sitting erect, addressed the drawn curtains. ‘While we’re on the subject of mothers … There are things she should have told you, if you were doing all this the proper way – though I doubt even then that she would’ve, as your class never does right by its children if it can help it.’ Booker cleared her throat and adjusted her bonnet. ‘On a gentleman’s wedding night, he likes to expect—’

‘Oh, dearest Books!’ Mary collapsed back on the bed with the giggles. ‘Spare yourself, do! Remember, they sent me to school, and for year upon year. What do you think genteel young ladies discuss after lights out – the catechism? There is no need to give me the Talk: I have heard it all backwards. Though if by, say, Newark we’re half dead of boredom, you could test me and Mr Knight on our knowledge? You remember, like Miss Atkinson used to do with French verbs and tenses …’

Booker now stared directly at Mary, jaw open, eyes stretched. ‘Well, I never did! Little Miss Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt …’ And once she had got over the shock of it, rose to reassert her authority. ‘Well, that’s enough of all that. Now, down to business!’ She marched to the desk and slammed a hand down on the writing paper. ‘You’ve put it off long enough.’

Mary covered her eyes then and let out a groan. She had planned to leave a few, brief words propped up on her dressing table, but Ned had counselled against. A note in the house could be discovered by chance before morning. If Sir Edward was alerted, he would send out a party to hunt them down. Instead, Mary must write a good letter to her father, Ned to his own and they would post them en route, well after midnight. By the time they were delivered, then it would be too late for her papa to obstruct them.

But the task was not easy. Mary sat down at the table, picked up her pen – stared into the vellum – summoned the words, but they did not hear her call. Booker paced, scoffed and chided. Mary wrote a few lines, scratched them out: started again. The clock ticked on the mantel and the long hand marched resolute up to the hour. Mary let out a cry of frustration, threw aside one sheet and reached for another. Until, suddenly, there were but minutes until the point of departure. The matter was urgent and she could only dash out an inadequate message:

My dearest Papa,

I am gone to Scotland with Mr Knight and beg that you not try to follow us, for it would be to no purpose.

I am sure I do feel so much the wickedness of what I have done and that nothing can alter the disgrace which I am bringing myself. I have no doubt that you will think me deserving of every cruel punishment. But, Father, I pray – do not withdraw your love from me. Anything but that evil, for I could never cease loving you – deeply and dearly.

To maintain your affection would bring me such happiness that there is almost nothing I would not sacrifice to effect it. But I cannot give up Mr Knight. As I have tried to tell you on several occasions, we are deeply in love. I only wish that you had troubled to hear me.

Forgive me, Papa. Dear, dear Papa, I beg you forgive me.

Your devoted daughter,

Mary Dorothea

‘There. ’Tis done.’ Mary sat back in her chair, stunned at her own audacity. Through hot tears, she watched as Booker snatched up the letter and packed it into her valise.

‘Right then.’ Booker came over, mopped at her face, then reached for her cloak and held it out like a matador.

Mary rose and let the maid dress her before glancing at the clock. ‘Three minutes to go …’

And together, they stood to hand in hand, stared at the slow progress of time. Until: ‘Lord above, what a spectacle!’ Booker burst out. ‘What on earth are we doing? This is madness. Careering off to the ends of the earth …’

Though the tension was close to unbearable, Mary could not help but smile. ‘Scotland, darling,’ she reproached, with an encouraging nudge and a smile. ‘We are only going to Scotland.’

‘ Scotland. ’ Booker shuddered. ‘The North Pole, Timbuctoo … They’re all one and the same to me, and that’s the absolute back of beyond of the ends of the earth, if I know my geography.’

But of course: she was terrified! Again, Mary twisted with guilt, for here was another good woman who did not deserve it. She put an arm around Booker’s broad shoulders. ‘You are so brave, dearest.’ She kissed the maid’s cheek. ‘So wonderfully brave and I thank you – thank you – for agreeing to come with me. I could not even think of doing this without you.’

‘As if I had a choice,’ Booker retorted. ‘You can’t do a blind thing without me.’

Mary moved to gather her in a proper embrace. And then it came: the chime of the bells of neighbouring churches. They both froze – counted each strike. And on the ninth, Booker crept to the door – listened to the slumbering silence – and each grabbed their valise.

The maid cast one lingering look at their trunks: ‘You really do trust that mistress to send our things on?’

Mary reassured her again. ‘After this evening, I am convinced of it.’

And, hands enjoined, they tiptoed down the stairs.

It was still only the middle of May, and though the days were now fine, the night was a cold one. Brisk air slapped Mary’s face; her lungs felt close to splitting. Still holding hands, they ran down Great George Street towards St James’s Park, where, at last, Mary pulled Booker in.

‘Here,’ she gasped. ‘Storey’s Gate.’ She clutched at the railings. ‘He definitely said “Storey’s Gate”.’

They hid beneath the branches of a budding magnolia, and peered out. The odd conveyance came trundling past, but all were unhurried and none stopped for them.

‘So where he is then?’ Booker said, as if hopeful. ‘That great lover of yours has changed his mind, has he?’

‘He will come.’ Mary smiled back. She now had her breath back and her spirits were rising. ‘There are still a few minutes to go ’til our rendezvous.’

‘And just suppose he does not, eh?’ Now, she was close to triumphant.

Oh, Mary thought, how you long for that! ‘Then we shall take to our beds and I hereby pledge to unpack both of our trunks before breakfast,’ she replied briskly.

Mary’s faith was unwavering. Ned would not desert her. No plan of his could ever fail. There was but one, last, small piece of business which still troubled her. ‘Books dear, where will you be sitting on the journey, do you suppose?’

She had long dreamed of being alone in that carriage with her future husband: thundering north in his arms. The stuff of romance! A memory to share through a long, married lifetime! An outspoken maid with a loathing of travel might prove somewhat dampening. On the other hand, two days on the back with the boxman did seem rather cruel …

Booker shot her a look of pure outrage. ‘I shall be right in the middle of you two, thank you very much. You are still an unmarried lady, madam, may I remind you? It falls to me – and me alone – to protect your good reputation.’

‘I fear it is a bit late for that!’ Mary laughed and shivered with delight at her new wickedness.

She looked up Horse Guards and down Birdcage Walk, while her mind did the arithmetic. It must by now be four after nine … So one minute to go until the time he had promised her … Silently, Mary counted the seconds … reached five … He could not – he would not – let her down now …

And, at that very moment – as if out of nowhere – a coach-and-six came suddenly careering towards them. The two women froze; each groped for the hand of the other and squeezed it.

‘Is it him ?’ Booker whispered.

‘Surely—’ Mary could barely breathe.

‘Good heaven above – do you not see? It could be anyone – lover or bandit!’

And there they were, two ladies at night – alone and unguarded.

‘Oh, Lord,’ the maid muttered, in terror. ‘Oh, foolish child, what have you done to us ?’

The driver pulled on the reins, drew up, jumped down to the pavement: raised his hat in respect.

‘ Daniel? ’ Mary fell back in astonishment. ‘ Is it?’ She gasped. ‘It is! Dear Daniel , of Mersham-le Hatch!’

‘Daniel of Chawton now, my love.’ Ned was beside her, taking her hand from her maid’s. ‘He was not easy to find. But I am delighted to report that Daniel has kindly agreed to work for us from now on.’

Us … They were now us … And he had gone to all that trouble on her behalf … Oh, Mary could swoon into this fine gentleman’s arms.

But he was holding out the door, ushering the ladies into their seats. Booker took up her position in the middle – solid as a brick wall. Ned slapped on the carriage, cried: ‘Gretna Green!’ and they set off in haste.