Page 39 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)
Reckless or romantic?
After an hour poring over a battered copy of John Cary’s New Itinerary and considering the various routes Stonehaven might take, Bea had formed a plan.
Bearing in mind the length of the journey and the villages closest to a turnpike, she thought it most likely they would stop and spend the night around Westerham.
This might mean anywhere between Sundridge, Brasted, or Limpsfield, but it was her best guess, and she determined to feel confident in her choice.
That she might make a mistake was too terrifying, and the audacity of what she was about to do made her feel queasy as it was.
As Mrs Mabbs had informed the entire household that Bea was under the weather, no one was surprised when she elected to have a light nuncheon in her room and then a lie down.
Izzy came to visit her once she had finished her own meal, and Bea felt herself to be an utter beast for pretending to be asleep, but there was no other option.
Izzy would know at once that Bea was up to something, and she could not bear to lie to her.
Happily, Izzy just fussed about, covering her up with a blanket before she gave Bea’s hair a fond stroke and left her to sleep.
No doubt Izzy believed Bea was heartbroken as Stonehaven had left that morning.
Well, she wasn’t wrong, she just did not understand the lengths Bea would go to in order to put things right… if that were even possible.
The moment Izzy left the room, Bea got to her feet and pulled out the clothes she had hidden earlier after raiding the dressing up boxes.
The Honeywells enjoyed putting on theatricals at Christmas and had amassed quite a store of costumes.
Bea had ransacked this collection, searching for something that might help her make the journey to Westerham with no one any the wiser.
Naturally, travelling as Miss Honeywell was out of the question, so she had cobbled together a costume that she hoped might help her pass as a young man.
Looking at herself critically in her mirror, she was uncertain of the results.
Certainly, she did not look like herself, but the trousers were far too big, and she’d had to stab a new hole through the worn leather belt she’d found.
The shirt, in contrast, was rather snug, straining across her bust, and so she was pleased with a rather oversized waistcoat that covered it.
She added a jaunty blue neckerchief, tied haphazardly, before shrugging on a coat that had once been fine but had seen better days.
The final touch was a rather battered straw hat that had the benefit of being capacious enough to hide her hair and much of her face.
Shoes were the only difficulty and, as she might have many miles to walk this day, Bea risked her oldest boots. They were plain and robust and not especially feminine, so she hoped no one would notice them.
With her ensemble in place, the next difficulty was leaving the house, but this turned out to be easier than she had imagined when her father called for Izzy and the two of them went out on some errand, allowing Bea to scurry out of the front door whilst the servants were busy below stairs.
Taking the longer route past the long abandoned Winsham Castle and avoiding the busier road that led past Hatherley Hall, Bea strode out.
With luck, once she made it to the main road out of town, she might get a lift from someone who would take her into Rye, though she must take care to avoid anyone who might recognise her.
From there, she could get on a stagecoach heading towards London.
She had been walking for the best part of an hour when she heard trotting hooves approaching and turned to see a smart young man driving a small dog cart.
He slowed as he saw her, and she wondered why he looked familiar.
The way he was looking at Bea made her wonder if she had been recognised too, but she did not believe she knew the man.
“Would you care for a lift?” the fellow asked. He had a pleasant voice that gave little away about his origins, but his face was open and friendly. Thickly lashed grey eyes twinkled at her and she wondered again why he looked familiar.
“I would, if it’s not an imposition?” Bea replied, doing her best to pitch her voice lower. She hoped the fellow would not wish to converse too much, for she did not know how long she could keep it up.
“It’s not, else I wouldn’t have offered. Up you jump, then. Where are you off to?”
“Westerham,” Bea replied, hoping he did not ask why, for she had not thought of a good excuse. Perhaps she lived there and had been visiting a friend in Little Valentine. All well and good, unless the fellow knew Westerham well and asked her about a place she’d never been before.
The man slanted her a considering look. “I’m Alfred Marwick. Pleased to meet you…?”
He left the sentence hanging for Bea to reciprocate, but she recognised the name and was instantly diverted.
“Marwick? But I know your sister,” she said at once, and then wanted to bite out her tongue. She blushed, wondering how on earth she was to explain this bit of impertinence. To her surprise, Mr Marwick, instead of taking offence, roared with laughter.
“Oh, my dear. You’re going to have to do better than that if you wish to pass for a young man or you’ll find yourself facing pistols at dawn long before you reach Westerham.”
Bea stared at him, aghast. He chuckled, shaking his head.
“Don’t look so appalled. I’ll not give you away. It’s none of my affair and Alice tells me you appear to be a sensible girl and not at all the ninny most people assume, given your looks, Miss Honeywell.”
Taken aback, Bea did not know what to say. “How did you recognise me?”
“Alice pointed you out to me once, and your kind of beauty is hard to disguise once seen,” the fellow replied, though it was a statement of fact and held no trace of flirtation.
You’d best rub a bit of dirt about your jaw, darken it a bit.
It won’t fool anyone up close, but it might help from a distance. ”
Bea considered this. “Thank you. But… you really won’t tell anyone?”
Mr Marwick smiled and drew a cross over his heart. “Swear to die,” he said solemnly. “But you’re lucky you fell in with me, I can tell you. I’m on my way to Sevenoaks, but I’ll see you safely to Westerham first.”
“I’m afraid that’s a good distance out of your way,” Bea said, feeling guilty for putting the man to so much trouble. He didn’t even know her.
“Nah. I’d rather that and know you are safe. You will be safe, won’t you?” he asked, his expression suddenly piercing.
Bea blushed, and he shook his head. “Don’t fret. I don’t want to know your business, and I don’t judge you for it either. I only wish to know that you’re not taking any foolish risks.”
“I’ll be quite safe,” Bea said with certainty. Even if Stonehaven reviled her for what she’d done, he would see her safely home. That much she knew without question.
“Right. Well, we should be there before it’s fully dark, though I hope you know precisely where you’re going. I won’t be leaving you in the middle of nowhere, that I promise. Alice would never forgive me if you fell into harm’s way, and I’d say that’s certain. A lamb to the slaughter, you are.”
“I am not,” Bea retorted, nettled, though she was relieved beyond measure to know she had safe passage to her destination. Fortune was indeed smiling upon her.
Mr Marwick gave her an old-fashioned look that suggested he disagreed, but he said nothing more. Bea studied him, seeing the resemblance to his sister clearly now. He was an elegant young man, slender with fine features and the same sparkling grey eyes as Miss Marwick.
“I have not seen you in town, Mr Marwick,” she observed.
He shrugged. “I travel a good deal for my work. Poor Alice is left on her own a lot, I’m afraid. That’s why I chose Little Valentine for her. It’s big enough for her to make friends without feeling lost, as she might in a city.”
“What work do you do?”
“Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that,” he replied enigmatically, but refused to be drawn, and Bea did not like to appear nosy, she let the subject drop.
Instead, she watched the fields and trees pass by, knowing that each mile drew her closer to Stonehaven. Her heart tripped at the knowledge, and she was uncertain if she was more excited or more terrified for when she revealed all to him.
Either way, by nightfall, she determined he would know the truth.
Stonehaven managed a couple of hours riding Trojan with George at his side before exhaustion got the better of him.
There was something dreadfully wearing about a journey with no landmarks to distinguish one place from another, no scenery to view or everyday scenes to break the monotony.
So, he retired to the carriage, exhausted, eyes gritty with dust and his head aching from the glare of daylight that seemed far too bright.