Only In Her Dreams Read online

  “London, my cousins have a church in one of the less reputable sections,” she said finally.

  Chapter 2

  Marcus Derning secured a post chaise and a private parlor at the nearest respectable inn as well as a room so that he could change from his still damp clothing and shave. He did not get much sleep last night. Though resting in a berth and not on a rain washed deck was much more comfortable, he thought. He kept thinking about how he had not had a woman in several months and here he was with a bit of sweet smelling fluff sharing his bed. Unfortunately, contrary to all rumors, she was also virtuous. Every time she turned in the bed a fresh waft of her womanly scent drifted over to him and he would think all he had to do was remove the damned board thing, lift her nightgown and he would satisfy them both. Obviously she had some of the same yearnings and also the moral fortitude to resist, judging by her restless sleep.

  After he cleaned himself up, he thought perhaps he should have asked Miss Montague if she needed to freshen herself as he walked into the private parlor. He found her seated in the private parlor in front of a large pot of tea and eggs and ham. She swallowed the portion of egg she had just forked into her mouth and took a sip of tea, dabbed her lips with a table linen and looked up at him, “I have arranged for some bread, meat and fruit to be placed in a basket as well as some ale—enough for a coachman and a post boy and ourselves. It would be less expensive and timelier than stopping for a long lunch along the way.”

  “Since I am paying the shot, why do you worry about expenses?” he asked curiously.

  She looked up at him earnestly, “Even a captain’s pay halved does not stretch very far, we have seventy-four miles to cover and I would soon as not have to spend a night on the road. The expense of a room on a much traveled road as this would be ruinous and meals for us and servants—it would be so much better if I were to go to London by myself. Bath is all together in the opposite direction. If you would lend me the difference in my fare I could take the mail to London.”

  He looked into her sincere face and without hesitation, “No, I must go to London anyway to report at the war office. Since you have let down that stiff necked pride of yours enough to ask for a small loan, you may allow me to do my duty and escort you without complaint. I am not going to shirk in my duty to you or your father.”

  Though the berth had been comfortable compared to the wet deck or a pallet on the floor, he’d rested little last night. Marcus hoped that she was not a talker; he wanted to get some sleep. He was thankful that she insisted upon bringing a basket of food along. Seventy miles in one day would be a stretch but he did not think he could pass another night like the last. The road to London was well traveled and fresh horses should not be hard to acquire. After assisting Sarah into the coach he settled himself down on the bench opposite her and knocked on the roof to signal their readiness for departure. He saw Sarah settle herself and remove her bonnet and cloak to catch a bit of rest. After a while the rocking of the well-sprung coach helped Marcus to sleep.

  Marcus woke with a start, confused that a young woman had flung herself upon him. He noted the odd angle of the coach. Sarah was ineffectually struggling to remove herself from atop him. He set her, flushed and apologizing, back onto the other seat and left the carriage to see what the problem was.

  The coachman was trying to calm the horses alone because the post boy had fallen off of the top of the carriage and was holding his arm. Marcus looked at the carriage wheel, it seemed that the axel had broken with the stress of making a turn. Upon closer examination the axel had appeared to be partially cut.

  “I be jist that sorry, guvnor, I al’ays check the coach over before takin’ it on a run, I do,” said the Coachman after seeing to the horses, “But I never seed that there part of the axel.”

  Marcus frowned, “I imagine you would check the coach over as you are more at risk riding up on the box than we are in the coach.”

  “Jem here has been goin’ out wi’ me on trips for nigh onta two year now, he be like family, he be,” the coachman handing the reins over to Marcus and walked over to help the post boy to stand.

  Sarah had exited the coach and had gone over to see to the post boy herself. After examining him she said, “You are lucky, young man, it is just a sprain.”

  The boy looked suspiciously at her, “You a doctor, Miss.”

  “No, m’ lad, I know’d ‘er roight away,” the old coachman said with asperity. “I was with the 73rd in Ceylon. This be Miss Sarah Montague, daughter of the best quartermaster in his majesty’s army. Seems this be your husband here?”

  Sarah started to correct him but a look from Marcus stayed her, “My lady would help with the wounded after a battle. She is very experienced in such matters. If she says it is a sprain, it is a sprain.”

  The old coachman turned back to Sarah, “By the by, Miss, I be jist that sorry that your mother and little brother was took in that fever, I heared about it jist a’fore I shipped back to England. How is yer da’ Sergeant Montague? He must be jist that proud you bein’ married an all to a captain…”

  Sarah felt the tears prick her eyes and fumbled in her sleeve for her handkerchief and was abruptly handed one by Marcus. He spoke for her, “My…wife lost her father at Waterloo, looters.”

  The old coachman’s face showed his dismay and he hurriedly changed the subject, “Well, then I guess we needs to walk these here horses to the next station luckily it be not mor’n a mile away. Tis fortunate that I slowed down considerable to take the turn, no tellin’ what shape we be in if I was goin’ full speed. I be fair certain that these old nags would not mind a lil’ mite as yerself perched on ‘em …”

  Sarah looked at the great beasts which were the carriage horses with alarm; she had never been on a horse in her life. Her father, though the quartermaster, was still just a foot soldier. Sarah said hesitantly, “I am grateful for your thoughtfulness, but I have never ridden on a horse in my life.”

  “Come now, my dear, you have been around supply horses all your life,” Marcus said chidingly as Sarah’s eyes were focused in an alarmed fashion on the huge carriage horses.

  “Captain Derning…” Sarah began.

  He smiled at her, a warning look in his eyes, “Remember we are married now, no need for formality.” He turned back to the coachman, “Go on ahead, I feel the need to get some exercise.” He held out an arm to Sarah.

  “M-marcus,” she stumbled over his name, “I need to take a private walk.” She gestured with her hand over to the bushes.

  “Jem, I think you should stay with the carriage, John Coachman you should go on ahead,” Marcus reinforced his earlier words as he waived his hand to the older man. He walked over to the coach and reached into a pocket in the door and removed his pistol.

  As soon as they reached the shelter of the trees, Sarah moved a few feet away around a concealing bush and relieved herself. When she came back she whispered, “Captain Derning, why did you let that coachman think that we are married.”

  He whispered back, “You did not let on that you were quite that memorable. I should have thought to hire a maid.”

  “Why suffer the expense of a maid on a trip like this?” Sarah said as she was looking around. “And you know, as well as I, that everyone knows the quartermaster. He is the first and most useful contact that one acquires when first coming to a company. On this well traveled road to London we may run into more of my father’s widespread acquaintance. I wager Mr. Crump knows the names of every quartermaster sergeant of any brigade he ever came in contact “So you are saying that if we come in contact with any other army folk, they may know you?” he said incredulously.

  “Only if they saw me with my father and there is a good chance of that since I would talk with the wives and families of the other quartermasters,” she said with a smile.

  “I am escorting a celebrity,” he muttered disagreeably.

  Sarah ignored the comment and changed the subject, “We need to go back to the coach and get the baske
t of food, as well. We paid for it, we are going to eat it. Marcus sighed and looked heavenward.

  “Don’t look like that, we need to conserve as much of the ready as we can” Sarah said in answer to his exasperated look. “We have a sunny day for once, but the ground is still too wet for comfort. I’ll wager there is some sort of table or such in the inn yard that we could use as an impromptu dining table.”

  Marcus gave her a look and then shrugged, “I see you do have a point. We should see how much the cost of an inn meal would be as it appears we will have to wait for another coach.”

  She nodded her head, “That is a very good thought, and we could spare the expense of an evening meal. Things are bound to be less expensive at lunch.”

  Sarah stepped briskly down the road the way the horses had gone. Marcus walked after her, his easy stride catching her up. Suddenly Sarah stopped looked around, “Listen, Captain Derning.”

  He stopped as well and he noted what she noted: the complete absence of sound, not even the wind stirred the trees. When they heard the snap of a twig, two seasoned campaigners such as themselves did what their instincts bid them to do and dove for cover just as shots rang out over their heads.

  Footpads just looking for people flush enough to hire a private coach she thought a touch resentfully. If I get my hands on him, he will wish he had never been born, Sarah thought looking down at her stained dress.

  She hiked up her skirt and pulled a wicked looking stiletto from a sheath. She saw Marcus staring at her legs and hurriedly pulled her dress back into place. She glared at him and they both turned their attention over to the place the shots originated. She looked back and saw Marcus pull a pistol out of his pocket. They heard a crashing of brush, as their attacker ran away. Marcus looked like he wanted to give chase but chose to stay with Sarah.

  Sarah scrambled up deciding to run after the man. She felt the large hand of Marcus catch her skirt. She attempted to shrug it off and chase after the villain, “Marcus, that was an India Brown Bess, he can’t have reloaded…”

  “I know, but how do you know he was alone or doesn’t have a pistol?” Marcus interjected.

  She who usually prided herself on her good sense, hung her head in embarrassment, “Of course Marcus, how silly of me. Look, my dress is torn and muddied. I shall have to find my sewing kit in my bag, mend it and brush it thoroughly after the mud dries.”

  He looked her over and said absently, “Just get out one of your other dresses and throw this one away.”

  Sarah just stared at him, and replied, ”Ah, yes, I will get one of my many dresses out of my extensive wardrobe.”

  Marcus gave her a sharp look, “I am sorry. Is that your favorite or something? My mother and aunts have favorites…

  “No, just let us save our breath for the walk, shall we?”

  ***

  They arrived at the inn in strained silence, relieved only by the sound of their sturdy shoes crunching in the brush. They had elected to stay off the road in the concealment of the shrubbery in case the shooter came back. The trip took longer than it should have and when the finally made the inn they were hot, thirsty and sweaty. Sarah turned to Marcus and said, “I will see about some luncheon, and a bit of privacy to clean myself up and change to my other dress.

  Marcus thought Sarah is such a notorious pinchpenny I had better speak up or we shall be dining in the tap room, “Sarah you need to bespeak a private parlor, unless John Coachman has already done so...”

  “Jedediah Crump,” she succinctly.

  “What was that?”

  “His name,” she said, “Is Jedediah Crump, sergeant, late of his Majesty’s army Ceylon, India.”

  Marcus blinked at her correction and said dismissively, “But of course, Sergeant Crump, I will join you presently, my dear.”

  The proprietor of the inn had a barrel chest and a ruddy scarred face, he looked like a pirate. When she heard what he wanted to charge for the private parlor—she was sure of it.

  “A guinea,” she cried aghast, “A guinea, I wanted to rent the room for an hour not buy the inn.”

  The old pirate had a twinkle in his eye, “Plenty of folks is comin’ though here, of late, I charge what they will pay.”

  “Well, I am offering two shillings, not a tuppence more—” she said with a fire in her eye as she advanced on him.

  Sarah felt someone come up behind her and grasp her shoulders. “Did you hear what he wants to charge for a private parlor. It’s outrageous…” Sarah’s diatribe was interrupted when someone spoke up from the area of the kitchen.

  “Samuel, you pirate, I told you if that really was Sarah Montague like ol’ Crump says she’d like to tear a strip off of ya iffen’ you trys to overcharge her.”

  Sarah stopped struggling and turned with surprise and wonderment, “Maisie Smithers! As I live and breathe.” Sarah ran over to give her old friend a hug.

  “It be McTavish now,” Maisie said.

  “I often wondered what became of you after Smither’s died of fever,” Sarah said.

  “That money you loaned me…”

  “It was repayment for all the kindnesses I owed you,” Sarah said waving her hand in front of her face.

  “Be that as it may, that money helped to get us back here and I took a job as a cook in this here fine establishment,” Maisie said as she spread out her arms expansively at the clean well appointed inn.

  “After a bit I saw how much more we would make if I married her instead of payin’ her wages.” Samuel said with a mock leer at his wife.

  “And look at you—you got yerself a fine braw man there,” giving Marcus an assessing eye, and looking at the muddy state of their clothing, “He could not even wait to be gettin’ ya to me inn afore givin’ ya a tumble. Ahhhh, young love.”

  Even Marcus, used to the free speech of army people, looked taken aback by the frank statements of Sarah’s friend. Sarah herself was flushing a bright red as he said, “Uh, uh no, someone sabotaged the axel of our carriage and it broke down then we were shot at by a footpad and had to dive into a ditch…”

  “Shot at?” Samuel glared evilly at the door, as though the culprit was about to walk into his taproom.

  “Have the coaching lines become so competitive, that they would sabotage each other’s rigs to steal business?” Marcus enquired quietly.

  “No, there be enough business from Portsmouth to London and Bath for everybody. Here now, let me gets you a little of this here brandy,” Samuel walked behind the bar and pulled up a bottle which probably never paid duty. “Did ya sees who did the shootin’?”

  “No, but I have it on good authority that the person used an India Brown Bess,” he cocked an amused glance at Sarah’s face.

  “Papa was the quartermaster, I learned many things about weapons and the India Brown Bess has a much different report than a regular flintlock as the barrel is shorter.”

  “Oh, lord love ya, and I bet you haven’t had time to freshen up your other dress. That shooter be long gone but your man and Samuel could take some horses and go look over the area from where the shots were fired. In the meantime, we will get you cleaned up,” Maisie broke into the discussion looking at the dress critically, “I s’pose we can save it.” She looked up and smiled at her husband. “Samuel here spoils me shameless he does. Liza and me, we each have five dresses that we bought material and sewed them new,” she bragged.

  “Really, five dresses,” Sarah said admiringly, “However do you decide what to wear?”

  As he strode out to the stables, Marcus reflected on the expression he had seen on Sarah’s face, trying to remember even a hint of condescension. All he could recall was happiness in her friend’s good fortune. He then realized that Sarah was a little envious of her friend. He came to the comprehension that Sarah lived in a completely different world from him. She only had two dresses and the one she was wearing his mother would not give to the tweeny for the rag bag. And his mother was looked down upon by his ducal relations as of being of a
much inferior station.

  As he rode back to the area with the coachman and Samuel McTavish, he remembered how his relatives had always treated his mother with disdain. He remembered as a boy how his mother never complained a word every Christmas when they traditionally visited the main ducal estate. His parents were housed near the nursery in a mean room next door to the governess. His cousin Edward, that self important prig, always tried to poke fun at his mother until Marcus darkened his daylights for him. Marcus smiled faintly at the memory. Good Lord, the prig may soon be the Duke, Marcus thought before arriving at the spot of the failed ambush.

  Along the way McTavish became rather garrulous and regaled them all with a story or two about his life as a privateer. Like it wasn’t obvious the man was a pirate, Marcus thought. It seems the last voyage for him he was shot in the leg, and McTavish felt it was time to retire and use his prize money to purchase a business.

  Crump the coachman dismounted slightly ahead of the other men and went over followed closely by Marcus and McTavish. “Look here, the bloke must’ve been wait’n here until afters I left with the horses—the brush be fair trampled.”

  “You have experience with tracking?” Marcus asked.

  “Ah yes, I was with the 73rd in Australia and I learned some trackin’ from them there primitive folk. They be nice people some of ‘em but they like to go walk about and don’ stay anyplace long,” Crump said, “I received a de-bilitatin’ injury in Ceylon. Sergeant Montague was sent back to England to help raise the second division and so’s he could enroll his girl in a school. I came home soon before—” he followed the trail of bent brush and weeds back about three hundred feet, “See, here’s where he had his horse tethered and look like the horse be munchin’ on the greenery maybe quarter hour, thirty minutes on the outside.”

  “You can tell that from this here greenery,” McTavish said with a doubtful look.

  “My Da was a groom on a horse farm,” Crump looked up at Marcus and McTavish, “I used to help, I know more’n I ever wanted to know about how much and how fast the beasties eat. That’s why I joined up with the Foot--no horses ‘ceptin’ supply horses. Here I be a coachman dealin’ with ‘em again. I’ll jist git Jem and meet yas all back at the Inn.”