A Dark Gentleman Read online

  A DARK GENTLEMAN

  A DARK GENTLEMAN

  Margaret Carr

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available

  This eBook edition published by AudioGo Ltd, Bath, 2012.

  Published by arrangement with the Author.

  Epub ISBN 9781471300301

  U.K. Hardcover ISBN 978 1 405 64544 7

  U.K. Softcover ISBN 978 1 405 64545 4

  Copyright © Margaret Carr, 2007

  All rights reserved.

  Jacket Illustration © iStockphoto.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sarah Littlejohn sat back with a sigh. Her father and the vicarage were out of sight. The coach carrying herself and Nellie Green lurched from the driveway following the bend in the road. Excitement, fear and guilt, all churned in her stomach making her feel ill.

  ‘Are you quite well m’dear.’ The woman sitting opposite Sarah asked.

  ‘Oh quite well, thank you Nellie. I am afraid I worry at leaving father alone.’

  ‘The journey to your aunt will take but a few days and then I shall return and take good care of the vicar, so don’t you fret m’dear.’

  Sarah smiled at the housekeeper for she knew full well the affection the woman held for the vicar, Sarah’s own mother having died several years since and this journey to London at the command of an aunt she had never met.

  London, she sighed, for she had never been farther than Harrogate and that only a handful of times. How different it was all going to be. At one and twenty she had no great hopes of making a match, indeed she had no ambitions in that direction for she was perfectly happy living at home and helping to care for her father’s parishioners. It was going to be a wonderful adventure that she could look back on for the rest of her life.

  Nellie snored gently on the opposite seat and Sarah smiled at the woman’s ability to ignore the bumpy country roads they travelled. The vicar’s old coach with its tired springs jarred them over every pothole. Joe Leach, the sixty seven year old coachman had come to the vicarage with her father and mother after their marriage and as well as coachman did all the odd jobs around the place.

  * * *

  On the afternoon of the third day of their journey, the sound of galloping horses and flying wheels drew Sarah’s attention to the coach window. The whinnying of frightened animals was joined by voices raised in anger then a violent thud and the world rocked and rolled over.

  Slowly, Sarah’s wits returned and she realised that the coach was now resting on its side. Moving her limbs cautiously she discovered no injury to herself apart from some rather painful areas which would no doubt be colourful by morning. She called out to the woman who was her travelling companion.

  ‘Nellie, Nellie are you hurt?’

  ‘Well as can be m’dear,’ the lady in question replied as she struggled to right herself and reposition the broken feather that dangled between her eyes. ‘I do not have much hope for this poor hat of mine. God love us, what happened do you think?’

  ‘We have been run off the road.’

  Reaching up to the door now above their heads, Sarah managed to thrust it open. ‘I must see how Joe fares.’

  ‘Wait child, Sarah, what’s to do?’

  ‘Joe may be hurt.’ Hitching up her skirts she clambered up to the open doorway and hauled herself through. Once on top of the tumbled coach she could see the smart carriage and pair being pulled up a few yards back down the road. Of Joe there was no sign. Pulling her skirts together she jumped down into the muddy road.

  ‘Joe! Joe, answer me if you can. Please Joe!’ She heard a soft groan as she slithered down into the ditch. Joe lay with his legs trapped beneath the coach.

  With tears streaming down her face Sarah dabbed at the nasty gash on Joe’s forehead from which the blood flowed freely. Convinced that he was going to die she began to tug wildly at the offending coach, to no avail.

  She heard the carriage draw up in the road alongside the ditch and a strong cultured voice order his man to see what was to be done. A small bowlegged man in a green and gold striped waistcoat and green jacket dropped down into the ditch beside them and said, after taking in the situation, ‘It’s not as bad as it looks Miss, I’ll have him out of there in a trice.’

  Working swiftly he levered up the offending corner of the coach with a stout branch and pulled the old man free. It appeared the full weight of the coach had not been resting on Joe, so although his legs had been trapped firmly, they had not been broken, as Sarah had at first feared.

  The gentleman climbed down from his carriage and rescued a near fainting Nellie Green from the coach. After sitting her on the bank to recover he returned to help his manservant lift Joe from the ditch.

  ‘My humblest apologies ladies. I hope you have come to no harm.’

  With the anger that follows fear and relief Sarah snapped, ‘You must arrange to get this poor man some help directly.’

  Kneeling at Joe’s side as she spoke, she looked up over her shoulder at the stranger’s dark silhouette against the bright sky and thought how tall and threatening he looked. ‘You stupid creature you could have killed us all.’

  One dark eyebrow rose and the gentleman’s stern features relaxed sufficiently for a shadow of a smile.

  ‘Simms,’ he called to the servant, ‘stay here with the old man. I will send a wagon back from Bridgehead for you.’

  Sarah jumped to her feet. ‘That will not do sir, cannot you see how very ill he is.’

  ‘I have seen worse on the battlefield, the old man will not die.’

  When Sarah would have sunk once more to Joe’s side the gentleman stepped forward and extending his hand took her firmly by the arm. ‘If you ladies will accompany me in my carriage I will be delighted to take you where ever you wish to go.’

  As Sarah made to protest he steered her purposefully toward the high perch phaeton standing by the roadside. Its beautifully matched greys held in check by a small tiger wearing the same green and gold livery as the manservant Simms.

  ‘You will observe,’ the gentleman spoke softly when they stood before the perilously high and fragile looking body of the carriage. ‘That my carriage was built for two persons, three at a squeeze. There is no room for your driver or my manservant even should both be in perfect health.’

  Sarah looked at the slim shallow body of the carriage slung amid four outrageously large springs and had to admit that it was no vehicle to transport a sick person in. She had never seen anything like it in her life before and could not imagine mounting the obstacle herself.

  The necessity never arose however, as without warning strong hands encircled her waist and she was lifted high enough to place her foot on the step from which she was able to scramble into the body of the carriage. Nellie came next then the gentleman himself climbed up and with an apology to Sarah squeezed in beside her. Taking up the ribbons he called to his tiger to ‘give them their heads,’ and they were off. The sprightly little tiger jumping up on to the box as they bowled past.

  Their pace terrified Sarah and her fear turned to anger as she noted Nellie’s grey face and the way her white knuckled fists gripped the rail of the swaying carriage.

  ‘Do you always drive like this?’ Sarah demanded in a grim voice. ‘If so, then I am not surprised that you knock people off the road.’

  The gentleman gave her a swift glance then slowed his team to a more respectable pace. They stopped at ‘The Blue Boar’ in Bridgehead to order a wagon sent back for Joe and Simms. Both Sarah and Nellie declining the gentleman’s offer of refreshment in the face of having to dismount and remount their terrifying ride.

  ‘Now ladies,’ the gentleman said, climbing once more into the driving seat, ‘if you will let me have your direction I will d
o my best to deliver you safely to your destination.’

  Sarah gave him her aunt’s country address in Little Rampton. It took them a further hour on the road and Sarah was beginning to wonder how far out of his way their destination was taking the stranger when the horses slowed to a trot and then a walk before turning into the wide drive of a house on the edge of a village green.

  ‘Oh Nellie is it not the grandest of houses?’ Sarah murmured.

  ‘Yes indeed, very grand, though I dare say it’s a devil to clean.’

  The tall house was built of sandstone, its many large windows reaching to the ground. The façade was plain but lent great elegance to the building.

  The carriage pulled on the stone paving before the portico entrance and the gentleman jumped down as the tiger ran to the horses’ heads. Nellie was persuaded to throw caution to the winds and jump down into the gentleman’s arms. Neatly caught, though she was no featherweight, and set aside. Then it was Sarah’s turn. Once on the ground he released her, but she detained him with a hand on his arm.

  ‘Your name, Sir?’

  Dark brows pulled down in a frown as steel grey eyes searched her face. Then, as though finding something agreeable in her features, he smiled and making a deep bow said, ‘Jack Edgeworth at your service.’

  ‘Sarah Littlejohn and I hope in future sir you will take more care with the ribbons.’

  A servant had arrived to Nellie’s imperious pull on the bell rope. Sarah turned to join her companion on the doorstep as she heard Jack Edgeworth’s soft click of the tongue and the swish of the wheels as his carriage tooled back down the drive.

  Inside the house they were taken to their rooms by a small maid with a badly scarred face.

  ‘Did you see that poor child?’ Nellie remarked later, after she had settled herself in and returned to Sarah’s room to chat. ‘You wonder what they are thinking of to place her in upstairs service.’

  ‘She is probably good at her job,’ Sarah replied, though she was a little surprised herself if truth be known. ‘Perhaps Aunt Charlotte is a benefactress who gives work to injured people who would not otherwise find such employment,’ Sarah suggested hopefully.

  Nellie made a huffing noise as she dropped heavily into a chair by the window. ‘What are we supposed to do until dinner at eight. You might think that your aunt could have been present at our arrival.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The large room was generously fitted with washstand and wardrobes the size of which shrank Sarah’s possessions to mere shadows in their cavernous interior. Floral rose china decorated the washstand with pink towels on the rails at either end. Heavy green curtains draped the windows and bed, while the floral rose pattern was repeated in the tiles around the fireplace.

  ‘My room is smaller, but the bed seems comfortable enough. I worry how Mr Leach goes on. He is not a young man to take such a dreadful fall. Do ask your aunt to make enquiries for us when we eventually meet her.’

  ‘I certainly will, but now I feel very tired, so if you will excuse me, Nellie I think I will retire for an hour or so.’

  ‘What a splendid idea. I shall do likewise.’ At the door she turned, ‘do not let me sleep late dear, will you?’

  Sarah smiled, canon fire dispersed at Nellie’s snoring and waking her was a perilous task indeed for once shaken she would sit bolt upright clutching a knobble headed walking stick. This weapon went everywhere with her and lay by her side on the bed.

  Alone again Sarah took off her gown and lay down. Reliving the past weeks in her mind.

  When the letter arrived, Sarah had put it into her pocket determined to savour the anticipation as to what it might contain. It lay there until she returned from her weekly visit to her father’s parishioners. Once she had unhitched the gig and turned old Molly, their pony, out into the field she took out the letter and studied the writing on the direction. Personal letters were a rarity and she turned this one over several times.

  In her room she quickly slit the seal and opened the single folded page. Charlotte Littlejohn, her father’s sister, was offering her a season in London due to the vicar’s unseemly neglect of his daughter since the death of her mother. She closed this missive with, You will please inform your father of my wishes and join me at ‘Greenfields’ in the near future. You ever affectionate,

  Aunt Charlotte.

  Sarah’s heart missed a beat then raced through her veins like a rip tide. She led a quiet ordered life and if sometimes she longed for a knight on a charger to come and sweep her away to foreign parts and great adventures then she locked the feeling inside herself and buried her nose in a book.

  Now, she hardly dared believe it was all to happen. Duty, guilt, all were swept away in the headlong rush to freedom and adventure. Giving herself a mental shake she reminded herself she was one and twenty and a long way from her schoolroom days. Still she was determined to place her aunt’s offer before her father.

  The vicar was in the garden, sitting at the table beneath the oak tree working on his sermon for Sunday. Sarah carried a tea tray out across the lawn.

  ‘I thought you might manage a little something to eat father.’

  ‘Umm, oh yes, very nice my dear.’ Philip Littlejohn looked up and smiled. A handsome man in his late forties with thick blond hair and blue eyes. ‘Did you call at old Maggie’s on your rounds dear?’ His voice held anxiety and a small frown creased his brow. ‘I have been worried about her.’

  Sarah assured him as to Maggie’s well being, that Mrs Peel would be coming to see him about the Christening of the latest little Peel and Mrs Skeen had promised to stop little Henry playing truant from choir practice.

  ‘Old Mr Poly stopped me today and handed me a letter from Aunt Charlotte.’ She waited for some sign of curiosity on her parent’s behalf but having been satisfied as to his parishioners well being he was once more deep into his sermon.

  Sarah lay back with a sigh. The sun shone and the vicarage garden was looking its neglected best.

  ‘Do you worry about something, Sarah?’

  Her eyes flew open and she looked straight into her father’s concerned face.

  ‘No, simply day-dreaming.’ She picked up the used tray and hurried back to the house. It would not be easy to persuade him to agree to her aunt’s plans.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following day it rained and there were many jobs to attend to. So it was not until evening that Sarah tracked the vicar down to the library where he was having a quiet nap. She laid the open letter in his lap and sat back to wait.

  The room had many books on three of the four walls and all of them were much used and well thumbed. Her gaze moved round to the portrait of her mother above the mantle. People said they were alike but Sarah found it hard to believe for her mother had been a beauty and darling of her London season before disgracing her family by marrying the younger son of an untitled country gentleman.

  A sympathetic great uncle had bought them a living in the church and there they had stayed happy in their simple domesticity and beloved by all.

  Her mother’s violet blue eyes held hers now, the generous mouth with its ready laugh seeming to encourage her in what she was about to do. The fine bones and translucent skin surrounded by the shining halo of chestnut hair gave scepticism in Sarah’s mind to any resemblance to her mother when she knew her own hair to be only the colour of new-made toffee and her eyes beneath their dusting of long lashes a plain blue.

  Her father stirred. ‘Why Sarah dear you should have woke me. Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘Not long father but there is something I wish you to see.’

  He picked up the letter and read it slowly then put it to one side. There was a long silence as he stared thoughtfully into the empty fire grate. At last he looked at her with an expression of hurt bewilderment on his face.

  ‘You do not like this life here, Sarah?’

  ‘Oh yes, Father, indeed I do, it is only . . .’ she felt uncomfortable, ungrateful, ‘it may b
e my only chance.’

  ‘Ah yes, I see.’ He smiled sadly.

  Hurriedly Sarah interrupted, ‘If you do not wish me to go, then I will not go.’

  ‘Dear, dear child of course you must go. I think we both know it is what your mother would have wanted for you.’

  He rose from the chair and taking her hand in his raised it to his lips and said, ‘Try not to let it change you, Sarah. For you are very dear to me. And now,’ he said patting her on the shoulder, ‘I must be off to the church and you must see if you can persuade the estimable Mrs Green to take over your duties while you are away.’

  Left in the library Sarah sat down close to tears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sarah woke with a start, someone was knocking on the door. ‘Come in,’ she called. The small maid who had shown them to their rooms earlier, entered with water in a jug which she poured into the bowl on the washstand. She left without a word. Sarah reached for the fob watch on the table by the side of the bed. Seven o’clock and they were to dine at eight.

  She had not intended to sleep, but now she must stir herself and Nellie also. After washing and dressing in the finest dress she had, which was a plain grey chiffon with puff sleeves and satin ribbon around the neckline she left her room to find Nellie and make sure she was awake.

  Nellie sat on the edge of the bed looking decidedly upset.

  ‘Why whatever is the matter?’ Sarah asked.

  Her companion answered that she had scared the little maid by threatening to attack her with the walking stick. ‘Of course I would have done no such thing, it was instinct, why I was not even aware of what I did.’

  Sarah felt the laughter bubbling in her chest, but dare not for the life of her allow it to escape. Instead she urged Nellie to get rid of the walking stick.

  Nellie shook her head. ‘We may yet need it m’dear for we have no idea what the good vicar’s sister is like or the people she surrounds herself with.’

  Sarah’s laughter burst from her. ‘Do you keep something from me, Nellie?’