gesture. He smiled. Abigail tucked her feet as neatly as
she could under her seat to avoid any further contact. She rested
her head against the side of the stagecoach, smelling the wood and
leather polish, hoping it would not affect her on the long journey.
The only other passengers, a married couple, stared accusingly at
them but uttered no word of protest.
The driver
shouted and they moved off at great speed along the rutted road.
The stale smell of old smoke from the gentlemen’s clothes made
Abigail feel uncomfortable. She was used to a great deal of space
and open air. She felt as though she were imprisoned in a moving
cell with total strangers.
“He drives
recklessly,” the militia man spoke out in a concerned voice.
“He is anxious
to make up time,” the man of fashion answered. “We have been
unexpectedly delayed,” he paused and looked pointedly at Abigail
and Martha, “and the storm that was promised will soon be upon us I
fear. This was not supposed to be a pick up!”
Indeed, within
minutes the storm arrived. Thunder, lightning and heavy rain
ensued. Noises echoed in and around the stagecoach, making
conversation difficult which, to Abigail, was a blessing, because
she had no wish to explain her position to the militia man who eyed
her suspiciously. She felt sorry for the man who had nobly given up
the relative comfort of the carriage to sit atop a moving coach in
the midst of a storm. The sooner they arrived at York the better,
and then she could disappear into the background of the city and
hopefully on to… Well, that would be decided when she had read the
letters and visited her father’s solicitor.
The girl was ill-dressed for such a journey. The coach bumped and
jarred as its driver made the best time he could in the worsening
conditions. Joshua had seated himself next to the girl and wrapped
his coat around both of them. Without objection she nestled into
his warmth, looking relieved to be almost hiding under it.
“Who are you
running from, miss?”
“Me? No you got
it wrong. I’m going to see me aunt. She lives in the big city.
I...”
Joshua pulled
away. “Lie to me girl and you can pay your way, have a thorough
soaking and then you will truly be on your own again.”
“Please! Don’t
let them put me in the debtor’s gaol. I only asked the driver to
take me as far as my coin would go and I’d have walked the rest.
Just so long as he don’t find me again.” She held onto his coat
tightly.
“You finger my
wallet and I’ll toss you off here without bothering the driver to
stop.” He wrapped her back into the dry and relative warmth of the
greatcoat.
“You’re not
slow are you, mister, despite being soft like?” She looked up at
him with eyes that seemed too wide for her small face.
She needed a
good feed, he knew that. “No, I’m no fool, nor am I soft. So tell
me who you are running from and why?” His head was angled down so
that between the rim of his hat and his high collar they managed to
have a guarded and somewhat sheltered conversation from the lashing
of rain on his back. Both held the rail tightly.
“His name is
Drab. He took me in as a child from the orphanage at Whitby. He
made me work for him and his wife in their inn but as I started to
grow he had other ideas. They both did. They wanted me to do more
than wait tables to earn them money. So I’ve run away. But he’ll
follow me. He’ll come maybe as far as York cos he has contacts and
business there.”
“It’s a common
enough fate... What is your name, girl?”
“Molly, Molly I
don’t know what, as me dad wasn’t named,” she whispered.
“Well, Molly
‘Idon’tknowwhat’, you will travel to York and we will try and find
a safe haven for you before I travel on further.” Joshua held tight
as the lightning struck and Molly clung like a limpet to him.
“You is a
gentleman, sir,” she said.
He laughed and
silently cursed the cold and damp as his leg ached the more for
it.
The stagecoach
she could under her seat to avoid any further contact. She rested
her head against the side of the stagecoach, smelling the wood and
leather polish, hoping it would not affect her on the long journey.
The only other passengers, a married couple, stared accusingly at
them but uttered no word of protest.
The driver
shouted and they moved off at great speed along the rutted road.
The stale smell of old smoke from the gentlemen’s clothes made
Abigail feel uncomfortable. She was used to a great deal of space
and open air. She felt as though she were imprisoned in a moving
cell with total strangers.
“He drives
recklessly,” the militia man spoke out in a concerned voice.
“He is anxious
to make up time,” the man of fashion answered. “We have been
unexpectedly delayed,” he paused and looked pointedly at Abigail
and Martha, “and the storm that was promised will soon be upon us I
fear. This was not supposed to be a pick up!”
Indeed, within
minutes the storm arrived. Thunder, lightning and heavy rain
ensued. Noises echoed in and around the stagecoach, making
conversation difficult which, to Abigail, was a blessing, because
she had no wish to explain her position to the militia man who eyed
her suspiciously. She felt sorry for the man who had nobly given up
the relative comfort of the carriage to sit atop a moving coach in
the midst of a storm. The sooner they arrived at York the better,
and then she could disappear into the background of the city and
hopefully on to… Well, that would be decided when she had read the
letters and visited her father’s solicitor.
The girl was ill-dressed for such a journey. The coach bumped and
jarred as its driver made the best time he could in the worsening
conditions. Joshua had seated himself next to the girl and wrapped
his coat around both of them. Without objection she nestled into
his warmth, looking relieved to be almost hiding under it.
“Who are you
running from, miss?”
“Me? No you got
it wrong. I’m going to see me aunt. She lives in the big city.
I...”
Joshua pulled
away. “Lie to me girl and you can pay your way, have a thorough
soaking and then you will truly be on your own again.”
“Please! Don’t
let them put me in the debtor’s gaol. I only asked the driver to
take me as far as my coin would go and I’d have walked the rest.
Just so long as he don’t find me again.” She held onto his coat
tightly.
“You finger my
wallet and I’ll toss you off here without bothering the driver to
stop.” He wrapped her back into the dry and relative warmth of the
greatcoat.
“You’re not
slow are you, mister, despite being soft like?” She looked up at
him with eyes that seemed too wide for her small face.
She needed a
good feed, he knew that. “No, I’m no fool, nor am I soft. So tell
me who you are running from and why?” His head was angled down so
that between the rim of his hat and his high collar they managed to
have a guarded and somewhat sheltered conversation from the lashing
of rain on his back. Both held the rail tightly.
“His name is
Drab. He took me in as a child from the orphanage at Whitby. He
made me work for him and his wife in their inn but as I started to
grow he had other ideas. They both did. They wanted me to do more
than wait tables to earn them money. So I’ve run away. But he’ll
follow me. He’ll come maybe as far as York cos he has contacts and
business there.”
“It’s a common
enough fate... What is your name, girl?”
“Molly, Molly I
don’t know what, as me dad wasn’t named,” she whispered.
“Well, Molly
‘Idon’tknowwhat’, you will travel to York and we will try and find
a safe haven for you before I travel on further.” Joshua held tight
as the lightning struck and Molly clung like a limpet to him.
“You is a
gentleman, sir,” she said.
He laughed and
silently cursed the cold and damp as his leg ached the more for
it.
The stagecoach
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