Joanna Maitland - A Penniless Prospect

Holding lightly to Cara’s black mane, Jamie walked her quietly away from Calderwood Hall.

Jamie was in no hurry, since she had all the hours of night to complete less than five miles. Besides, she would not for all the world have risked her beloved old mare by travelling too fast at night.

They made good speed until they came to the edge of the wood and the end of Calderwood land. Now Jamie was grateful for the moonlight, since she had to follow less familiar paths and bridleways, some of them perilously ill-kept. ‘Only another mile down the lane, my Cara,’ she whispered. ‘Not long now.’ The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her mistress’s voice, but she did not pause in her gentle walk.

When Jamie reached her destination, she slid down from the bay’s back and led her through the hedge and into the shelter of a belt of trees. ‘Oh, I shall miss you so much, Cara,’ she whispered, wrapping her arms round the mare’s neck. Cara whickered softly in response, nuzzling Jamie’s shoulder, then stood calmly watching her mistress as she made her final preparations.

Jamie extracted a small spade from her bundle and dug a hole under a leafless beech tree. Then she used a pair of shears to hack off much of her curly titian hair, cursing softly when she realised she had forgotten to bring anything to serve as a mirror. The hanks of hair went into the hole, followed by the shears and the spade.

As she was tying back her shoulder-length hair with a piece of black ribbon from her pack, she was surprised into a giggle by the look of interest on her mare’s face. ‘Well, Cara, what do you think of your new master?’ Cara blinked slowly. ‘Not very complimentary, are you? I admit I’ve probably made a poor fist of the haircut, but I can tidy it up later, if I can find a mirror and some scissors.’ She patted her hair self-consciously. ‘But, at least, Edmund’s clothes are a reasonable fit. Don’t you think I make a fine boy?’ She twirled. Cara edged uneasily as the cloak billowed.

‘Now we must wait.’

Dawn came slowly, a half-hearted winter light.

Still they waited.

After what seemed a very long time, the sound of hooves was heard in the nearby lane. Jamie crept forward to crouch behind the hedge. Yes, it was the Calderwood gig, driven by the old groom, with Smithers sitting very upright in her place, staring straight in front of her.

Jamie returned to her mare. ‘Now, the only risk is that old Timothy will decide to stop to wet his whistle at the inn instead of going straight back to Calderwood, as he ought.’ She continued to wait, listening intently. Some fifteen minutes later, she was rewarded by the sound of the returning gig. If Timothy had slaked his thirst, he had not stayed long to do it. Jamie watched with satisfaction as the gig passed out of sight.

‘And now it really is goodbye, Cara,’ whispered Jamie, releasing the mare, removing the rope halter and throwing it into the hole which she then filled in with her bare hands, allowing the dirt to get under her fingernails and into her skin.

She turned to stroke the mare once more. ‘Go home, Cara. Back to your warm stable.’ Then she picked up her bundle and made her way down to the lane. Behind her, the horse pulled idly at a few tufts of thin grass. There was almost nothing to eat at this time of year. Soon she would be hungry enough to find her way back to Calderwood.

Jamie did not look back. Adopting the easy stride of a boy, she walked on to the village, whistling.

At the inn, all was bustle. No one took any notice of a slightly grubby boy, anxiously looking around as if in search of something. Jamie ventured into the inn, keeping her hat pulled low over her face. In the taproom, she found Smithers alone, seated primly on a bench by the wall. Jamie sat down beside her.

‘What, may I ask, do you want, young man?’ asked Smithers crisply, though her voice was not hostile.

‘I need your help, Smithers,’ pleaded Jamie softly, looking up at her. ‘Please don’t give me away.’

‘Good God! Miss Jessamyne! What on earth are you about?’ Luckily, Smithers did not have a carrying voice.

‘Please, Smithers! Help me! I need to escape. I cannot marry that terrible man. All I need is a few weeks. Then I shall be safe.’

‘What do you mean about “a few weeks”, miss?’ the abigail asked, in a low voice.

‘Don’t call me that. Someone will hear. Just call me “Jamie”.’ Jamie searched the maid’s face for a sign that she might relent, but there was none. Jamie swallowed hard. ‘In a few weeks, I shall be twenty-one. Then, no one can force me into marriage with him. All I have to do is stay in hiding until I come of age. Please help me, Smithers!’

Jamie felt the woman’s slow scrutiny. Surely the proposed bridegroom made even Smithers’ flesh creep?

The abigail lifted one of Jamie’s grubby hands and brushed it across Jamie’s cheek so that it left a dirty streak. ‘You’d better start calling me “Annie”, don’t you think?’ she smiled.

‘Oh, bless you!’ cried Jamie, hugging the older woman impetuously.

‘Hey! That’s enough of that,’ cried Smithers, pushing her away. ‘I haven’t said I’ll help you yet.’ She paused. ‘It will depend on precisely what you want from me. Well?’

Jamie launched into her prepared speech. ‘You said you were going to Bath on the stage…er…Annie. I only want you to help me to get a seat too. I have the money to pay, don’t worry. And, once we reach Bath, I can look after myself.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I plan to… But perhaps it would be better for both of us if I kept my plans to myself. Then, if anyone should ask, you can truthfully say you don’t know, can’t you?’ She beamed innocently at the abigail. ‘It sounds pretty rum to me, I must say. And, if I help you to get on the stage, I will be involved, whatever you choose to do about telling me your plans. How am I to explain that away?’

‘No one will be looking for a boy, Annie, I promise you. These clothes belong to Edmund. He won’t be back from Harrow for weeks and weeks, so nobody will notice they are missing. And all the clothes in my pack are my own, so when they discover I am gone, they will be searching for a girl.’

‘Hmph. And what if they discover that the lady’s maid from Calderwood Hall was suddenly to be found in the company of a young lad?’

‘They won’t. I don’t want us to be together. I just want you to tell me how I go about obtaining a seat on the Bath stage. Then I’ll do it myself.’

Annie Smithers seemed to be wavering. ‘It won’t do, Miss Jamie, I’m afraid. A young lad travelling by himself and buying his own seat at the last minute would be bound to attract attention. They’d wonder if you were running away from school.’ Jamie’s suddenly despondent expression must have shocked her. ‘Don’t take on so, miss. Look, I can help a little. I’ll go and see if I can buy an extra seat on the stage for you. Give me the money. Right. Now, you stay here. I don’t want them to know it’s for you.’ Pocketing Jamie’s coins, Smithers left the taproom.

In five minutes, she was back. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Jamie. It can’t be done. Mine was the last place on the stage. There’s no way he’ll take you, I’m afraid.’

Jamie sat down heavily on the wooden bench. She had tried to plan for every eventuality, but she had not foreseen this. She dared not hang around the inn waiting for the next stage in hopes of getting a seat. Too many people from Calderwood and the nearby villages used the Boar’s Head. She would very likely be recognised by someone.

Jamie groaned in anguish, clenching her fists. Then she slumped dejectedly against the wall. It had all been for nothing.

A cool voice from the doorway interrupted them. ‘Why, it’s Smithers, is it not? And in some difficulty, if I am not mistaken. How tiresome!’