up to them.
It was a struggle but the team eventually slowed and came to a halt. What a surprise he'd had upon looking into the carriage. In a heap on the floor, amid layers of silk and satin, were two ladies struggling to right themselves.
"Oh, my...oh my dear...Flora, are you all right?" exclaimed one of the ladies in a flurry near to hysteria.
"Yes, yes. I think so, Laura," said the other one from beneath her.
"How...how did we ever stop?" asked the first woman, scrambling to extricate herself from the woman beneath her.
Neither one of them had so far noticed Fletcher sitting atop his horse, now amused by their conversation after his initial concern that they were in one piece.
"May I be of service to you, ladies?" he asked as he dismounted. "I hope you've not suffered anything worse than a frightful scare."
The two women, their eyes large as melons, stared at Fletcher as if he had appeared from thin air.
Fletcher stared at them. He blinked hard, thinking he was seeing double. They were twins.
"Oh my. Was it you who stopped our carriage?" asked one of them.
"Quite." He removed his hat and offered a courteous bow. "Zachary Brown at your service. I heard your distress and as a gentleman I was obliged to come to your rescue. I'm only too happy that I was able to help." He drew his eyebrows together and folded his arms. "Whatever became of your driver?"
The one who had spoken first was sitting in the seat and smoothing her skirt. "I'm not really sure. The horses were spooked by something, and we heard him shouting. We were thrown to the floor in a sharp turn and the next thing we knew, we were here. Perhaps he fell off in the turn?"
Fletcher thought a moment about the situation. He couldn't very well leave them here stranded, alone and unprotected.
"In that case, there's an inn nearby, and I insist on driving you there to rest. I can send for a doctor if you wish. Then someone will ride back to search for your driver."
He had driven them back to the inn, Whiz prancing with obvious indignation at having to be tied to the back of the carriage, and had them settled into a room. Having found their driver with a goodly sized egg on his head, Fletcher advised Miss Laura and Miss Flora Mathews to spend the night at the inn and proceed on their journey early the next morning. They giggled and thanked him over and over again for his help and his concern. He tried graciously to take his leave, but they insisted that he join them for supper, saying it was the very least they could do to thank him for saving their lives. They exasperated him with their insistence. Obviously Miss Laura and Miss Flora Mathews were accustomed to having their own way.
Fletcher brushed his hair and finished tying his neckcloth. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. It stunned him, this new look, every time he saw himself. Who was that person behind the bushy beard and the dark haunted eyes? When had the white hair over his right ear made him look so ancient? He wasn't sure whether the white hair was due to the vicious blows to his head or the hardship of his incarceration but the small area had never grown in black again. Luckily the head wounds had not affected his hearing, merely his balance and only with specific movements—movements he tried desperately to avoid.
The soothing feeling of the bath had left him. He sighed and tried to rid himself of the melancholy. How could he have let himself in for an evening of two plump spinsters and idle chatter? Mindless sewing circle conversation was not his best forte.
Time to go. He was supposed to wait on the ladies, not the other way around. He gritted his teeth, straightened his back, gave a wink and an abrupt nod to the face in the mirror, and opened the door.
* * *
The meal had gone as expected. Miss Laura and Miss Flora talked about everything that was mundane and dull. Fletcher was exhausted, laboring over the appropriate responses at the appropriate times—that is, when he could get a word in between their prattle. His answers were calculated, vague and misleading; no need to have his business bruited about.
Upon hearing Fletcher's destination, the sisters were in a flurry of excitement. "You know, Mr. Brown, we're making the trip to Crisfield again soon to attend the ball that my cousin is giving," said one of the sisters. Fletcher was having trouble remembering which sister was which.
"Indeed? I do hope you have an easier trip next time around. Perhaps you should bring two drivers instead of one in case you lose one of them again," he answered, wondering how he would be able to excuse himself and seek the refuge of his room.
The sisters laughed a merry, silly laugh.
"Yes, Laura, don't you think it would be splendid if our Mr. Brown here could attend the ball? I will write to my cousin and tell her that she must extend an invitation. Isn't it a coincidence that your parents know the Stedmans. Will you be staying with them? I do need to know because I will have to inform my cousin to include your name on the guest list."
These two peahens chatter faster than any female I've ever heard.
"Well, actually no. I'm staying at—" he started to say.
"No bother. My cousin will find you. She keeps an eye on every eligible bachelor to come into town. She's desperate to find a husband for that daughter of hers. Oh dear—you aren't married, are you?"
"Well, no. I've—" Fletcher was developing a throbbing headache.
"No, no of course you're not. I'm sure you've been too busy squiring the ladies around and breaking hearts with your dashing good looks and pretty wit. Don't you agree, Flora?" asked Miss Laura. Fletcher finally was able to pin down which side of him held Miss Laura and which chair held Miss Flora.
"I most certainly do, Laura dear. Oh, Mr. Brown, do say you'll attend the ball. We know you'll make such a stir and it will be fun telling everyone that we were the ones who discovered you." Miss Flora giggled again.
"I'm sure the Stedmans will be there so it's not as if you won't know anyone. Mr. Stedman will surely want to show off his new bride."
That statement caught Fletcher's attention. Father's remarried? Where was his mother? He felt himself starting to breathe faster.
"Mr. Stedman is recently married?" he inquired. "Samuel Stedman?"
"Oh no, Samuel died some years ago. It's his son who's recently married. That's where we've been. We were on our way back from their wedding. It was so lovely..."
Her voice faded from his hearing as he tried to digest what he'd heard. Oh God—father dead? Samuel's son? But that's impossible; I'm Samuel Stedman's son. Fletcher tuned back into the conversation.
"...she was dressed in her great grandmother's dress and looked like a princess—yes, a veritable princess—"
Fletcher felt his chest muscles tighten. He pulled at the knot of his neck cloth, felt it was choking him. "Who?" The word burst from him.
Miss Laura seemed stunned by his interruption. "Who—what, Mr. Brown?"
Fletcher summoned every ounce of his control. He wet his lips and swallowed. His fingers were turning numb where they gripped the chair. "Pardon my rude intrusion, Miss Laura. I was wondering who looked like a princess in her great grandmother's dress?"
"Why
