for us.’
‘What is it, Railton?’ The Yard Master was looking grim as he stopped by their table.
‘We’ll have to cancel the Bath coach, Miss Bree.’
‘What? The quarter to midnight? But it’s fully booked.’ Bree pushed back her empty plate and got to her feet. ‘Why?’
‘No driver. Todd was taking it out, but he’s slipped just now coming down the ladder out of the hayloft and I reckon his leg’s broke bad. Willis is taking the Northampton coach later, and all the rest of the men are spoken for too. There’s no one spare, not with you giving Hobbs the night off to be with his wife and new baby.’ His sniff made it abundantly clear what he thought of this indulgence.
‘Are you sure it is broken?’ Bree demanded, striding across the yard, Piers at her heels. ‘Have you sent for Dr Chapman?’
‘I have, not that I need him to tell me it’s a break when the bone’s sticking through the skin. You’ve no cause to go in there, Miss Bree. It’s not a nice sight and Bill’s seeing to him.’
Even so, one did not leave one’s employees in agony, however much of a fix they had left one in through their carelessness. Bree marched through the hay-store door and was profoundly grateful to see there was no sign of blood and Johnnie Todd was neither fainting nor shrieking in agony.
‘He’ll do.’ Bill Potter, one of the ostlers and the nearest they had to a farrier on the premises, got to his feet and walked her back firmly out of the door. ‘Doctor will fix him up, never you fret, Miss Bree.’
That was good, but it didn’t solve the problem of the Bath coach. ‘I’ll drive it.’ Piers bounded up. ‘Please?’
‘Certainly not! It’s one hundred and eight miles.’ Bree knew the mileages to their destinations, and all the stops along the way, without even having to think about it. ‘The most you’ve ever driven is twenty.’
‘Yes, but I don’t have to drive all the way, do I?’ Piers protested as they walked back to the office.
‘What?’ Bree broke off from wondering if she could possibly send round to one of the rival yards and borrow a driver. But that put one in debt …
‘Johnnie would only have driven fifty miles, wouldn’t he? Whoever the second half-driver is, he’ll be ready and waiting in Newbury.’ Piers banged through the door and started rummaging in the cupboard for his greatcoat.
‘Fifty miles is too far. I’ve driven thirty, and that was hard enough, and I wasn’t recovering from pneumonia.’ Thirty miles. Thirty miles with Papa up beside me, in broad daylight and with an empty coach coming back from the coach makers. Even so, can it be that much harder to do it with passengers up and at night? There’s a full moon.
‘I’ll drive,’ she said briskly, trampling down the wave of apprehension that hit her the minute she said it. ‘The Challenge Coach Company does not cancel coaches and we don’t go begging our rivals for help either. Shoo! I’m going to get changed.’
Chapter Two
Bree thrust the whip into the groom’s hands and used both hers on the reins. Behind her the passengers were screaming, the inner wheels were bucking along the rough rim of the ditch and branches were lashing both coach and horses.
Thank God she had never followed the practice of so many companies and used broken-down animals for the night runs, she thought fleetingly, as the leaders got their hocks under them and powered the heavy vehicle back on to the highway. The lurking menace of a milestone, glinting white in the moonlight, flashed past an inch from the wheels.
The coach rocked violently, throwing her off balance. Her right wrist struck the metal rail at the side of the box with a sickening thud. Bree bit down the gasp of pain and gathered the reins back into her left hand again, stuffing the throbbing right into the space between her greatcoat buttons.
Hell, hell and damnation. Ten miles gone, another forty to go. Her arms already felt as though she had been stretched on the rack, her back ached and now she had a badly bruised wrist. I must have been mad to start, but I’m going to do this if it kills me. It probably will.
The team steadied, then settled into a hard, steady rhythm. ‘Slow down, Miss Bree,’ Jem the groom gasped as she took the crown of the road again. ‘You can’t spring them here!’
‘I can and I will. I’m going to horsewhip that maniac the length of Hounslow High Street, and we’ve lost time as it is,’ she shouted, as the sound of another horn in the distance behind them had the groom staring back anxiously. ‘If they can catch us up before the inn, they can wait,’ Bree added grimly. And if they didn’t like it, they had one very angry coaching proprietor to deal with.
‘You won. Congratulations.’ Max fetched Nevill a hard buffet on his back as the young man climbed stiffly down from the box.
‘I … Max, I’m sorry. I nearly crashed it.’ He stumbled and Max caught him up, pushing him back against the coach wheel. The others would be here in a moment; he wasn’t having Nevill showing them anything but a confident face. ‘If you hadn’t told me when to go, shouted at me … I was going too fast on a blind bend. I’ll understand if you never let me drive your horses again.’
‘Are you ever going to do anything that stupid again?’ Max demanded, ignoring the bustle of ostlers running to unharness his team. ‘No?’ His cousin shook his head. ‘Well, then, lesson learned. I once had the York mail off the road, although I don’t choose to talk about it. I was about your age, and probably as green. Now, get the team put up and looked over and then get us a chamber. I’m going to save your bacon by doing my best with the coachman.’
‘But I should—’
‘Just do as I ask, Nevill, and pray I don’t look at the damage to my paintwork before I’ve had at least one glass of brandy.’
The average stagecoachman would have the boy’s guts for garters—their temper and their arrogance were legendary. Max heard the sound of the horn and the stage swept into the yard: at least he wasn’t going to have to organise its rescue from the ditch. He scanned the roof passengers as they clambered down, protesting loudly about their terrible experience. No young woman—he must have been dreaming. His heart sank and he grimaced wryly; he was acting like a heartsick youth after a glimpse of some beauty at a window.
The groom swung down beside the grumbling passengers. ‘Brandy on the company,’ he said, urging them towards the door of the Bell and the waiting landlord.
He swung round as Max strode up. ‘You driving that rig just now, guv’nor?’ he demanded belligerently.
‘No, my young cousin was, but I am responsible. Allow me to make our apologies to the driver, and to you, of course.’ He slipped a coin into the man’s hand and stepped to one side to confront the other who was slowly climbing down, his back to the yard. The groom shifted as though to protect his driver’s back. Max dodged—and found himself face to face with the smallest, strangest, and certainly most belligerent stagecoach driver he had ever met.
‘You oaf!’ It was his young woman. In the better light of the inn yard she was even more striking than he recalled from that startling glimpse, her looks heightened by shimmering fury. No classical beauty, although a low-crowned beaver jammed down almost to her
