‘There is always the possibility of romance,’ said Hannah.
‘Pooh. How much better to be free and single.’ Belinda lowered her voice and glanced at the sleeping Judds. ‘Now there is a typical marriage.’
Hannah frowned. She herself thought the Judds’s marriage was indeed typical but she was not going to agree with Belinda. Young women should all get married and have children. That was Hannah’s firm belief. It was different for someone like herself. Ambitious servants knew they could not marry.
‘You might meet someone in Bath.’ Hannah had become tired of saying ‘The’ Bath. It sounded vaguely indecent anyway.
‘I shall never meet anyone,’ said Belinda firmly.
‘But think, my dear, although you may not have attracted certain titled gentlemen, was there no one you met during the Season who attracted you in the least?’
‘Not one.’
‘In any case, since you are here, I assume when you arrived home that day your disappearance had been noticed?’
‘Oh, yes. And oh, the folly of it. I had left a note, you see, telling them that I must have my freedom. And so it was decided to reform me.’ Belinda sighed. ‘Travel on the stage does seem a sort of purgatory.’
‘Is your great-aunt so very strict?’
‘Yes, she has turned Methodist, you see. I shall simply have to be patient until I am twenty-one.’
‘And then what will you do?’
‘I shall travel.’ Belinda gave a little laugh. ‘Comfortably. I shall have a travelling carriage built. I shall go to the Low Countries, to Italy, to Turkey.’
‘Foreign places?’ Hannah sniffed. ‘I prefer to see England.’
‘And what of Scotland?’
‘Full of savages in skirts.’
Belinda smiled. ‘Nonetheless, I am determined to remain cheerful. I shall endure the next two years planning my freedom.’
‘We may have an adventure on the road to Bath.’
Belinda sighed. ‘It is reputed to be the best road in the country. Oh, no. We shall travel sedately in this freezing cold and eventually we shall arrive, numb and miserable. I am sure my great-aunt considers fires in the bedchambers a sinful waste of money.’
Hannah looked out of the window. ‘It is beginning to snow,’ she said.
Light, feathery flakes were drifting down, dancing and spiralling. The sun had disappeared behind a bank of heavy grey cloud.
As the coach turned into the courtyard of another inn, the other passengers awoke. The dandified coachman, Hannah noticed with displeasure, had his hand out for tips before they were even seated round the table. He obviously did not think much of what he got, for he tossed the coins contemptuously in his hand before going off with the guard to the coachman’s room.
‘I do hope we will not land in a snow-drift,’ said Mrs Judd nervously, as they were drinking the inevitable rum and hot milk and nutmeg. They were all so cold that even Miss Wimple did not protest when Belinda raised the tankard to her lips. It was customary for the gentlemen of the party on the stage-coach to pay for the ladies’ refreshment. Mr Judd did not appear to find this courtesy necessary in this case, possibly because he was the only male passenger.
‘We shall not come to any harm,’ he said pompously. ‘I shall see to that.’
‘If it snows really hard,’ said Mrs Judd, on whom the rum was having an invigorating effect, ‘I do not know that you can do much about it.’
‘I shall take the ribbons myself,’ said her husband, quelling her with a frown. ‘I have a pretty hand with the ribbons.’
‘But I have only seen you drive a gig,’ exclaimed his wife. ‘Not a four-in-hand.’
He whispered something fiercely in her ear and she blushed, looked miserable, and said, ‘Yes, dear.’
It was an unusually long stop. The waiter filled their tankards several times. The heat from a large roaring fire was thawing them all out and no one showed any signs of being anxious to be on the road again.
Then the coachman could be seen, lurching through the yard. He appeared, Hannah observed uneasily, to be very drunk. She began to wish there were more male passengers on board.
She took up a collection this time to tip the landlord to put hot bricks in the coach. Mr Judd demurred, but Mrs Judd opened her reticule and paid over some money, much to her husband’s obvious fury.
She knows he don’t like to tick her off too much in front of an audience, thought Hannah, and she’s making the most of it.
As they all boarded the coach again, even Hannah began to feel sleepy. The coach rumbled on. There were three more stops that afternoon, and at each, hot drinks of brandy and rum and milk were served. Belinda requested hot lemonade and Hannah joined her in drinking it, noticing with amusement that the severe Miss Wimple was becoming tipsy. But her amusement died when she saw the state of the coachman. He could barely stand and had to be hoisted up on the box by the guard and a couple of ostlers.
Inside the coach again, Mrs Judd began to sing and was violently hushed by her husband, on whom alcohol had produced a morose effect.
‘You are a fuddy-duddy,’ said Mrs Judd with a laugh. She obviously liked the sound of the words because she kept repeating ‘fuddy-duddy’ over and over again and then tried ‘duddy-fuddy,’ all interspersed with laughs and hiccups.
Mr Judd sat huddled in his corner and glared at his wife. Hannah considered there was going to be one almighty marital row that evening when the Judds were in the seclusion of their bedchamber.
They finally rolled into Reading and found their rooms in the Bear and Bull. It was an expensive hostelry. Glad as she was of the comfort, Hannah began to wonder uneasily how long her inheritance would last. Five thousand pounds had seemed a fortune just a short time ago. But it was lovely to finally sink down on a feather bed with silk hangings and stretch out on lavender-scented sheets.
Her eyes were just beginning to close when she heard the sound of a thump from the next door, followed by a wail of pain.
Hannah sat up in bed.
The Judds were in that room next door. If a married man wanted to beat his wife, there was nothing she or anyone could do about it. But her heart went out to little Mrs Judd. There came the sound of another blow and then a thin, high wail of fear.
‘For what I am about to do, God,’ prayed Hannah Pym, ‘please forgive me.’
She rose and dressed and went downstairs and ordered two tankards of mulled wine. She carried the steaming tankards up to her room. Throwing back the lid of her trunk, she took out a box in which she kept various medicines. Into one of the tankards, she poured a dose of laudanum.
She then carried the tray next door and knocked. Mr Judd in nightcap and dressing gown opened the door. Mrs Judd was a huddled, sobbing figure on the bed.
‘I heard Mrs Judd cry out and was afraid she was suffering from nightmares. Is that the case?’ demanded Hannah, steely eyed.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Judd testily.
‘I have brought you both some mulled wine,’ said Hannah in governessy tones. ‘It is the best thing to ensure a tranquil sleep and I shall stay here until you have both drunk it.’
She turned the tray deftly so that the drugged drink was nearest to Mr Judd. ‘Thank you,’ he said sourly. He was anxious to get back to the pleasures of tormenting his wife. He drained the tankard in one gulp and then took the tray from Hannah. ‘I will take this to my wife,’ he said. ‘Good night.’
Hannah followed him into the room and neatly caught the tray as he began to weave and stumble. ‘What the deuce?’ he mumbled. He fell into an armchair beside the fire and began to snore.
Hannah walked over to the bed and patted Mrs Judd awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘There, there,’ she said. ‘Do not cry any more. Your husband is asleep. Do not move him. He has had too much to drink.’