Chapter 6: Trapped
Somewhere south of London, England; beginning of July, 1815.
Lightning parted the dark sky from east to west, startling the ladies in the carriages and the horses driving them. Not long after, a thunderous clap resonated above them, placing the storm very close by. Valery looked outside and silently cursed herself for not heeding the coachman's advice to stop earlier: now they were in the middle of nowhere, between towns, and she didn't know how far the next one was.
"I am not very fond of thunderstorms," one of the ladies in her carriage said.
"I don't mind them when I'm safely inside a house," Valery replied, looking out their small window.
A small pattering sound started above their heads as heavy rain drops fell on the roof of the carriage. It became louder and louder and soon enough, the ladies couldn't hear each other speak.
The royal guards dressed in scarlet coats who escorted them started moving up and down the carriage procession, and Valery wondered what the next move was going to be. Every few minutes, a new lightning strike split the sky, leaving them with a sizzling feeling in the air. Despite the heat, most of the girls had worn long sleeve cotton travel dresses, and they were happy to be slightly covered as their arm hairs rose at every thunderclap.
The rain was suddenly torrential and Valery couldn't see more than a few feet out of the window. She could still distinguish the read coats riding beside them and she knew they would be drenched to the bone, by now.
Their carriage took up the pace as the horses were ordered to giddy up to reach the next town quickly, but it didn't last long. One of the guards galloped all the way up the line and told them to stop.
Valery opened the door and hollered the guard, who was none other than Captain Clinton, James' personal guard. She barely had time to wonder what he was doing there and why he was not with the prince because they had other worries at the moment. "Captain! What is going on?" she shouted to be heard over the storm.
The captain approached his horse and tilted his head towards the lady – even in these circumstances he knew the proper etiquette. "One of the carriages lost a wheel, ma'am," he said. "It got stuck in the mud in the road."
"Golly," Valery murmured. "Are the ladies alright?"
"Yes," Captain Clinton replied. "A little shaken, but alright." He passed a hand over his eyes, wiping away the water dripping from his hat. "I suggest they split up and join the remaining carriages."
Valery nodded. "How far are we from the next town? Is there a hotel?"
Clinton looked up the road, but he couldn't see anything farther than the carriage itself. "I'm not sure, ma'am." Again, he wiped the water from his face. "But we will drive on until we reach the next town and I will personally make arrangements for the night when we get there."
"Thank you." Valery closed the door of the carriage and explained what had happened to the other three. A moment later, one if the girls from the broken-down carriage was ushered in their cabin, soaked all the way to the bones.
"Lady Priscilla," Valery said, recognizing the woman despite the dripping bonnet and hair, and the wet dress hugging her silhouette. "Are you quite alright?"
The lady next to Valery squeezed herself between the two others so Lady Priscilla d'Herblay could sit next to the redhead without soaking everyone.
"I'm alright," she said. "I just hope I won't catch pneumonia..." She paused before adding: "I already had pneumonia once or twice, and it was awful." To punctuate her statement, she sneezed into her drenched gloves.
Right. That was one possible outcome of this dire circumstance. "I hope as well," she said, but no one heard her under the thunder.
The procession continued carefully through the muddy road, jolting them left and right against each other and the walls of the cabin, and Valery had no idea what time it could possibly be since it was almost as dark as night, but it was the middle of the afternoon. They jumped at each thunderclap which followed the lightning strikes by half a second each time, placing them in the heart of the storm. The air was hot and heavy with electricity, and conversation was made impossible. So they drove on in silence, waiting. Beside her, lady Priscilla was trembling slightly, the wetness chilling her despite the heavy heat.
/ / /
Sometime later – hours, maybe? – the traveling ladies finally reached the next town, which could hardly be called a 'town': there was a single main street with dirty houses on either sides, and a muddy road that couldn't even be considered a road anymore at that moment. They waited in the carriages while captain Clinton and some of his men looked for a place to stay for the night. As Valery looked at the town from the window, she hoped there wouldn't be anything for them. She would honestly rather spend the night in the carriage – even sleep on the floor if she had to – than enter one if these filthy houses.
The rain was still pouring down and for a while it seemed like they had been traveling alongside the storm. But it had calmed down a little while before entering the town. Now it was only the rain and they had no idea how long it would last. Valery was loving the beginning of the selection.
A knock on the door of their carriage startled her and her traveling companions before it opened on Captain Clinton's red coat and wet face.
"There's a tavern a few houses down the street," he said, an apology written all over his features and voice. "They have a few free rooms, but not enough for all of you. You will have to share."
Valery nodded. "I understand," she said instead if telling him what she really thought about the town. "How many rooms are we talking about, captain?"
"Three."
Valery sighed and thought quickly. The coachmen et guards would have to have find accommodations elsewhere. "I see. Let us go, then." The carriages brought them all the way in front of the door of the tavern – The Green Ale – but not close enough not to step in the mud and be caught in the rain.
The twenty ladies trickled in one after the other into the tavern under the watchful hazy gazes of the drunk patrons already inside.
"I don't like this place," lady Louise whispered near Valery.
"Neither do I, but we'll have to make do," she surprised herself saying. Never in a million years had she ever thought she would be agreeable to such a venture, but alas.
The tavern owner directed them upstairs to the three free rooms and they divided into groups of six or seven. Upon entering her room with her small congregation, Valery noticed one large bed, one chair, and one small table with an empty basin and pitcher: cleaning would have to wait. Also, the only fireplace she had seen was in the main room one floor below, with the other patrons. It couldn't possibly get worse, could it?
Among the girls in her room were the Ladies Letitia Davies and Aislin Godfrey, from Wales and Ireland respectively. Lady Valery hadn't travelled with them yet and barely spoken to them in London since they were among the last ones to arrive.
"All right, ladies," she redhead said, taking off her dripping bonnet. "The guards are going to bring up our trunks so we can change, and we'll have to decide who sleeps in the bed and who sleeps on the floor–"
"I'd like the bed, if that's alright," Lady Letitia said, sitting on the edge.
"There's room for at least two more," Valery offered, and in a matter of minutes, the small group of women had decided who was going to sleep where. Valery decided she wouldn't sleep because being in such close proximity with all these women was difficult for her, especially since she preferred women and that it was something not acceptable. Once the trunks had arrived on the first floor and had found their owners, the women changed into dry clothes and hung their wet garments to dry.
While the ladies were getting ready and chatting about the catastrophic beginning of the Selection, Valery went downstairs to see if she could have a word with Captain Clinton and the tavern owner. The guards had moved all the patrons away from the fireplace and were sitting around the tables near the fire, trying to dry up and stay warm. When they saw the lady, they all stood and Clinton joined her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Is everything alright, ma'am?" he asked. He was trembling slightly despite the heat inside the tavern and Valery felt bad for him.
"Yes, I think the ladies are settling in, considering…" she looked around, not finishing her sentence. "Might I have a word with you, Captain?"
"Of course." They walked to the side of the tavern, in a corner near a wall, where no one would hear them. "First of all, what are you doing here?"
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. His blond hair had dried a little, but they were still a little damp.
"Aren't you supposed to travel with the prince?" she whispered the last two words. No one needed to know who they were – though twenty ladies traveling together escorted by royal guards was not really inconspicuous.
Clinton cleared his throat. "He appointed me head of the royal guard that would be travelling with the ladies."
"Are you spying for him?"
"No, of course not–"
Valery raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow as well, pointedly looking at him.
"Yes," he relented. "But not on you– His Roy– I mean, James asked me to keep an eye on the ladies for him and let him know if there were anyone he shouldn't be wasting time on."
"I see." She looked at the redcoats over his shoulders, drying up near the fire. "Then we are on the same side. Secondly, do you have any idea what the tavern is serving for dinner this evening? I am certain I speak for all of us, but we are famished."
Clinton raised one side of his mouth in a half smile. "Aren't we all, milady." He looked at the tavern keeper over his shoulder and then back at Lady Valery. "I'm afraid he only has stew to offer and there will be more liquid than solids in there. And some leftover bread."
Valery sighed. "Oh, how I wish we were already in Brighton," she said. "I fathom that will have to do for tonight." She paused and looked around the big room: it was going to be very crowded with the Selected. Clinton followed her gaze.
"Let us dry up a bit more by the fire," the redcoat suggested, "then we will give you and the ladies the table and we will eat later, once you are all replete."
Valery nodded. "I'll get the girls in a while then." She paused. "Do you think your men will mind if I join your table while we wait for them to dry off?"
From Clinton's face, they wouldn't be entirely comfortable having a lady among them as they drank some ale to keep warm. Valery understood, so she went to the bar and sat on a wooden chair, hoping it wouldn't ruin her nicer dress than the traveling one she had worn earlier. She ordered a drink, but the only thing the tavern keeper could offer was either ale or cider, and Valery chose the latter.
/ / /
The same dirty tavern, the following morning; July 1815.
"Good morning, Lady Valery."
Valery jumped from her doze, almost falling off from her high chair at the bar. For some reason, she had fallen asleep there, several empty glasses of cider in front of her. She looked around her only for her eyes to fall on a very beautiful woman with dark brown curls somewhat pinned back. Valery hated to be taken off-guard like that, especially just after waking up, so she kept her head high. That's when she noticed the woman in question was actually wearing trousers! How had she not seen that before?
"My traveling dress was drenched, last night," the woman said, explaining but not in an apological tone, "so I had to wear something else."
"Hm," Valery said. "I do hope you change before we arrive in Brighton. Miss…?"
"Tudor," the young woman said. "Cerys Tudor, from–"
"Wales. I remember." Valery stood from her chair, stifling a groan as her legs changed position from sleeping seated all night. She looked around the tavern: the patrons had all either found their beds or left altogether. The only person around was Captain Clinton, keeping an eye on her, while the other guards had vanished as well. Either sleeping or keeping a watchful eye on the Selected, she didn't know. And she didn't really care either. Her stomach grumbled quite loudly, unfortunately, getting the woman in trousers to smile.
"I'm hungry as well," she said. She turned to the tavern keeper who had just arrived and was putting away Valery's several glasses. "What is there for breakfast, kind sir?"
"Porridge," he replied curtly.
Just then, a whole group of women came down the stairs, all primed and ready to start the day, as if a bedbug-ridden bed shared with six other women in a dirty tavern hadn't bothered them in the slightest. Valery really hoped they would be in Brighton soon.
The ladies all took a seat around the table, hair and clothes dry, as the tavern keeper laid out rough wooden plates with a large scoop of colorless porridge in front of each of them. The wooden spoons they used were soft – thank God for a small blessing – and they all downed their breakfasts quickly, seemingly famished after the light stew of the previous evening. Valery also noticed how their manners had fairly vanished since they had set foot in the inn, and she hoped they would magically reappear once in Brighton. Or else she would have a lot of work to do.
"Milady?" Clinton said, coming over to Valery. She had barely touched the food, even though she was hungry: but it was utterly tasteless and she'd rather starve than eat any of it.
"Yes?"
"A word?"
"Of course."
The captain directed her outside on the wooden sidewalk. "I'm afraid the roads are a mess of mud and water," he said, motioning the road with his chin. "The carriages won't last an hour without breaking down."
"I see," she said, though inside, she was screaming. "And the one that broke down yesterday?"
"I have a couple of my men on it," he replied, before sighing. "I'm afraid we're trapped here for at least another day to let the roads dry. Unless it rains again, but I doubt it." Above them, the sky was a cloudless blue, and the sun was already shining, working on drying the roads.
"Let us hope the roads dry quickly, then," Valery said. "We leave first thing in the morning tomorrow; I don't want to take any unnecessary risks again." Clinton nodded once. "Oh, and Captain?" the redhead said before heading back inside. "Do you, by any chance, know if there is a bakery in this town?"
Edward Clinton smiled his usual half smile. "I thought you would never ask." He handed her a small loaf of bread he was hiding in a linen cloth behind his back and walked inside, leaving her to follow him inside whenever she wished. Not wanting to make the others jealous of her freshly baked bread, Valery ate it as quickly as her manners could allow on the sidewalk before joining the other ladies inside and telling them the news that they would be another day there. She could at least use this day to either get to know some more of the ladies or work on manners, right?
Hi! sorry for the long wait, this past week was quite hectic. also, sorry for any typos, Grammarly doesnt seem to be working today... smh.
anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! thanks for your reviews on the previous chapter! also, you should def go read Lady Wonderington's gossip collums in the reviews, they're amazing lmao.
also, end of May is just upon us! but if you need some extra days to do your OCs, please let me know ;) thanks to all of you who already pinned stuff on the board, it's amazing!
see you next chapter! and thanks for reading!
