Besides, Theo was by no means perfect. He was over-protective, he had a recent past of thoroughly wild behaviour from what Perry had told her, and he was not dark. She had always considered that only a dark-haired man would do for her. Nor is his nose straight enough, she decided, cheering herself up with the frivolity of listing all his faults as she walked along the narrow path avoiding brambles and the occasional muddy spot.
After five minutes she reached the point where the lane down to the coast road brushed the edge of the little wood and the footpath she was on descended for a few yards to meet it. She had planned to turn and skirt the wood in the opposite direction, but as she did so there was the rattle of harness and the creak of wheels and a gig drew up and stopped almost level with where she was standing.
Laura moved back deeper into the bushes and peered between the overhanging branches at a one-horse gig with an unaccompanied woman driving it.
‘Tansy, don’t tell me you’ve gone lame! You only had a new set of shoes last week.’ The voice was pleasant, but forthright, and Laura moved a little closer, suspecting she knew who this was.
‘Oh, do stand still, you foolish animal.’
The horse had clearly decided that its hoof hurt and that no human was going to make it any better. It was sidling and fidgeting and refusing to remain still as the driver jumped down and went to its head. Now Laura could see her clearly and she had been correct, this was Mr Hogget’s second wife – or scandalous mistress, depending on whose gossip you believed. She had missed the encounter that had led to Mrs Hogget being snubbed and snubbing her Aunt Swinburn in return, but she had seen the lady at a distance before.
The horse tossed its head and jerked the reins from her hand when Mrs Hogget tried to lift its off-fore leg and, without thinking, Laura slipped from her hiding place, went down the path and took the reins just below the bit. ‘Stand,’ she said firmly.
The other woman looked up, then smiled. ‘Thank you so much. Ah, here we are, just a
stone. There, that’s better, I don’t think it has bruised the foot.’ She straightened up and brushed off her hands. ‘I know who you are – you are the missing Miss Darke, are you not?’
‘I – ’
‘Goodness, do not fear for a moment that I’d betray you. I cannot stand the Swinburns, ghastly snobs that they are. And that rake Giles Swinburn is a complete wretch.’
‘Thank you.’ Laura believed her. ‘I would be most obliged if you do not mention to anyone that you saw me. I should have taken more care, but I was becoming quite distracted, shut up in the house with no fresh air.’ It was reckless, but something convinced her to take the risk, although quite what, she could not say. Theo will be apoplectic when he discovers what I’m doing.
‘Come with me to Blakeney. I had a fancy for a drive and to pay for some fish while I was at it.’ She studied Laura with a frankness that was attractive. ‘I know, put on this cloak.’ She rummaged under the seat. ‘Dreadful, shabby old thing, I keep it in case I’m caught in a rain shower. But it has a hood. If you take off your bonnet and tuck it under the seat you can pretend to be my maid. Do come. Unless, of course, you believe the gossip about me.’
‘I don’t care if it is true,’ Laura said, thrusting her bonnet under the seat and swinging the cloak around her shoulders. ‘But is it?’ she asked as she climbed up beside the other woman.
‘That Henry’s wife is still alive? Yes, it is. Walk on, Tansy. The poor woman is disturbed in her mind and is a danger to herself. Henry has her confined in one wing of the house with some very kind attendants, and she is tranquil most of the time, although deeply confused. But sometimes…’ She broke off. ‘Anyway, she has no idea who Henry is any longer. The doctors wanted to send her to an asylum, but he was so horrified by what he saw there that he refused.’
‘I see.’ And she did. How wretched that Mr Hogget was trapped, unable to marry again. ‘It must be lonely for you, with so many people being difficult about the situation.’
‘I don’t think it is the talk about Henry’s mad wife, that is the problem.’ Her voice held distaste at the phrase. ‘Nor about my wicked morals. It’s the fact that I’m not gentry-born. I could be an upper class wanton and be far more acceptable.’
‘Of course, if you were Lady Something then everyone would pretend to believe that Mr Hogget was a widower.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, I have plenty to keep me occupied, Miss Darke.’
She did not elaborate on what that might be and Laura, somehow, did not like to ask. She had a suspicion that she would only hear evasions and she was unwilling to hear untruths from her new acquaintance. ‘Won’t you call me Laura?’
‘And I am Charlotte.’
They turned onto the coast road and rattled along in companionable silence, Laura with the hood of the cloak drawn up in case they encountered someone who might recognise her.
They passed through Fellingham without anyone taking any notice of them, rattled over the bridge across the creek and continued on towards Blakeney. The church came into sight with its strange little tower at the east end that served as a lighthouse for the mariners negotiating their way into the harbour at the foot of the hill.
Charlotte turned the gig into the first of the narrow lanes that led down to the harbourside, lined with small cottages built of flint with red pantiled roofs. They gave way to store sheds and brick warehouses as the gig turned along the quayside itself.
‘Goodness, but it is busy today.’ Laura peered out cautiously from under the edge of the hood.
‘It usually is,’ Charlotte remarked, reining in to a walk.
‘It is quite some time since I have been down here. Are you looking for any ship in particular?’ Her companion seemed to be scanning each of the small vessels moored alongside with keen attention.
‘A ship? No, I am just interested. Such a lot of coastal trade, despite the fact that they can’t cross to the Continent,’ Charlotte observed.
Surely she did not believe that? ‘The smugglers do,’ Laura observed.
‘Oh. Yes, I suppose so. I had not given it much thought. Look, there is Mrs Finch – be careful with your hood.’