Page 50 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
He was a jolly looking man, exceedingly large, the buttons of his great overcoat bulging at the seams. He had a red face and small eyes, his brow damp with sweat, despite the coolness of the day.
“Gretna Green? Is that right? And what name is it?” he asked.
“Mr. Johnson, Edward Johnson, and this is my… this is Catherine,” he said, and the driver nodded.
“Perkins, Walter Perkins, and I can take you as far as Gretna Green, that I can,” he said.
Ian thanked him profusely, and a deal was struck, he and Catherine loading their bags into the cramped coach, which was occupied by several others going north, too.
“How long will it take to get there?” Catherine asked the driver, and he pondered for a moment.
“The country grows wilder in the north, miss, but two days with a fair wind,” he said, smiling at her.
Catherine nodded, turning to glance across the square. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tugged at Ian’s sleeve.
“What is wrong?” he asked, and with a trembling finger, she pointed to a carriage from which a figure had just emerged.
“Get in the coach, quickly,” Ian said, and Catherine wasted no time.
The figure was none other than her brother Rickard, and already he was asking questions of those around him. “Can we leave immediately?” she heard Ian ask the driver.
“I am ready,” he said, and Ian clambered into the coach, putting his arm round Catherine who suddenly felt very scared.
“He will not find us, will he?” she whispered, and Ian shook his head.
“Look, we are leaving now,” he said, the coach pulling off across the square. Catherine glanced out of the window, watching her brother across the square. It was a devious action on his part, and she knew he would now stop at nothing to find them.
“We will get there before he finds us, will we not?” she asked, and Ian nodded.
“I promise you we will, and once we are married, he will have no recourse to us. We will be free of your father, your brother, and everyone else who believes they should dictate whom you may marry and when,” he replied, kissing her on the forehead, his arm still tightly around her.
But Catherine could not help but be afraid, and even as they drove out of Lancaster, the mail coach speeding north, she could not help but fear that Rickard was close behind and would stop their marriage before it could even begin.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Gretna Green ahead,” the mail coach driver called out, and Catherine and Ian gathered their things together.
If Catherine had thought their journey north in the carriage from London had been arduous and uncomfortable, then the two days spent in the company of Walter Perkins and their fellow travelers had been like a journey across the ocean. The cramped and stuffy coach had bounced along near impassable roads, climbing to great heights over the northern hills. They had even encountered flurries of snow on the high moorlands, and Catherine could not have felt gladder to hear the announcement of their destination.
“At last,” she whispered, glancing at their fellow travelers, an odd assortment of people, including a tailor traveling north to fit a dress in Edinburgh, and a woman with a twitching eye who had stared at Catherine incessantly for the previous two days.
“If I am traveling back this way when you are done, hail me and I shall see you safely back to Lancaster,” Walter Perkins said, nodding to them both.
He had set them down on what must have passed as the main street running through the village. It was a motley collection of timber framed cottages, barns, and an inn, a sign directing them to the smithy at the far end of the street.
“Thank you for bringing us this far,” Ian said, handing the mail coach driver his fee.
“Always a pleasure, sir,” he said, and geeing off the horses, the mail coach trundled off along the road north, leaving Catherine and Ian alone with their bags.
There was a slight chill in the air, the countryside thereabouts green, though somewhat bleak in its appearance. They had passed through the city of Carlisle, and followed the road near the coasts, the Solway Firth opening up to the southeast, whilst rolling hills verged west, the afternoon sun breaking through clouds above.
“Do you think Rickard discovered we were making for Gretna?” Catherine asked, glancing back along the road and imagining her brother appearing at any moment.
“I do not think it will take much for him to assume our intended destination. I wonder how he discovered our intentions? Certainly not from Redbrand, though perhaps from the carriage driver who brought you to Westwick Manor. But never mind, we must see to it we are married before he can prevent it. Come, Catherine, we will make enquiries,” he said, beckoning her to follow him.
The people of Gretna Green were used to the arrival of English couples from the south, and at the inn, Ian gave their real names to the landlord, who smiled and showed them to a room simply furnished, and in which a large, log fire was burning.
“Will ye be marryin’ today?” he asked, and Ian and Catherine glanced at one another.
