Page 15 of All is Fair in Love
He held his arms out wide and stood his ground. The horse slowed. Fortunately for Francis, the skittish beast hadn’t had time to lift its pace to more than a slow canter.
“Shh. Shh. Good lad,” said Francis, in a calm voice. He was keen to reassure the spooked horse that he posed it no threat.
Making sure he avoided meeting the horse’s eyes, he moved forward, his right hand lifting slowly as he did. As his fingers touched the leather of the loose reins, Francis took a firm hold. “It’s alright. No one is going to hurt you.”
To his relief, his words and calm manner had the desired effect. The horse didn’t struggle against Francis’s hold.
The liveried tiger from the Saunders’s carriage appeared at his side.
“Mister Saunders, shall I take the reins?”
He nodded. “Yes, thank you. Just keep him calm.” The young man took the horse.
Francis pondered what else he should do. He could go back to his carriage, retrieve his satchel, and then be on his way. This situation wasn’t his problem.
The air was blue with the foul curses of various drivers and passengers, but no one was making any effort to help clear the obstruction.
Abusing the poor man and his animals won’t do any of us an ounce of good.
It would cause disruption to his plans for the day, but he couldn’t just walk away when he could do something to help.
Arriving back at the middle of the crossroads, Francis made his way over to the wagon. The red-faced driver was doing his best to untangle the other horse, while at the same time stopping it from running away. From what Francis could tell, the poor man was making little progress.
Adding to the bedlam were the other vehicles which were trying to get around the scene. Horses and carriages squeezed through a gap that left little room for error.
“Here, let me hold the reins and keep the horse still. You see what you can do to clear the tangle. One of my servants has your other horse,” said Francis.
The wagon driver appeared close to tears. “Thank you, kind sir. You are the first person who has offered to assist. Everyone else is too busy abusing me or shoving their way through.”
“You look like you need help, and it wouldn’t sit right with my conscience not to do what I can.”
It took some time, but finally, with Francis’s assistance, the driver was able to set the harness to right. Francis then handed him the reins and went back to his own carriage. He returned a few minutes later with the other horse and a spare length of leather.
He fashioned the leather into a makeshift rein and secured it. With both animals back under control, the wagon driver was able to move the wagon out of the way. Movement across the intersection immediately gathered pace. The life and blood of the city began to flow once more.
“Thank you, sir. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along. I expect I would have been stuck there for a long while yet,” said the driver.
Francis offered the man his hand. “It was my pleasure. I am just glad that your horses are safe, and you can get on your way.”
The wagon driver glanced at Francis’s hand. He took it, then bowed. The expression on his face said it all. He wasn’t used to well-dressed, upper-class men offering to help, let alone shake his hand.
“God bless you, sir.”
As Francis made his way back to his own carriage, he checked his pocket watch again. He would have to hurry if he was going to be able to see the head of London Docks this morning.
It would have been so easy to have done the same as everyone else and simply left the wagon driver to deal with his problems on his own. But situations like this called for good men to step up and do what was right. And while he had his faults, Francis Saunders was a good man at heart.
Chapter Ten
Poppy was having the time of her life. She had gone in search of food earlier in the morning and had been delighted to discover that the dock area was well serviced by roaming pie men, selling all manner of hot and delicious baked pastries.
With her belly full, she had set to finishing the task of cleaning the warehouse. Hours later, she was covered from head to toe in dust, and her hands were blackened from scrubbing around the window frames.
And she was loving it.
Slowly but surely, the ground floor of her new home was taking shape. Another day of this and she would be able to move some of her personal possessions off the Empress Catherine and into number fourteen. She couldn’t wait for the moment when her soft, feather mattress made its way down the gangplank, across the wharf embankment, and through the front door.
Tomorrow night, I am going to sleep in here. Claim this place as my home.
