Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 2)

The carriage began to slow as they turned off the main drive on to the lane that ran down to the bridge and then back up before they reached the turnpike road that led towards London. Bella glanced out at the fog and then back to her book. It was not easy to read.

‘The Pulteney sounds the finest,’ she observed, trying to sound cheerful and positive. ‘But it is probably very expensive.’ The carriage levelled out, the sound of hooves on wood signalled they had reached the bridge. ‘Let’s see which—’

There was a rending noise, a creaking and cracking. The coachman shouted and the groom up behind yelled back, then the carriage tipped and fell sideways and down. Bella grabbed for Marguerite as they crashed to a halt. Cold water rushed in, but her groping hands met nothing but the folds of Mary’s gown.

It was almost dark, cold, the baby was screaming. They were in the river.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Elliott splashed out of the river edge, his boots sodden. ‘Too late. The dam’s gone. Nothing we can do here now, we can’t repair it with this much water going down.’

‘We’d better take a look at the bridges lower down, my lord,’ Murrow, the estate carpenter, said, pushing his hat back on his head and wiping the sweat and mist droplets off his face. ‘They’re none too strong. I warned his late lordship about them, often a time, but he wouldn’t spend the money.’

‘We’ll go down now. Who’s that?’ A rider was thundering down the muddy slope. ‘Wilkins?’

The groom slid off the horse he had been riding bareback. ‘It’s her ladyship—the carriage. The bridge collapsed, my lord.’ He pointed downstream.

‘The carriage? Her ladyship is at home.’ But even as he said it the fear was knotting in his stomach. Elliott took the horse’s mane and swung up on to its back.

‘No, my lord. She said she was going to London.’

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sp; Oh God. Arabella. ‘Murrow, get all the men down there. Horses, timbers, ropes.’ The carpenter was a good man, he’d know what to do. Elliott turned the horse and gave it its head down the river bank.

When Bella found her footing she was in near darkness and in water. Confusion almost panicked her and then she realised where she was.

‘Marguerite! Mary!’ The carriage resounded with the baby’s screams.

‘Here,’ the maid gasped and Bella twisted to find the girl holding the baby over her head.

‘Give her to me, I am taller than you. Can you find the seat and stand on it?’ The carriage was tilted crazily and there was something massive across the only window she could see.

‘I think so.’ The girl floundered and then rose a little out of the water, her head and shoulders cramped under the roof.

Bella tried for a foothold and managed to get a little higher too. Marguerite’s blankets were wet, but not soaked through. ‘We can put her into the luggage netting,’ she said. ‘If we drop her…’ The maid scrabbled to hold the net open at one side as Bella pushed the wriggling, screaming bundle into it. The net, attached to the inside of the roof, was at an odd angle, but at least it was clear of the water.

For a moment that was reassuring, then she felt the icy cold in her legs and the weight of her waterlogged clothing beginning to drag. How long could they survive in this? ‘Help!’ she shouted. ‘Help!’

The coachman and groom must be hurt or surely they would be doing something. ‘Are we going to drown?’ Mary quavered.

‘Of course not,’ Bella said. But they could die of cold if someone did not find them soon. ‘Just hold on, keep as much of yourself out of the water as possible. Shh, Marguerite, shh, Mama’s here.’

The carriage shuddered, slid, and she had the sickening realisation that if it moved any more they would be trapped as it sank. Oh, Elliott, I am so sorry. I love you. Please come, my love, please come.

The wreckage of the bridge loomed out of the fog as a bulky figure staggered towards him, a small, frantically barking dog at its heels. Elliott swung off the horse as Toby leapt for his arms. The sound of a baby screaming in fright and discomfort was clear over the rush of water.

‘Philips, where’s her ladyship?’

‘Inside, my lord. And her maid and the baby. Groom’s a bit battered, but he’s not so bad—he went for help. A big rush of water hit the bridge just as we got on to it.’ He ran beside Elliott to the bank. ‘It’s wedged, but the timbers are giving way, my lord.’

‘I can see,’ Elliott said, putting the dog down and fighting the urge just to hurl himself into the torrent. ‘We need ropes, horses—oh, good man, Murrow.’ The carpenter brought a wagon down the hill at a reckless canter, dragged the team to a halt and men began to leap down and unharness the horses.

‘Arabella!’ he shouted until he thought his lungs would burst and then, faintly, he heard her voice.

‘Elliott! Safe…but slipping.’

‘We’re coming.’ He tied a rope around his waist and pulled off his boots, his coat, grabbed another rope and plunged into the water. Behind him he heard Murrow do the same.