LITMIR.BIZ

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in the room. This was the best entertainment they had had in years and they longed for the Viscount’s pup to be taught a lesson. No one could lift that barrel single-handed, not even the giant navvy. Myles returned. ‘You can have it if you take it now.’

      ‘Right, lads, give us a hand,’ Edward said, addressing a group of labourers. ‘Bendish, go and hitch up your cart, we’ll put it on that.’

      ‘No, that’s not the deal,’ Myles said. ‘You have to carry it out of the door single-handed.’

      ‘Don’t be daft, man, it’s not possible.’

      ‘Pity. I was looking forward to sharing it with you.’

      ‘You can and welcome, if you help me get it out to Bendish’s cart.’

      ‘So, you will not take my challenge and yet you expect me to take yours.’

      ‘If you’re so clever, let’s see you carry it.’

      Myles laughed and took off his jacket. ‘Hold this for me, Joe.’

      He walked over to the barrel, flexed his muscles and, bending his knees, heaved it on to his shoulder. A gasp went round the crowd. It was three-quarters full and for a moment he wondered if he had taken on more than he could chew, but he stood for a moment to get the balance right and then walked out of the door, which was hurriedly opened for him by the nearest bystander. He set off up the street, the barrel on his shoulder, followed by everyone in the bar, including the publican. It was incredibly heavy and his knees began to feel wobbly, but just to prove a point, he broke into a trot. Everyone cheered. After a hundred yards he felt he had done enough and carefully set the barrel down on a low wall.

      Joe joined him. ‘You’re mad,’ he said, as everyone rushed up, laughing and cheering.

      ‘Yes, but I might have made a few friends and that will stand me in good stead when the works reach here,’ he murmured, for Joe’s ears only.

      ‘Is that why you did it, to make friends?’

      ‘Not altogether.’ He had taken a dislike to Edward Gorridge for his arrogance. ‘Well, lads,’ he said to the men as Edward came puffing up, trailing in everyone’s wake. ‘I think we should take this back where it belongs and drink to the health of the navvies, don’t you?’

      This was greeted by a resounding cheer and the barrel was rolled down the hill back to the inn and manhandled back on its stand.

      Two hours later, the men, in various stages of inebriation, returned to their homes, until only Myles, Joe, Edward and Victor were left. Victor had tried his best to persuade Edward to leave but he would not go. The whole barrel had been bought and, as it still had some ale left in it, he was of a mind to try to drink the navvy under the table. Joe decided to go up to bed and advised Myles to do likewise.

      ‘I can’t leave him like that,’ Myles said, pointing at the comatose Gorridge. ‘How did he get here?’

      ‘In his gig,’ the publican said. ‘It’s in the backyard.’

      ‘He’s in no fit state to drive it.’ Myles had taken a few more than he was wont to do, but he was still reasonably in control of his faculties.

      ‘No, and neither is his friend.’

      ‘Nothing for it, I’ll have to see he gets safely home.’

      ‘Why?’ Joe demanded. ‘It’s not your fault he can’t hold his ale.’

      ‘Nevertheless, I feel responsible. You go to bed.’ He bent down and threw the drunken man over his shoulder and marched out with him, followed by Victor, who was just able to stand, though he rolled all over the place when he tried to walk and giggled like a girl.

      One of the inn’s servants lead the gig out of the yard and Myles deposited Edward on the seat, helped Victor in and squeezed in beside them. Both men began to sing a bawdy song as they trotted down the street and took the turn on to the lane leading to Linwood Park.

      

      Lady Gorridge was leading the ladies out of the drawing room towards the stairs, when they heard the sound of a carriage arriving and loud singing. They looked at each other in surprise that anyone should arrive so late at night, and Lady Gorridge looked embarrassed. They had not reached the foot of the stairs when whoever was on the outside beat a loud tattoo with the door knocker. The duty footman opened the door and a man marched in with the Gorridge heir slung over his shoulder like a sack of coal.

      ‘Where shall I put him?’ he demanded of the footman, and then, catching sight of five ladies standing in the hall with expressions of horror on their faces, checked himself. ‘I beg your pardon, ladies. The gentleman is a little under the weather. I think the other one can make it under his own steam.’ As he spoke Victor staggered into the hall.

      ‘So I see.’ Lady Gorridge moved forward, her face a mask of barely controlled fury. ‘Follow me.’ And to the ladies, ‘Please excuse me. If you need anything, I am sure Dorothea will be able to help you.’ She started up the stairs with Myles and his burden behind her. Victor, looking sheepish, bowed to the ladies and almost fell over in the process and then followed the little cavalcade, leaving the rest of the ladies looking from one to the other.

      ‘I think I had better inform Papa,’ Dorothea said and disappeared in the direction of the billiard room.

      ‘I think, girls, we had better go to our rooms,’ their mother suggested. ‘And tomorrow we will behave as if nothing has happened and not mention it. It is only youthful high spirits, but Lady Gorridge was clearly embarrassed and the sooner it is forgotten the better.’

      ‘I wonder who that man is,’ Rosemary murmured. ‘He did not look like the sort of person Mr Gorridge would associate with.’

      Lucy did not answer, but she had recognised the navvy and, though she had tried to hide behind her mother, she was quite sure he had recognised her. It was only a glance, an exchange of messages. From him a kind of ‘Well, well, so we meet again,’ which was accompanied by a slight twitching of his lips that looked as if he might break into a broad smile if she gave the slightest encouragement. Her message was simple: ‘Do not, I beg you, betray the fact that we have met before.’ He must have understood, for he had quickly turned away and followed Lady Gorridge.

      ‘No, but it is nothing to do with us and we must forget all about it,’ the Countess said, preceding her daughters up the stairs to their rooms. She kissed them both goodnight outside her own room and disappeared inside. Rosemary and Lucy moved on and were standing outside Rosemary’s door saying goodnight, when Myles came out of Edward’s room and made for the head of the stairs. To do so, he had to pass the girls.

      ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said, maintaining his navvy persona. ‘Fine evening, don’t you think?’

      ‘You may think so,’ Lucy said. She was unaccountably angry with him, as if he had somehow affronted her. That Mr Gorridge was drunk was clear and it was his fault. She had never seen Mr Gorridge even slightly inebriated the whole time they were in London and attending balls and parties, so he must have been plied with drink by the navvy. Everyone knew they were hardened drinkers and hardly ever sober. She ignored the fact that the man had been perfectly sober and polite when she had met him before and did not appear to be more than a little tipsy even now. And how had the two men met? She wished they had not, though she could not have said why she wished it, unless it was her own strange, mixed-up emotions that wanted them kept apart. She did not want to find herself comparing them, mentally listing the faults of each against their virtues. It was a futile exercise, anyway.

      Myles compounded his unpopularity by smiling broadly. ‘It is indeed a fine evening when a man is privileged to meet two such charming young ladies.’

      Rosemary giggled and Lucy pushed her into her room, hoping he had not noticed, but she knew he had. ‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said and turned on her heel to leave him.

      He reached out and caught her arm, making her turn back to him. ‘I am sorry,’ he said contritely.

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