Do Be Sensible, Miss Wynchcomb

By Sarah Richmond

Constance Wynchcomb, the companion to Lady Caddick-Boyle, is traveling to Kent when their motor breaks down. An old-fashioned coach and four stops and a gentleman passenger named Evan Galsworthy offers his help.

Evan is visiting his mentor, Bishop Oswald Kingsley. His mother died at his birth and he seeks the whereabouts of his father. He’s sure the bishop can tell him, but the bishop says no.

Evan finds Constance desirable and asks to court her. Her ladyship is suspicious of his intentions and hires an agent of inquiry, who uncovers Evan’s secret past.

Times have changed in the age of the Edwardians and Constance follows her heart. She accepts Evan’s offer of marriage despite his dodgy family history. Her family and Lady Caddick-Boyle refuse to attend the wedding. When the bishop dies, Evan discovers his father’s identity in the man’s private papers and is devastated to learn of his shocking origin. There is no way he can marry Constance.
Jilted on her wedding day, Constance returns to the employ of Lady Caddick-Boyle.

Constance must decide whether to stay with her ladyship or find out why Evan disappeared.

What would a sensible girl do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Richmond
• Release date: Dec 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005160609

Sarah Richmond

Sarah Richmond is Senior Lecturer at University College London. She received her PhD in philosophy from Oxford University. She coedits the academic journal, Sartre Studies International.

Book preview

When I saw you

I fell in love, and

You smiled

because you knew.

Arrigo Bolto

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who work in mental health care.

S.R.

Chapter One

Bristol, England, 1908

Constance Wynchcomb could barely contain her excitement. Here she was, encased with her employer, Lady Caddick-Boyle, in her ladyship’s new Daimler. Bouncing around like oranges in a crate, they were on their way to Kent with the fearless Reynolds at the wheel, driving through sheets of rain, the motor’s windscreen wipers swiping manically, and her ladyship’s maid, Dodge, sitting next to him, urging him to be careful.

Oh yes and Constance carried a posh sable muff the same as her ladyship’s, along with the fashionable motoring outfit, hat and veil, looking very much like two posh ladies out for a wander in the countryside.

What a luxury compared to what she’d known.

I may freeze to death, her ladyship said.

You’ll be just fine, Constance said, fearing her ladyship would change her mind and order Reynolds to turn the motor around and return to Bristol. Constance adjusted the rug around her ladyship’s legs. Think of the warmth when we arrive at Boarstooth Lodge. There will be a roaring fire in the grate and hot cocoa.

Indeed, Lady Caddick-Boyle replied, clearly unconvinced, but she stiffened her spine as well as, Constance prayed, her resolve.

Thankfully, no more was said, at least for the moment, and they continued on their way.

The countryside raced passed. The freshly harvested fields were rivers of mud. Smoke billowed from the chimney pots of the farmhouses. Constance was reminded of home. Father held three hundred and twenty acres. Had he kept an eye on the weather and brought in the harvest before this downpour ruined it? More than likely he would’ve had his nose in a book instead.

Poor Father. He’d no skill for farming and less for management, and the farm floundered. Her parents were close to financial ruin.

Mother had married beneath her, as her distant cousin, Lady Caddick-Boyle often repeated. The old lady didn’t shy from reminding Constance of her reduced circumstances in life.

Much as her ladyship’s comments grated on Constance’s nerves, which would be expected of anyone, Constance was grateful for the position and the opportunities afforded her. She couldn’t dismiss the exceptional circumstances in which she found herself, and, to be perfectly honest, was proud of how well she took care of the lonely old lady.

She could have done far worse.

A loud pop made all of them jump. Dodge let out a muffled scream.

Highwaymen! Lady Caddick-Boyle cried out in panic.

Oh, my! A tiny thrill coursed through Constance. Wouldn’t that be glorious! Alas, highwaymen belonged to the past.

More likely a flat, Constance replied. Reynolds had warned her the country roads weren’t suitable for motorcars, especially this time of year. Constance had dismissed his concerns as overly cautious.

The motor swerved, slamming Constance into the door. Her ladyship squawked and poor Dodge almost ended up in Reynolds’s lap.

After what seemed like an eternity but what must’ve been only a few harrowing seconds, they came to an abrupt stop at the side of the road, throwing them out of their seats. The old lady clucked as she righted her hat. The motor listed precariously on wheels sunk into a soggy verge.

Constance had never before been knocked about so radically and her pulse was pounding out an irregular beat. Is everyone all right? Her voice wobbled.

Lady Caddick-Boyle huffed as she lifted her veil. I’ve suffered through terrible cold and relentless rain, and now this. Really, Constance, I shouldn’t have listened to your pleas to travel in this inclement weather.

Her criticism stung. Constance had never pleaded or begged for anything in her life. She may have been a bit too enthusiastic when the letter arrived from her ladyship’s sister inviting them to the country. She may have suggested a visit to Boartooth’s Lodge might just be the loveliest journey she could ever imagine.

Beg and plead? Never.

Dodge put up her veil, her hands shaking. What do we do now, do you suppose?

They both looked at Constance. They needed reassurance, but Constance had none to give. As she thought of a reply, Reynolds opened his door and jumped out. He’d left the motor running and the vibration touched every nerve.

The rain came steadily and had turned to sleet. Constance could barely see out her window. Before long, Reynolds opened the door and stuck his head inside.

Bad news, I’m afraid. The back tire has gone to rubbish.

Then you’ll have to change it to the spare, Constance said.

Reynolds averted his gaze. The spare was removed to stow the extra cases.

What? How could that be? Lady Caddick-Boyle turned to Constance. Her ladyship had ordered that extra room be made for said cases. Constance didn’t remind her. A lady’s companion could ill afford to be churlish.

Reynolds will have to walk into the nearest town for help, Constance explained gently. Someone there will have a spare tyre.

What if he can’t find one? Her ladyship sounded rather like an excitable spaniel. We are sure to catch our death out here in this weather.

Then he can hire transport for us, Constance said.

I won’t be long, Reynolds said. The Daimler was like a child to him, Constance knew. He wouldn’t abandon it unless there was no other way. He leaned across his seat and turned off the engine.

What are you doing? her ladyship said.

Saving petrol.

Before Lady Caddick-Boyle could unleash a fresh barrage of criticism, Constance intervened. Leave Reynolds to be on his way, your ladyship. We will wait in the motor where we will at least be dry.

Reynolds turned up his collar and headed down the road, slogging through the ankle-high mud.

Her ladyship sighed heavily. My patience is severely strained.

I’m sure Reynolds will do his best to find us transport as soon as possible, Constance said.

We are sure to have chilblains before long. He’d better be quick about it.

Reynolds will go as fast as he can, Constance replied.

We shall drown if he doesn’t hurry, her ladyship said. What if I contract pneumonia? You know how delicate my health has been of late.

Constance threaded her arm through the crook in her ladyship’s elbow. She was fully aware of the woman’s long list of illnesses, having been her nursemaid as well as a confidante for almost a year.

We will be all right. You wait and see.

Lady Caddick-Boyle patted Constance’s gloved hand. Constance was happy her words had done what was necessary. The jingling of harness and a barrage of harsh words came from outside. Looking out the window, Constance saw a carriage and four rumbling down the road toward them.

My goodness, you’ll never believed what’s coming, she exclaimed.

Tell me, her ladyship commanded. Don’t keep me in suspense.

A magnificent stagecoach pulled by the biggest horses I’ve ever seen. Constance flung open the door and exited. Dodge jumped from her seat and was quick to open a black umbrella that covered both of them.

She saw with dismay, the tyre indeed was flattened against the road. The thick mud reached the whitewalls.

The stagecoach was approaching at a high rate of speed.

How unusual to see a coach in this day and age, Constance said.

Dodge nodded, shuddering.

We’d better stop them. No telling how long Reynolds will be.

Rain cascaded from the umbrella as they waved their hands and shouted at the top of their lungs. With a scream of the brake against iron-rimmed wheels, the coach slowed and came to a stop. The horses snorted as steam rose from their glistening nostrils.

The driver starred at her from his perch. He looked elegant in his great coat and hat, his face ruddy in the cold air, his dark beard frosted.

What seems to be the problem? he asked.

We’ve gone and had a flat and we’re without a spare tyre, Constance answered in earnest.

The curtain parted and a man stuck his head out the window. Why have we stopped?

When he saw her standing by the side of the road, he opened the coach door and stepped down.

May I be of assistance, he said with a charming if not rakish tip of his hat as if they were standing in the Broadmead instead of a lonely country road. Evan Galsworthy at your service.

Mr. Galsworthy was taller than average and a man of limited means by the look of him. His coat was not stylish but not threadbare. He carried himself well and was remarkably good-looking with fair hair and azure blue eyes.

He seemed every inch a highwayman.

Constance couldn’t say why she thought such a thing, only he looked like she imagined the heroes in the penny novelettes Mrs. Bridges tossed in the refuse bin. The type of man who would steal a heart as easily as one’s purse.

I’m Constance Wynchcomb. This is Lady Caddick-Boyle’s maid, Dodge. Her ladyship is in the motor.

He nodded at Dodge and then looked over the Daimler.

What seems to be the problem? He returned his gaze to Constance.

She couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. How utterly preposterous I must look, she mused, quite waterlogged and bedraggled. Her beautiful coat was splattered with mud. The rest of her fared no better.

Even in the blinding rain, she caught his look of concern at their plight.

Constance hoped he was the kind of man who could be relied on. We are at the mercy of this foul weather and a tyre that appears to have been ruined by these terrible roads.

Mr. Galsworthy bowed slightly. Let me see what I can do.

He tromped over to where the motor rested at an angle. Constance and Dodge followed, Constance extending her arm its full length so all three could take advantage of the umbrella.

Mr. Galsworthy knelt for a closer look. Is there a spare? He ran his gloves hand over a gaping hole in the rubber.

Constance shook her head. I’m afraid not.

You can’t go on with this tyre.

Lady Caddick-Boyle peered out the window. That is hardly news to us.

Your ladyship, may I introduce you to Mr. Galsworthy?

My pleasure, Mr. Galsworthy removed his hat and bowed.

Constance was gratified he didn’t lack in manners.

There’s room for two of your ladies in the coach and another up here on top, the coachman said with impatience.

Are we very far from the next village? Constance asked.

Not far at all, Mr. Galsworthy said. We’ll be there in no time, you’ll see.

Lady Caddick-Boyle raised her nose and glared. You don’t expect me to take public transport?

I think it’s best we accept his offer. Constance opened the motor’s door. We could wait here for hours.

Her ladyship scowled frightfully, but when Mr. Galsworthy offered his hand, she grabbed hold and allowed him to help her from the motor.

Dodge held the umbrella over her ladyship’s head but a sudden gust of wind turned it inside out. All four of them were quickly drenched as they made their way through the mud to the waiting coach.

I presume your chauffeur started off for town? Mr. Galsworthy asked.

We are hopeful he can find a new tyre, Constance replied.

We’ll catch up with him and bring him along. He smiled.

Oh, what a devilish smile it was.

Constance dismissed such silliness and was relieved a satisfactory solution was at hand.

Mr. Galsworthy hefted the cases to the top of the coach. He was surprisingly strong, lifting the cases with ease. Constance helped Lady Caddick-Boyle inside.

Mr. Galsworthy extended his hand for Constance. She grasped it, and was taken aback by the firmness of his grip. A highwayman wouldn’t have elicited the tremors she was experiencing.

She stepped up into the coach and sat down next to her ladyship, confused by what had just happened.

Dodge waited outside with the door open. Bitter cold clawed at her face.

Do come in and close that door, Lady Caddick-Boyle snapped.

There’s no room for me, Dodge replied.

I’ll go on top, Mr. Galsworthy said. There should be just enough room for your maid.

Dodge, relief in her expression, hurried inside. Constance exchanged glances with Mr. Galsworthy. Of interest? Or curiosity? Most likely gratitude. She couldn’t be sure since she wasn’t practiced in social intercourse with men. She felt tingly and warm right down to her toes.

He shut the door, saving her any further inquiry and discomfort. Their benefactor, their champion climbed on top. The coach rocked from side to side as he settled.

Constance sat back. Mr. Galsworthy was a caring and kind man, and had seen to their needs admirably. Oddly enough, she was disappointed he wasn’t the rogue he appeared to be.

She found her easy infatuation with a stranger amusing. These things happened in penny-novelettes, not in real life. It wouldn’t do for her to allow her imagination to run amok, and yet she’d found his very touch titillating.

How very extraordinary.

The coachman shouted at the horses to step lively and they were on their way.

Chapter Two

The coach held another passenger. Constance sat knee to knee with a stout man who introduced himself as Mr. Belcher. Dodge shivered by his side.

His heavy wool cloak smelled of tobacco. A rug, which he didn’t offer to share with them, cocooned his massive frame in warmth. He told them he was a banker and on his way home after a business trip in London. He looked pompous and self-important.

We are going to Boarstooth Lodge, Constance answered his first question after they’d given their names.

Boarstooth? A lovely place, he said. I’m acquainted with Colonel Rufus Grant.

Are you?

I’ve spent one or two occasions in the Colonel’s company. His estate has the best shooting in this part of the country.

Mrs. Grant is my sister, Lady Caddick-Boyle told him with pride.

I’m sure they will be happy to see you, Mr. Belcher replied.

Which left a question of her own tugging at Constance.

What of the other passenger? Constance inquired as a casual observance. It would be unseemly to show undue interest in a man she’d just met.

You mean Mr. Galsworthy? Mr. Belcher replied.

Yes, he was so kind to offer his seat to the lady’s maid. Constance smiled at Dodge.

Doesn’t talk much, that one. Came from London. I believe he teaches history or something of that nature at a school there.

Is he going far?

I believe he said he was headed for Westover.

Constance’s heart almost stopped beating. The village was near Colonel Grant’s estate. What a fortuitous circumstance.

Perhaps he knows your sister and her husband, she said, turning to Lady Caddick-Boyle.

Her ladyship shrugged one shoulder and removed her handkerchief from her silk-lined muff and pressed it to her face.

They were squeezed together like kippers in a tin and a howling wind blew the curtains inward. Constance wished to spare her ladyship from discomfort and positioned herself against the window so she wouldn’t take a chill. The cold seeped in anyway and reddened their noses. The sleet had turned to snow.

The coach lurched and she heard the crack of the whip and a string of oaths. After a few minutes more, the coach slowed and stopped.

Mr. Belcher snorted. Now what?

Dodge parted the curtain and peered out her window. It’s George. I mean, Reynolds.

Indeed it was.

Their chauffeur, blowing clouds of white breath, climbed up on top. Dodge sat back and sighed. She’d been worried, Constance realized, far more than she’d let on.

The whip cracked and they bolted forward.

Her ladyship had turned a ghostly pale. They’d come upon more adventure than they’d bargained for, Constance realized. If she hadn’t been so adamant about them needing a change of scenery, they wouldn’t have found themselves in such a pickle.

The snow fell in violent swirls. Constance worried about Mr. Galsworthy, braving the elements. He must be frozen solid.

The coach slowed and Constance checked their progress. They’d descended into a town. Snow already filled the front gardens and coated the trees and bushes. Gas lamps provided a fuzzy beacon, welcoming despite the cold. She was glad to have reached a place where a tyre could be found. They must locate a hotel to stay warm while Reynolds did the repairs.

They passed buildings of various ancestries. This must be Westover. The town, she’d been told by her ladyship, had been here since the middle ages.

Do close the curtains, Lady Caddick-Boyle insisted. I feel the cold air to my bones.

Constance did as she was told.

No shop will be open in this foul weather, Mr. Belcher said with authority. I wouldn’t count on a repair until morning.

Constance feared the man was right. They’d no recourse but to wait out the storm.

Do you know where there are respectable accommodations?

Mr. Belcher regarded her as if she had two heads. In this village? Nothing for ladies, I dare say.

What, then, pray tell, is available? Lady Caddick-Boyle was clearly not in the mood to be civil.

There’s a publican house, to be sure, Mr. Belcher replied. Not much else.

Constance’s heart sank. A public house wouldn’t be suitable for two ladies and a ladies’ maid.

Lady Caddick-Boyle huffed.

A public house will be warm, Constance said with a forced cheerfulness. We’ll have to stay there until other transport can be found.

Lady Caddick-Boyle nodded. Have someone take a note to my brother-in-law and he’ll send a sleigh.

Who would make such a journey in this cold? Constance wondered.

Mr. Belcher wisely kept his own counsel.

When they finally came to a stop, her ladyship was the first to speak.

Thank goodness, she exclaimed. I don’t think I could’ve withstood another jolt.

Constance would also welcome a respite from these confines. The coach swayed as those who’d ridden on top disembarked. She looked out the window, hoping for a discrete glance at Mr. Galsworthy. He was helping the coachman with the cases, flinging them into a snow bank. How wicked of her to be spying on him.

She averted her gaze to the thatched roofed building where they’d stopped. The building’s crossbeams sagged as if it’d grown tired. Years of grime and soot permeated the exterior. The black and red sign—badly in need of a new coat of paint—swung in the wind. It declared this a public house called The Maid of Kent with the likeness of a rather buxomly barmaid underneath.

Oh, dear. Constance grimaced.

The coachman opened the door. We have to stop for the night. The storm is getting worse. These horses can’t go much further.

My wife is waiting with a good dinner and a hot toddy. Mr. Belcher furrowed his brows. I dare say she will not be pleased.

I’m very sorry, sir. The coachman’s voice scraped along his throat and he coughed. There’s nothing we can do until morning.

Mr. Belcher pushed down his rug and with some grunting managed to come to his feet. Stooped and stumbling over Dodge, he pushed the door wider and made his way out of the coach.

Surprisingly, Lady Caddick-Boyle restrained from any comments. Instead, she sulked. Boarstooth Lodge was still miles away.

Having finished with the luggage, Evan Galsworthy adjusted his hat and swept the snowflakes from his coat. Exertion and the cold had reddened his complexion and a drop of melted snow hung from the tip of his nose. He wiped it away with his gloved hand.

Giving up his seat as he had, she considered him a gentleman. His concern for their welfare was touching and part of her tumbling emotions was indeed gratitude.

Do make yourself useful, her ladyship said.

Constance snapped back to attention. This was no place for wool gathering. She’d responsibilities to attend to.

Allow me. Evan Galsworthy held the door open and extended his hand to her.

Constance was perfectly capable of managing on her own and pretending she hadn’t noticed.

Her ladyship frowned. Would you be so kind to make haste? I shall catch my death in here if you don’t.

Constance tried to exit gracefully but the coach rocked with each movement and she grasped for his hand and held it in a death grip. Her toes froze as soon as she touched the ground and the wind was sharp against her skin.

When she at last released him, she looked up at his face. The coach lamplight danced in his eyes and his smile beguiled her.

He turned to help Lady Caddick-Boyle who sputtered and clucked like a wet hen. She negotiated the step successfully and quickly was safe on solid ground.

Constance was deeply appreciative of his help and needed to thank him. Politeness dictated she do so but she found the words didn’t come. She swallowed and started again.

We are in your debt, she said, her voice tight.

He smiled and stepped back. Not at all.

Dare she believe she saw more to his gaze, an interest that shouldn’t be there, but surely was?

Constance took a deep breath if not to strengthen her courage then at least to give her some backbone.

If you’ll excuse us, she said.

Mr. Galsworthy bowed.

I bid you good day, ladies, Mr. Belcher said ceremoniously. "I’ll take my lodgings with a