AU-gust 2025 Day 1 - Romance (Regency AU for The Winslow Boy 1999)
***
Catherine Winslow had not thought the day could get any worse. She had been obliged to take the mail—always an uncomfortable business—and not only that but one of her few remaining fellow passengers appeared to be Sir Robert Morton. Catherine had never met Sir Robert in person, but she had read accounts of his speeches and actions in both the courts and the Commons and had detested him for an age. It was surely impossible, though, that the great Sir Robert would ever be seen dead anywhere near a common mail coach, and much as she would have enjoyed the opportunity to give him the benefit of her full opinion on his many faults, she had to refrain until she was certain she had the right gentleman.
It was growing late and the night was unpromising and chilly enough even for snow. There were only three passengers remaining—Catherine, the man who could not be Sir Robert Morton (even if he was aloof and haughty enough to fit the bill), and most strangely, a heavily be-cloaked man who was holding a baby. Probably-Not-Sir Robert Morton evidently though so too, for he had cast several discreet looks at the man over the last hour or two. The child was mercifully quiet now, but it had screamed on and off for most of the journey, which had not improved anything.
Catherine sighed and adjusted her hat, before snapping her book closed on her lap. She was returning home from visiting an aunt, having been all but ordered out of town to escape the shame of a broken engagement. She frowned. If only it was not growing too dark to read more of Mrs Wollstonecraft's works!
The day, though so nearly over, nevertheless now embraced the challenge of becoming worse, for from somewhere far too now, loud cracks of gunfire shattered the dusk's quiet. The mail coach jolted violently and, as one of the horses whinnied in distress, they lurched into a ditch with an ominous crack.
Catherine was saved from going flying by the gentleman who really could not be Sir Robert, who had hold of part of the coach's furniture and, with his free hand, caught hold of her in time. As soon as it was evident they were stationary, he removed it and murmured under his breath. "You must forgive me the liberty."
"How absurd," Catherine said, "to apologise from saving me from a bruising. Thank you, sir."
He inclined his head, and then they both, as one turned to look at what had become of the man and child as the baby sent up a piercing wail. Happily, it appeared that the father, or whoever he was, had been able to do the same as Sir Robert.
Before any of them could speak a further noise diverted their attention, and Sir Robert turned sharply, craning his head to look out of the coach.
"Oh dear. Are we being robbed?" Catherine asked. "How inconvenient." She shifted her seat across to look out of the other side.
The man with the baby, sitting opposite, leant forward and, without warning, pressed his squalling red-faced infant into her arms. "Look after it, miss!" he said, and then fled the coach before she could protest.
Catherine gasped. The baby appeared even more indignant. It roared with dismay, causing the aloof gentleman (<i>could</I> he be Sir Robert?) to turn back around on the point of climbing down to see if he could aid the driver. He frowned slightly on seeing what had transpired, but said nothing, merely continuing on his mission to discover the full extent of their predicament.
Catherine set herself to trying to calm the baby. It had been some time since her brother Ronnie had been this age, and he had grown a lot less tiresome since, but she had not completely forgotten the knack of it, and the child at least settled into a mildly distressed whimpering.
"Miss Winslow, is it not?" The gentleman climbed back into the coach. "I am Sir Robert Morton. I gather rapports we heard were nothing but the poorly timed work of a local gamekeeper, so there is little cause for alarm on that score. However, the wheel has been broken and we must not remain here, not in this weather—and they say highwaymen have been active in the region. One of the postillions say there is an inn less than half a mile from here—he is on his way to fetch assistance there and we may accompany him, which I think would be best."
Catherine drew in her breath. So she had been right! "Sir Robert," she said. "Thank you, but as you see, I can hardly leave here until our fellow traveller comes back for his child, and perhaps you have not considered this, but if we were to arrive at an inn together in this manner, it would look very odd."
"The driver thinks it will snow before long," said Sir Robert. "I am afraid we must try the inn. Let me help you down—we can see the lights from here. Besides—are we certain the child is that fellow's? His behaviour seems inexplicable if so."
"In all respects," agreed Catherine. She shifted her hold on the infant. "Even so—we cannot also steal the poor creature."
"He handed the poor creature, as you call it, into your care. It is incumbent on you not to let it freeze out here. Come, Miss Winslow." He held out his hand.
Catherine said, "One moment, Sir Robert," and passed him the baby, before clambering out of the wildly tilted coach as nimbly as she could manage.
***
"And," she continued, now some three quarters of the way through her full and unvarnished opinion of his person, politics and ruthless legal behaviour, "I object highly to a party that feels at liberty to repeal habeas corpus any time it feels remotely threatened by the mood of the country."
"I agree."
"I beg your pardon? You agree that your party is quite monstrous?"
"No. Only that, yes, it is unacceptable to repeal the act of habeas corpus without the most pressing of causes," said Sir Robert. "Now, if the prosecution has finished, I have one or two points I would like to raise in our defence."
"If you feel you can justify such unconscionable actions, I will be happy to hear it," said Catherine, if not strictly truthfully.
"I shall do my best," he murmured. "However, there is a rather more pressing matter which we must discuss first."
"Is there?"
"As you say, if we arrive at a respectable inn in this unconventional state that child, your reputation might be at risk."
Catherine nodded, adjusting her hold on the baby. "That is true. I suppose the question now is—<i>is</i> it a respectable inn?"
"What," said the postillion. "The Red Cow? It might not be what your sort would call respectable. It's not bad, mind—more a tavern than an alehouse, and Mrs Harrison there will look after the young lady well enough." He gave a shrug.
"I think," murmured Catherine, leaning in towards Sir Robert, "that we should not depend on the quality of the Red Cow's cellar."
"No need to lose heart, miss, sir. The ale's good, and Mrs Harrison'll feed you right enough as long as there's something left in the house, but there's only the regular parlour and the public room. Still, better than freezing to death, wouldn't you say?"
Catherine watched Sir Robert by the light of the postillion's lantern and found herself immensely cheered. "There you are, then, Sir Robert. No need for a fuss—or any absurd and gallant gestures, although I thank you for your considerate thought." She cast an amused look at the postillion. "Oh, dear. The gentleman has turned quite pale. Sir Robert, are you well?"
