The Frost Fair by Elizabeth Mansfield

to pay his respects and to see for himself how his new mistress had survived the night. He was full of apologies for his part in getting her into this fix, but when she assured him that she didn’t blame him and pointed out that they were no worse off snowed in here at Knight’s Haven than they would have been at the inn at Harrogate, he sighed with relief. He then was able to ease her mind about the condition of the injured horse. “I been treatin’ ’is leg with a poultice o’ me own devisin’. ’E’ll be good as new. Wish I could say the same about the carriage.” He shook his head worriedly. “Don’ know as that kin be repaired good as new.”
    â€œAs soon as the storm blows over, we shall see how matters stand,” Meg said.
    â€œI ain’t waitin’ fer the storm to blow over. I’m goin’ out there now and take a peep at the wreck.”
    â€œYou’ll do no such thing,” Meg ordered. “If Sir Geoffrey’s man was unable to get through to the doctor last night, surely you won’t be able to get through today, when conditions must even be worse out there.”
    â€œBut, yer ladyship, we can’t leave the phaeton just a-layin’ there in the ditch! Are ye forgettin’ it’s stole?”
    â€œI’m not forgetting anything. The snow has made the road as inaccessible to everyone else as it is to us. There’s not the least need for you to alarm yourself, Roodle.”
    â€œThat’s all very well fer you, ma’am. But it’ll be me what’ll ’ave to ’ang if Lord Isham catches up with us.”
    â€œI promise you that no one will hang. If we’re discovered, I shall merely pay his lordship for his loss and that will be that.”
    Roodle shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other, keeping his eyes on the ground in obstinate disagreement. “It’s on’y a bit o’ snow, ma’am. There ain’t nothin’ goin’ to ’appen t’ me if I plow through it fer a bit, is there?”
    â€œI don’t know what may happen. It’s not a ‘bit o’ snow’ you know—it’s a severe storm. I see no reason for you to endanger your life and safety by going out in this dreadful blow just to—”
    â€œWho’s thinking of going out?” a voice asked from the open doorway. It was Sir Geoffrey, dressed in a caped greatcoat and heavy boots and carrying on his shoulders Meg’s portmanteau. Behind him stood a footman bearing the rest of the baggage Meg and Isabel had stowed in the carriage. “ You , Roodle?”
    â€œYes, sir. I wanted to take a peep at the wreck, to see if—”
    â€œTo see if the carriage can be salvaged? There’s no need for that. We’ve just taken a look at it. I think your phaeton can be restored to full usefulness. I’ve arranged to have it hauled to Masham for repair as soon as the roads have been cleared.”
    â€œTo Masham?” Roodle echoed hollowly, casting a horrified glance at Meg. “But … that’s near Isham Manor!”
    Sir Geoffrey looked from Roodle to Meg with uplifted brows. “Have I done something amiss? I’m well acquainted with the wheelwright at Masham and can assure you of his competence.”
    Meg cast a quelling look at her new coachman. “You’ve done nothing amiss, Sir Geoffrey. Nothing at all. Roodle is merely a bit … overzealous. We both are very grateful to you, aren’t we, Roodle?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Roodle muttered, his eyes on his shoes.
    Sir Geoffrey turned to signal his footman to follow him, and the two went to deposit the baggage in the dressing room. Roodle looked up and gave his mistress a shrug which said as clearly as words that they were in a fine fix and that whatever happened next would be no fault of his, and he bowed himself out.
    Sir Geoffrey, having disposed of the baggage,