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Chapter 7
“Well, that is quite a strong smell,” Violette said, smiling to herself as everyone piled into the carriage.
“Best get used to it travelling like this, laddie,” a portly man said from beside her with a strong Yorkshire accent and a ruddy face. “You’re first time on a stagecoach?”
“Is it that noticeable?” Violette said, squished between the carriage door and the rotund man.
“Aye, only to an old hand like myself,” he said, chuckling. “Snack?” He pulled open a handkerchief with lots of chunks of cheese and offered it round. Violette marvelled as many different men leaned forward, taking some of the cheese kindly offered. All classes seemed to be present in the coach. With a clerk thanking the large man whose very heavy form sat across from her to a miserly looking gentleman, with rather scruffy clothes on his other side. There was an aging man too, dressed in what appeared to be nothing more than rags.
“I really shouldn’t, sir,” the aging gentleman said, nodding to the portly man’s much grander clothes. “I might make your handkerchief dirty.”
“Nonsense, have at it,” the man said with a chuckle, passing him some cheese before presenting Violette with some.
“That is very kind,” she said, taking some and sharing a smile.
“Think nothing of it. Been on so many of these trips I now have that I’m used to them. We all need a little snack to settle ourselves,” he said, patting his rounded belly. Violette felt he might have had a little too many of those snacks over the years. “These carriages bump and jolt so much, you’ll usually find someone who feels ill.”
They set off. At once, in answer to his words, the carriage jolted back and forth. In the rising dawn light that crept through the windows, Violette could see the clerk opposite her turn a little pale and lean toward the window.
“See?” the rotund man said with a chuckle. “Keep drinking. That’s what I recommend.” The clerk nodded before lifting a bottle of something to his lips, though from what Violette could smell, she rather expected it was ale or something else equally unlikely to settle her stomach.
“What’s your name, laddie?” the man said, addressing her.
“Mr Victor Blake,” she said, adopting a variation on her brother’s name. “And yours?”
“Sir Rowanstone.” The man tipped his top hat to her. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” she said, delighted she had somehow managed to fool the entire carriage into believing she was a man. She looked around, half suspecting someone to be looking at her with suspicious eyes, but none of them did. She became distracted in watching them, all such characters that tempted her to smile. She wondered why she hadn’t run away sooner.
“What takes you up to London then, Mr Blake?” Sir Rowanstone asked as he pulled out a pair of dice from his jacket and began to shake them in his hand.
“Adventure, sir,” she said with a smile.
“Adventure! I say, that has to be the best answer I have ever had to that question,” he said. “I go for nothing so much fun. Merely business. I often have more fun on these journeys. Speaking of which, dice!” He held up the dice for everyone to see. “Any partakers?”
“I will, sir,” the clerk said between swigs of ale. The two other gentlemen did too, before all eyes turned to Violette.
“I do not know how to play, sir,” she said, ensuring she maintained her deeper tone than normal as she adjusted her hat on her head, a little unnerved by the close examination of them all.
“Have no fear, laddie. I will teach you,” Sir Rowanstone said. “All you have to do is roll the dice and try to get a number. Then we all place bets on who will achieve their number.”
“I have no money,” the man said in raggedy clothes.
“Here, play with this,” Sir Rowanstone said, offering what was left of the cheese in the handkerchief. “They can be your betting chips. Now, are we ready?”
Violette watched in wonder and increasing amusement as they all threw the dice on the floor of the carriage in turn, trying their best to achieve certain numbers. The jostling of the carriage to and fro made their task even more difficult and much more raucous too. It wasn’t long before Violette was laughing so much, she could feel tears in her eyes, watching as the clerk tipped dangerously low in his chair from the drink as he tried his best to pick up the dice off the floor.
“Come on, laddie, your turn again,” Sir Rowanstone said, taking the dice out of the clerk’s hands and passing them to her.
Violette bit her lip as she shook the dice in her hand, loving the moment, then tossed the dice across the floor. She was aiming for a seven, but she got six with the two dice landing on two threes.
“Ah, never mind,” the clerk said, then the carriage jolted and one of the dice rolled over, turning to reveal a four.
“Ha! He got it!” the man in rags declared. “Perfect seven.”
“No fair, that was because of the carriage,” the clerk complained.
“Beauty of the game,” Sir Rowanstone said, “the carriage is as much a part of it as the skill of the player, hand over your money. And your cheese.”
