Free Emily Goes to Exeter by M. C. Beaton

been about to nip up to the bedchamber to make use of the chamber-pot but now she could not, for that would mean carrying the nasty thing down in full view of everyone. No one cared about her predicament, she thought tearfully, quite forgetting that no one could possibly know.
    The guard, who was called Jim Feathers, and the two outside passengers, Mr Burridge and Mr Hendry, followed Lord Harley outside to find shovels to start digging. Mr Fletcher and Lizzie Bisley were out in the scullery washing dishes.
    ‘Now dinner,’ said Hannah. ‘There is a pot of stock here, and soup would be a great thing to begin. Miss Freemantle, if you would be so good as to clean the vegetables.’
    ‘I don’t know how,’ said Emily.
    ‘For a start, here are carrots. You scrape them, so, and then cut them into slices, and when you have finished that, I shall give you the onions.’
    Emily felt too intimidated to protest. Lord Harley’s remark about not wanting her hurt the more she thought about it. There was no Miss Cudlipp towhisper in her ear that he really did not mean it. And if he returned to the kitchen and found her rebelling, she knew his contempt for her would be awful. He could not really be aristocratic, thought Emily, ferociously chopping carrots. There must be common blood in the Harleys. Aristocrats did not dig snow to clear a path to the privvy. Gently born people hardly ever mentioned the place, and if they did, they referred to it as the ‘necessary house’.
    But when Lord Harley came in, stamping snow from his boots, and said the path was clear, Emily slipped gratefully out of the kitchen and fought her way through the storm to the Jericho in the garden, suddenly grateful she had managed to avoid the humiliation of the chamber-pot. She came back to the kitchen brushing snow from her dress, her cheeks pink with the cold.
    ‘Onions, Miss Freemantle,’ said Hannah, putting the offensive, nasty things down on the table. Emily saw a flash of amusement light up Lord Harley’s eyes and bent to her work. But while she chopped onions, occasionally rubbing her streaming eyes with a handkerchief, she began to feel a glow of satisfaction. Yes, she had behaved badly by running away, but her doting parents would forgive all when they heard how she had been used. And what stories she would have to tell Miss Cudlipp! She could see Miss Cudlipp’s rather sheeplike face looking at her in amazed admiration. ‘Come along, Miss Freemantle,’ came the hated Miss Pym’s voice, ‘don’t take all day.’ Lord Harley grinned and left.
    Mr Fletcher was polishing dishes in the scullery and admiring the tender white nape of Lizzie Bisley’s neck as she bent over the sink. She turned to hand him another dish and Mr Fletcher, with a little spurt of gladness, noticed the fine network of wrinkles at her eyes. He had thought her much younger than he.
    ‘I could not help but notice you are in mourning and you did say something about having been recently bereaved,’ said Mr Fletcher. ‘When did your husband … er … pass on?’
    ‘Eight months ago,’ said Lizzie. ‘I miss him sore.’
    ‘What did he do?’
    ‘He was a lawyer.’
    ‘Indeed!’ Mr Fletcher furrowed his brow. Bisley. Then his face cleared. ‘Not John Bisley of Bisley, Rochester & Bisley.’
    ‘The same,’ said Lizzie, turning her back on the sink and leaning against it.
    ‘He was a very successful lawyer,’ said Mr Fletcher wistfully. ‘I, too, am a lawyer, Mrs Bisley, but have not had any success at all. That is why I am going to Exeter, to try my luck there.’
    ‘Do you know anyone in Exeter?’
    ‘Yes, an old school friend. He is in practice in the town. He said he could put some bits and pieces my way.’
    Lizzie looked at his tired, sensitive face. ‘I am sure you will have better luck in Exeter. And do call on us after we are married.’
    ‘Never!’ said Mr Fletcher passionately, and then turned red and twisted the dishcloth in his hands.
    Lizzie