CHAPTER 2
FORFARSHIRE, SCOTLAND, SPRING 1827
The coach stood at an acute angle at the side of the road with the driver and both footmen staring at it and the oh-so-handsome passenger standing beside them, scratching his head and smiling in high good humour.
“Well now,” the handsome fellow said, “there’s a thing.”
Being of a naturally curious nature, I walked across. “What’s to do?” I asked.
“Halloa,” the handsome fellow greeted me cheerfully. “You don’t happen to know anything about chariots, do you?”
“Not a thing,” I confessed. “What’s happened?”
“We’ve toppled into the ditch,” my handsome traveller said.
“Well, untopple out of the ditch,” I advised.
“That’s the trouble,” the driver said. “We can’t.”
I stood back, shaking my head. “Surely, with the horses pulling and four strong
