The Coachman’s Revenge
Heavy rain and wild wind slashed at the coach as it rumbled along the road. Though freezing and soaked to the skin, the Coachman’s masterful driving kept the carriage from overturning. A tremendous clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning that lit the night sky frightened the horses into a mad run. Quickly regaining control, the Coachman braked to a stop. Climbing down from his seat, he could hear cursing as his employer rapped his walking stick against the roof of the coach.
“Damn it, man! Why are we stopped?” Lord Miserton demanded.
“Begging your pardon, My Lord,” the Coachman said speaking through the carriage window. He dared not get inside and so stood in the pouring rain trying to explain. “The horses are afeared. We will not reach Miserton Hall in one piece if we continue in this storm. It would be best to wait…
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