Lily and the Lion (9 page)

Up until then, Julian had thought the dinner going rather pleasantly. He had not found Miss Clarke's conversation to be at all insipid. She was open and confiding, honest to a fault, and absolutely refreshing. He had brooded in the coach all day about Peter's assailant and the perfidy of mankind, which mood did not encourage enjoyable chit-chat. Tomorrow, he had decided, he would draw her out even more. Though he knew she could not possibly stay so trusting and well-thinking of mankind—the passing years would see to that—in the meanwhile he would enjoy the unspoiled freshness of her personality. Maybe for a time—for the duration of the trip, perhaps—he could pretend that Miss Clarke would never change.

Now she was screaming, and for a reason not immediately discernible to Julian. The unexpected pitch and volume of her voice quite made him jerk, tipping the spoonful of pease-pudding he was guiding to his mouth so that it tumbled down his jacket-sleeve, leaving a puce-coloured trail in its wake. But when Miss Clarke thrust herself back from the table and stood on her chair, the flounce of her hem firmly clenched in both hands and held to mid-calf, Julian recognized the classic stance. Apparently there was a rat loose in the parlour. He stood up, threw his napkin on the table, and cast his eyes about the room, perceiving in his peripheral vision a long tail vanishing beneath the sofa.

Julian was about to send for the innkeep, feeling it not entirely seemly to chase a rat about the room himself, when said man appeared at the door, apparently alerted to the situation by Miss Clarke's vocal alarums.

"She spied a rat?" he asked Julian, his whole expression one of apologetic and agitated dismay. Julian nodded gravely, stifling his urge to laugh. The whole scene was amusing. He disliked rats as much as the next fellow, but they were sometimes part of the necessary evil attached to laying up at roadside inns. He had seen them before in otherwise very clean, estimable establishments. But if Miss Clarke only knew how she was exposing her trim ankles and shapely calves... "Don't fret, my lord, we'll fix that vermin in three shakes of a lamb's tail!" the innkeep assured him, turning round to exit the room and returning in a moment with a huge, drowsy-looking yellow torn in his arms.

"This here's our mouser! He'll make mincemeat out o' that rat," said the innkeep with military zeal. "He's as good as dead, he is!" And on this threatening note, he opened his arms and the torn fell to the floor. With expected feline aplomb, the cat landed on his feet, but this appeared to be the extent to which he was prepared to exert himself. Looking about the room with apparent bored disdain, the cat seemed to find nothing amiss and sat down on his haunches, lazily wetting one large, spread paw and bathing his handsome face.

"Ye blasted alley-beggar! Earn yer keep!" bellowed the landlord, waving his arms in a gesture meant to inspire the cat to movement. But to no avail. The torn was enjoying a leisurely toilette. His eyes were closed in pleasurable appreciation of his ablutions and he didn't appear near at all to being done. Now he was lapping away at the fluff of fur encircling his thick, kingly neck. If the great Sovereign Henry VIII had been reincarnated as a cat, he would be this one, thought Julian with amusement.

He slid a glance at Miss Clarke. She was still holding her skirts up, but her expression of fear was gone. She appeared highly diverted by the spectacle of the sublimely indifferent mouser and its lord and master, the irate innkeep. Her eyes sparkled with merriment and her mouth was upturned in a delighted smile. So, the little Clarke had an appreciation for the ridiculous. Julian had to admire her for that. Again his gaze slid down to the sight of her shapely legs exposed below her skirts. And he had to admire a pair of comely shanks like those, too.

Suddenly the skirts lowered. Julian returned his gaze to Miss Clarke's face to find her observing him with a defiant gleam in her eyes. She must have noticed his rakish perusal and was bethinking herself of one of "Papa's lectures" about the sin of lust, to be delivered to Julian at a more convenient moment.

"Blast ye, Sebastian!" roared the innkeep, reclaiming Julian's and Miss Clarke's attention. "If'n ye won't chase th' rat, there's no reason t'keep ye about the house!" Their embarrassed, near-apoplectic host, obviously at the end of his tether, left the room again, this time returning with a broom. He raised it above his head and spouted what amounted to a sort of battle-cry. "Out ye go into the snow and if'n ye freeze, then it's no more'an ye deserve, ye worthless scavenger!"

At the upswing of the broom, Sebastian's attention was finally caught. He lifted his head and beheld the innkeep with apparent contempt, going so far, however, as to rouse himself to all fours and twitch his tail back and forth angrily. This was no hen-hearted tom!

The broom descended, and so did Miss Clarke. Down she hopped from her safely elevated platform, saying with a plentitude of righteous indignation, "Don't you dare hit that cat! Don't you
dare
hurt him, or throw him out in this dreadful storm!"

The innkeep caught himself mid-swing and stared at Miss Clarke in complete confusion. She stood before him, her hands on her hips, her feet slightly spread in a somewhat belligerent pose. "What, miss?" he croaked.

"I
said
don't use that broom on Sebastian, or I'll return the favour of your callous mistreatment of this magnificent animal by using the very same instrument of torture on you!"

The innkeep lowered the broom to the floor, his look of disbelief ludicrous. "How now, miss. Ye can't be stickin' up fer this mangy torn. I've tried t'teach 'im to run down the vermin fer a month now, but he ain't catchin' on to th' notion, ye see! And I've punished 'im and kept back 'is food a mite, but still he don't–"

"Do
not
tell me that you have beat this animal before," said Lily with ominous calm. Indeed, thought Julian, the innkeep did not dare to admit to such a thing with such a wrathful avenging angel confronting him! It seemed Miss Clarke had completely forgotten the rat still loose in the parlour, and her fear of it, in the heat of her fervour in preserving Sebastian's hide. "I'll have you know, sir, that Sebastian is one of God's creatures and therefore undeserving of this sort of shabby treatment!" Sebastian appeared to share this view and showed his wholehearted approval of such a sentiment by rubbing himself against Miss Clarke's skirts.

"What do ye expect me t'do with 'im, then, miss?" whined the innkeep, cowed by the petite termagant. "I can't keep feedin 'im if'n he ain't useful about th' house. I'm not a rich man, miss, able to feed every stray what shows up t'my stoop. I've got nine chil'ren!"

Miss Clarke seemed affected by the innkeep's words and said, softening a little, "Well, and I perfectly understand that your first duty is to your children. However, I can't but think that if Sebastian isn't satisfactorily fulfilling his duties in your household, that instead of driving the poor thing out into the cold, you had ought, at least, to try to procure him another more suitable home. There is a lonely widow in town, perhaps, who would appreciate a companion?"

The innkeep made a scornful noise with his tongue. "Even a widow woman wants a cat what keeps down the vermin population. Just common sense, miss!"

Miss Clarke could not dispute this and looked worriedly down at the torn, who was now purring so loudly even Julian could hear him from across the room. "Are you sure he doesn't catch any rats? Perhaps he only does so when you aren't attending. I can't imagine that he could be so very
large
unless he eats a great deal."

The landlord sneered. "That one likes fish. He thieves it from the market whenever he can, and my kitchen ain't been safe from pillaging since he turned up. I would've tossed him out long ago if'n my lit'lest girl didn't take a fancy to 'im. But I can't keep 'im no longer, miss. I'll wait till th' morrow, but then out he goes!"

Miss Clarke had no reply to this, but her lips clamped together disapprovingly. She must have realized that while she could indeed keep him from tossing the cat out into the storm tonight, she would have absolutely no power to influence the actions of the man once she had removed herself from the premises. As she pondered this conundrum, the rat reappeared and fled for its life through the open door of the parlour into the hall, the innkeep scrambling after it with the broom. Sebastian watched this proceeding with feline smugness, then sauntered to the rug in front of the fire and stretched out for a nap.

Curiously, Miss Clarke did not swoon at sight of the vermin's mad dash for freedom; rather, she seemed to be wholly absorbed in a reflective silence. Julian walked to the parlour door and closed it, then turned round to find that Miss Clarke had lowered herself to the rug by Sebastian and was scratching the majestic fellow's head behind the ear.

Julian moved to a wing chair by the fire and sat. Miss Clarke presented a charming tableau with her skirts puddled about her, the hem pulled over the heels of her slippers, one arm supporting her as she leaned over the opulently furred, well-fed feline, her head bent and the flames of the fire illuming those russet highlights he had sincerely admired. Julian rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and cupped his chin, captivated by the picture of innocent domesticity she presented. Abruptly, she raised her head and met his bemused gaze with a troubled expression. He noticed that her eyes were also softened by the firelight to a warm, sherry brown.

"What's to do, Lord Ashton?" she asked him.

"What about, m'dear?" he enquired lazily, sinking into a state of comfortable good humour, brought on, no doubt, by a fine dinner, tolerable wine and the company of an amusing female who did not bore him in the least.

Miss Clarke's brows raised in surprise. "What's to do about Sebastian, of course. We certainly can't leave him to the mercies of that insensate innkeep!"

Feeling a twinge of foreboding invade his halcyon mood, Lord Ashton sat up in the chair. "Surely you understand the innkeep's disinclination to house a useless animal whose only ambition in life seems to be sleeping, keeping his handsome fur in fine trim, and dining at his leisure!"

Miss Clarke frowned musingly. "Indeed, I do understand, but I can't help but think that Sebastian could be persuaded to share his load about the house if only he were treated with kindness and respect. And perhaps he's more of a farm cat than a village cat. Mayhap he pines for the country, my lord, and for a pasture full of field mice to chase and dine upon."

Julian eyed Miss Clarke suspiciously. "An interesting theory, but how do you propose to test it out?" he asked her in a voice that pretended to be coolly unconcerned.

Miss Clarke sat up, unselfconsciously criss-crossing her legs beneath her skirt in the Indian style. She propped her elbows on her knees and smiled shyly up at Julian. The confiding nature of her smile was unexpected, and the little prick of happiness that it gave his heart was equally as surprising as unwelcome. "Well, I have been thinking that perhaps we had ought to, er, take Sebastian with us! You have farms and tenants and such like, don't you, my lord? And somewhere on your vast estate, surely a cat might be useful to you! A capital idea, don't you think? And one that serves the needs of all!"

Julian, not being deficient in understanding, was not wholly unprepared for Miss Clarke's "capital idea." "Did it never occur to you, Miss Clarke, that I have already a surfeit of felines on my estate, and that they are all of them quite probably tough, wiry creatures whose useful mousing abilities make them em-minently suitable for country life? If I were to introduce this fat, lazy fellow into their midst, they would frankly chew him up and spit him out!"

Miss Clarke's eyes widened. "No, do you think so? His intimidating size might help him to insinuate himself into their ranks, however." She bent a contemplative look on the sleeping cat, whose huge head rested trustingly against her thigh. "But we must at least give him the chance to prove himself. He could be taught to do better. If we leave him here, however, his fate is sealed! Why, I wouldn't even put it past the innkeep if he were to drown the poor thing! I would not be able to sleep for weeks for thinking of him, I promise you!"

Julian felt as though he were being carried along on a course not of his own choosing, rather like the irresistible force of a tidal wave. It seemed he had no choice but to agree to Miss Clarke's plan of rehabilitation for the miscreant feline.

"Far be it from me to be the cause—however indirect—of your insomnia, Miss Clarke," he drawled, "or for the untimely death by drowning of this good-for-nothing cat, which, as well as being indolent, is a thief. I
despise
thieves."

Apparently undeterred in her joy by the disparaging tone of Julian's voice, Miss Clarke rose up on her knees and leaned forward to avail herself of his hands and to clasp them in warm gratitude. "Oh, thank you, my lord!" she chirped excitedly, her cheeks aglow. "You will not regret it! And you will be blessed for your kindness in helping out another of God's creatures!"

Julian liked the way Miss Clarke's small fingers curled round his larger ones. He liked the way she smelled, all lavender and rose-water. He liked the way her gown snugly accentuated the curves of her soft bosom and hinted at the smallness of her waist. But most of all, he liked the way her eyes shone with approval as she looked at him.

Then a thought suddenly occurred to him and dulled the edge of his happiness. "Pleshy has a physical intolerance to cats," he stated morosely. "Sebastian must needs ride in the coach with us."