Lois Menzel (23 page)

“Perhaps we will meet someone we could ask,” Anne suggested.

“Perhaps,” Jack agreed. “We shall see.” He did not tell her that their close call with the three highwaymen had made him aware of just how vulnerable they were. He would not be eager to approach strangers.

Even in the fading light of evening, Anne thought that Jack appeared pale. “I want to look at your hand, Jack. It must hurt dreadfully.”

They sat together on a fallen tree trunk while Anne carefully removed the heavily starched neckcloth from the wounded wrist and began to replace it with soft strips from her petticoat. “These will make a better dressing.” She wound the strips gently about his wrist, which had nearly stopped bleeding, and then tied a secure knot. “We are fortunate this is only a flesh wound. It could have been much worse,” she said. “If the bone had been hit or a large vessel—”

“I bungled it, Anne. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly. How could we know they were anything other than they seemed: travelers in distress, possibly in need of help.”

“But Tenbury warned me to be doubly cautious. I should have noticed the boots sooner.”

“The boots? What boots?”

“The
lady
in that little group was wearing men’s boots.”

“I did not notice them, but it cannot matter now. I think we should move on, get as far as we can before dark. I feel guilty using your cloak.”

“I’m not cold; I have my coat,” he replied.

They walked on in silence and were soon descending a steep bank. At the bottom was a gently flowing shallow stream, perhaps eight feet wide.

Eyeing it with some misgiving, Anne said, “Maybe we could find a place to step across on stones.”

Jack glanced both upstream and down, and seeing no such natural bridge said, “Come, I will carry you over.”

“That you will not!” she objected. “You will soak your feet, and you are without your cloak.”

“My feet are already wet from the ground and the wet leaves. Besides, we have no time to argue.”

Ignoring her protests, he swept her from her feet and carried her across the icy water, setting her down on the opposite bank. He then took her hand and continued into the darkening woods. Soon the brambles thickened, and in places they had to force their way through.

“Take care to keep them from your face,” he warned. Anne used her hands to ward off the thorns as they continued steadily eastward.

* * * *

By the time Tenbury, Murdock, and Weaks arrived at the Blue Swan, the ostler and the stable boy had come back from their search of the road south toward Bedfont and were awaiting their employer in the tap room. When questioned, they revealed they had traveled the road and several of its major branches until sunset. They had found no pedestrians, nor anything else that might suggest why the team was running free.

All they had to offer was a tiny white purse they had found off to one side of the road. Seeing the delicate reticule in Ben’s hand, Tenbury snatched it away, much like a thirsty man reaches for water. One reticule was much like another, yet they were not commonly found lying along the road. This one had a silk monogram, AW, embroidered on its side. When a knot in the thin draw-ribbon failed to yield immediately, Tenbury impatiently broke it and spread the top to look inside. It was empty.

“It is Miss Waverly’s reticule,” he said, “There cannot be any question. The road where this bag was found must be searched again, Weaks. I will need to have your men take me there, and I will need whatever lanterns and men you can spare. They must understand they are looking for someone who might be wounded.”

When Weaks nodded in assent, Tenbury once again regarded the delicate purse in his hands. “As I see it,” he said, addressing his groom this time, “we have only this lead and must pursue it.”

He extended a hand filled with gold coins to Mr. Weaks. “Thank you for your help, Weaks. Whatever the outcome of this, you did your best. If you had not sent your men out quickly, we may not have found this tiny bag until morning.”

“Harry will go with you now,” Weaks said, “and Ben and I will come along as soon as we have fetched some help.”

As Tenbury and Murdock remounted in the stable yard, Weaks handed them each a lantern. “I would be obliged if you would send word to my butler,” Tenbury said. “Ask him to dispatch my coach here as soon as possible.”

“I will do so, m’lord.”

Tenbury, Murdock, and their guide soon left the Blue Swan behind. The slice of moon, which had aided them on their way out of London, was increasingly obscured as thicker clouds moved in from the west.

* * * *

Jack judged it to be after ten o’clock when the moon set and took away their meager guiding light. A short time later they finally pushed their way through one last maze of brambles and found themselves on a narrow country lane. The road was deserted in both directions; there was no light, and still no sign of habitation. He offered Anne his arm and turned to the north, hoping he was choosing correctly. His feet had been numb for hours and his wrist throbbed incessantly. He knew Anne must be cold and weary as well, though she did not complain.

Less than a mile down the lane they met a crossroad. At this junction, set back slightly from the road, was a small tavern. A sign bearing its name hung suspended over the door, though it was impossible to read in the darkness. A dim light glimmered through a chink in the shuttered downstairs window. After Jack tried the handle and found the door locked, he plied the knocker heavily. His summons was answered almost immediately by a tall, spare man with a bushy beard who opened the door only a crack at first, then swung it wide to allow the interior candlelight to shine over them.

“I know it’s late,” Jack said. “But the lady and I are seeking shelter for the night.”

“Come in then,” the man said, stepping aside to allow them to enter. As he looked beyond them for the carriage or horses that had conveyed them to his establishment, Jack said, “We have no horses. We came on foot.”

As Jack and Anne came closer to the candles situated in a wall sconce of the common taproom, the proprietor stared in astonishment at the lady with her hair hanging loose and the gentleman without boots. Behind the counter, a young girl stared just as boldly.

“I know we must appear odd,” Jack offered. “We were robbed on the Bedfont road west of here. The brigands took all our valuables and left us afoot. We need shelter, and we need someone who can carry a message to my brother in London to tell him where we are.”

Jack paused, allowing the man to speak if he wished. When he said nothing but only continued to stare, Jack said, “We have no money and cannot pay you in advance, but I can guarantee payment when my brother arrives.”

The landlord only nodded as he took in the fine cut of the gentleman’s clothes and the quality of the lady’s gown as she removed her cloak and walked toward the warmth of the fire in the hearth.

“I ‘ave just the one room, sir. It be small.”

Anne, who had said nothing but was nearly holding her breath, praying the man would not turn them away, turned to him and smiled graciously. “I am sure it will suit us perfectly, sir. You are most kind.”

“Can’t ‘ardly turn a lady out into the night now can I?” the man asked reasonably. “But I can’t be sendin’ no message ‘fore mornin’, for there’s none ‘ere to carry it.”

“I understand,” Jack said.

“Mandy,” the proprietor called to the young girl. “Show the lady and gent to number three.”

Without a word, the diminutive maid took a candle and led the way up the dark creaking stairs to a room beneath the thatch. She preceded them into what was indeed a tiny room. The door swung into the only open space, while the bed pushed against the far wall covered more than half of the room’s total area. A small washstand with a pitcher and bowl was the only other furnishing.

“This be it,” the maid said, as she lit a candle stub on the washstand.

When she turned to leave, Anne spoke quickly, “Mandy? That is such a lovely name. I was wondering if it would be possible for us to have something to eat. We have had nothing since noon, and we walked a long way.” When the girl looked doubtful, Anne added. “We have no money, but I have a petticoat you might like. It has real lace.” Anne noticed Jack’s frown but ignored it. “Step into the hall with me, and I will show you,” she told the girl.

They went outside together, closing the door on Jack. Anne had torn one of her petticoats to make Jack’s bandages but the other was still entire. Lifting her skirts she untied it at the waist and let it fall to the floor. Gathering it in her hands she held it up to the candlelight and watched Mandy’s eyes widen in delight. “Take it, and if you could find us something in the pantry—anything—we would be grateful.” Anne pressed the petticoat into the girl’s hands, then turned and reentered the room.

“You will never see that girl again,” Jack prophesied.

“Cynic,” Anne chided. “Well, is this not wonderful?” she asked, gazing at their accommodation for the night.

“Forgive me I if don’t share your ecstasy.”

“Come now, Jack, this is better surely than spending the night in the woods, especially since it looks as if it might rain before morning. How long do you think that stub of candle will last?”

He eyed it measuringly and predicted, “An hour, perhaps less.”

“Then we must not waste any time,” she said. “The first thing you need to do is take off those wet socks.”

“I really don’t think—”

“Take them off, Jack, and I will rub your feet. I often did so for my father. He had poor circulation.”

“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to object?” he asked.

“Not the slightest,” she confirmed.

Jack seated himself on the bed and stripped off the socks, while Anne knelt before him and took one foot in her lap. “Oh, Jack,” she said, concern in her voice. “They are chilled to the bone.” She began to chafe the cold foot in earnest, driven by her fears that such a chill might do him grave injury.

He wanted to object, but found the warmth of her hands too comforting to refuse. Almost twenty minutes later there came a gentle tapping at the door, and Anne opened it to find Mandy standing outside. She passed Anne a small bundle and an extra blanket, then hurried away down the hall without uttering a word.

Anne turned to Jack with a triumphant smile.

“Very well. You were right, and I was wrong,” he admitted, “But do not be too pleased with yourself until you see what she has brought.”

“The blanket alone is enough to be grateful for,” Anne said.

When she opened the blanket a large pair of men’s woolen socks, much darned but clean, fell to the floor. She handed them to Jack and hurried to undo a large cloth napkin, tied together by the corners. Inside was a small piece of cold mutton and a rather larger piece of goat’s cheese.

“Dinner,” she announced.

“I despise goat’s cheese.”

“I am not fond of it myself, but beggars should not be—”

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “Hand me a piece, then, and be done with your lectures. We had best eat quickly and settle ourselves for the night, for the candle is nearly spent.”

When they had finished their meager meal, Anne walked to the nightstand and peered into the pitcher. “There is some water here. I need to wash your wrist and bandage it properly. Does it hurt still?”

He submitted to having the hand washed and redressed. By the time this was finished, the candle was nearly a puddle with a tiny scrap of wick remaining.

Anne eyed the bed suspiciously; it was covered with a homemade quilt that appeared none too clean. She reached to turn back the covers. “Do you think there might be ... ?”

“More than likely,” Jack said. “The sheets have probably served for the last twenty guests or so. If you take my advice, you will sleep on top of the quilt and cover yourself with my cloak.”

“What about you?”

“I will use the blanket and settle myself against the door. That way we can be sure we will not be disturbed.”

“Who would bother us?” Anne asked reasonably. “We have nothing left to steal.”

So accordingly Anne lay down upon the bed, gathering Jack’s warm cloak closely about her. Jack blew out what was left of the candle and settled himself on the floor, leaned his back against the door, and stretched his legs out before him. They nearly touched the edge of the bed.

Anne thought she would be asleep in moments after the exertion of tramping for hours through the woods, but to her surprise she was very alert. She could hear any number of tiny scurrying feet, no doubt belonging to various rodents. Some seemed to be within the walls, while others were overhead in the thatch. She sincerely hoped that none would decide to fall upon her from above.

She soon realized the cloak was insufficient protection from the increasing cold of the night. The walls of the old tavern did little to keep out the damp, and now that she was no longer actively moving about, her discomfort steadily increased. Barely twenty minutes had passed before she whispered, “Jack?”

“Yes.”

“I am cold and wide awake.”

“As am I.”

“Which—cold or awake?”

“Obviously awake, but cold as well.”

“I think you should come up here with me,” she suggested. “If we share the blanket and the cloak we will both be warmer.”

There was a pause before he replied, “I cannot sleep in the same bed with you, Anne.”

“Then we will not sleep. We will sit and talk. If we sit close, we will keep each other warm.”

When she heard him rise from the floor, she pulled herself up to lean against the headboard and moved to the far side of the bed. Jack sat beside her and together they spread first the cloak and then the blanket over them both. The difference was immediately evident. Their combined body heat, held in by the thicker covering, soon began to warm them.

“You are right,” he said. “We will definitely be warmer this way. Now what diverting subject shall we discuss to wile away the night?”

Chapter 18

Tenbury wearily dismounted from Orion in the stable yard of the Blue Swan and walked inside. It was nearing two o’clock in the morning, yet the tap room was awash with light and a large fire burned on the hearth. As he placed his unlit lantern on one of the trestle tables, Weaks hurried in from the kitchen.