Supervising Sally (8 page)

‘Then let us hope they have a good fire.' He took her arm. ‘Come, we'll go in and confront the culprits.'

The inn had just one room, the door opening straight into it. It was low-ceilinged, with only one small window which let in almost no daylight. In any case, Phoebe reminded herself, it was dusk outside, and gloomy because of the rain. The only light, and Phoebe was relieved to see it, came from a huge fire roaring in the fireplace. A young boy was crouched to one side, turning the spit on which a haunch of venison and a couple of chickens were being roasted. Phoebe's mouth
watered. They had halted only for a cup of coffee during one of the changes of horses, and carried away some slices of bread and hunks of cheese to eat as they drove.

It was a moment before her gaze penetrated the gloom of the rest of the room, and she saw Sally, still in her breeches, sitting on a settle the far side of the fireplace. George Cowper was sitting beside her.

Zachary almost laughed at the stupefied expression on Sally's face when she saw him. Beside her, the youth he assumed to be George Cowper shrank back into the settle, looking horrified.

‘At last, my dear Sally. You have given us a long journey.'

‘What are you doing here?' Sally croaked.

‘I came to escort you back to London. And in the process, I will be preventing you from ruining your reputation and your life, my child.' He glanced round, just as the innkeeper, wiping his hands on a rag, came through a door which led, he assumed, to the kitchen quarters.

The innkeeper came forward, bowing obsequiously. ‘Sir, Madam, I regret my two rooms are both taken,' he said, casting a jaundiced eye at Sally and George.

Zachary assumed they had bargained a cheap rate for the rooms. ‘Oh, don't be concerned, my good fellow. We will share with my young friends here.'

‘I won't go! And you can't stay here,' Sally protested.

‘Why not, child?'

Sally turned to George, who was still huddled on the settle. ‘George, tell him we won't give up. He can't force me to go back.'

George swallowed hard. ‘She's quite right sir. I don't know who the devil you are—'

‘Beelzebub, perhaps,' Zachary put in softly.

‘Who? Never heard of him. That's not to the point. Sally, that is Miss Benton and I, are betrothed and on our way to Scotland. You're not her brother or anything like that—'

‘Certainly nothing like that, I'm thankful to say, but she is soon to be in my charge, and I do not wish to lose her!'

‘You want to marry her for her dowry, I suppose!'

‘I certainly do not wish to marry her, and I doubt if her dowry, however large, would make a great deal of difference to my own wealth. I am the Earl of Wrekin, since your betrothed does not see fit to introduce us.'

Cowper paled and looked rather sick. ‘The Earl of Wrekin? Sir, I had no idea.'

‘I thought you hadn't.'

Sally, seething with frustration, cut in.

‘George, tell him he can't do anything! And – and if he tries to take me back by force, say you'll fight him!'

‘'Ere, this is a respectable inn, this is, and I won't 'ave no fisticuffs,' the innkeeper, who had been standing by the door and staring at them, said, starting forward. Then he noticed that the boy by the fire had ceased turning the spit, and was staring open-mouthed at Sally. He turned his anger on him, bidding him watch what he was doing, or they'd have meat burnt to a cinder one side and raw the other.

Behind him, Zachary heard a choke of laughter from Phoebe, and surveying the irate innkeeper, and George cowering on the settle he had difficulty in suppressing a smile.

‘My apologies, Sally, but I neglected to bring my sword, or my duelling pistols. You can blame Miss Kingston for being in such a panic to follow you she gave me no time to pack essentials.'

‘George, knock him down! You can do that, surely. You told me you were the champion pugilist at your school!'

‘Sally, we can't start a brawl here. We must appeal to his lordship to be reasonable.'

‘I will be very reasonable. If Sally comes back without any more histrionics I will not prosecute you for abduction of an heiress.'

‘You wouldn't!' Sally was appalled.

‘I would, Sally. Make no mistake.'

Sally gulped, and threw herself on to George's lap, weeping hysterically and swearing she would not go back to London.

To Zachary's relief Phoebe stepped forward. ‘Leave her to me. Sally, let's go up to your room and talk quietly, away from these men who are only interested in fighting.'

An hour later Phoebe returned to the taproom. George, she was thankful to see, had gone, and the earl was seated by a table which had been laid for a meal. A buxom woman, whom she presumed was the innkeeper's wife, was busy setting out plates and knives. When Phoebe came in she bobbed a curtsy and retreated to the kitchen.

The earl rose to his feet, poured her a glass of wine and brought it across to her. ‘Here, it's tolerable. Better than I would expect to find at such a place. Where is Sally?'

‘Thank you. She is asleep. The poor child was exhausted and cannot face any food.' Phoebe sipped the wine gratefully. ‘I need this. Where has that lovely meat vanished to? I could eat the whole of it.'

‘It's being prepared in the kitchen, proper-like for gentry, according to the innkeeper.'

‘I hope they don't take too long. Where is the amorous swain?'

‘He very soon saw the wisdom of departing and spending
the night at another inn, on his way back to Benton Manor. I don't think he was relishing having to explain to his uncle, or whatever Clara's architect is, why he absented himself without permission.'

‘Good. He deserves a thrashing, the young fool.' She chuckled. ‘I think Sally's faith in him wavered when he refused to attack you. It will be even more damaged when she realizes you routed him without a fight.'

At that moment the innkeeper and his wife came in, bearing trays on which Phoebe was relieved to see both the venison and the chickens, and several side dishes which the woman proudly displayed. Finally, after being assured several times that they required nothing else, they withdrew, and Phoebe, glancing apologetically at the earl, picked up a bread roll and tore it apart.

‘Forgive me, my lord, but if I don't eat soon I shall collapse,' she said, and nibbled at the bread while he carved slices of venison for her.

When they were finished, with the remnants of the meal cleared away, and a bottle of port placed on the table, the earl drew two chairs near to the fire. He poured two glasses of port and brought them across to Phoebe, handing one to her.

‘I know port is not considered a drink for a lady,' he began.

‘But I suspect you consider me no lady,' Phoebe said, taking the glass. ‘After my father died, I developed quite a taste for it as Mama and I had to make do with the wine he had laid down. We didn't tell Reginald we had it, or he would have taken it to his own house, and we would not have been able to afford to buy wine. Papa was quite a connoisseur, I believe.'

‘Reginald?'

Phoebe frowned. ‘Reginald Bradshaw, my sister Jane's husband. He owns mills in Yorkshire, not far from Ridgeway Park.'

‘Is that how Beatrice comes to know you?'

‘No. My father was a doctor, in Buxton, and Lord Drayton used to consult him.'

‘But I understood you were living with your sister.'

‘Mama had been very ill, and we did not have much money. There were the medicines to buy. Jane persuaded Mama to live with her, and was expecting me to become an unpaid governess to her odiously undisciplined children. Lady Drayton took pity on me, and offered me the post as companion to Sally.'

Phoebe bit her lip. He might be unwilling to escort her to Brussels, but when Beatrice recovered, she was sure that lady would find some way of sending her and Sally there.

The earl was silent for a few moments. He rose to his feet and began to pace about the room. ‘Is Sally reconciled to coming back to London?'

‘Oh yes, she is now.'

‘How did you persuade her?'

Phoebe grinned. ‘I pointed out that anyone who really wanted to protect and marry her would not have allowed you to prevail with mere words, and if he really loved her he would not be deterred by a threat of prosecution. He would have answered you, found a way of rescuing her. And he would have provided her with a coach and four, not expected her to ride all the way to Scotland.'

‘Are you always as devious?'

‘Only when it proves to be necessary. Now, my lord, if you will excuse me, I really would like to retire.'

It was some time before Zachary himself went up to the tiny room under the thatch. He was thankful to find a fire in the small fireplace, and that the bed had been properly warmed.

He hung up his coat as best he could, and resigned himself to having to wear the same shirt on the following day. He had not had to do that since he sold out from the army after his younger brother had been killed. At a more important inn, he reflected with a sigh, he could have expected someone would launder his shirt and cravat, and press his coat, but he suspected that the innkeeper and his wife, and the boy who had proved to be their son, were the only people running the inn, and they either had enough to do, or did not think it necessary to provide such refinements for their usual customers.

For the first time in his life, he thought, he would have to wear the same cravat for two days. He hoped none of his friends would see him as he drove back home.

In the morning Sally was subdued, replying to questions with no more than a yes or no. She had, Zachary was relieved to see, donned a gown. When he asked how she would explain to the innkeeper that she was not a boy, Phoebe intervened.

‘We told them last night, of course. Otherwise how could we have shared a room? They'd heard enough to know what the situation was. But you need not be concerned: they don't know who we are.'

‘They heard me tell Cowper who I was.'

‘Oh, so they did. But don't be concerned. None of the Quality would ever stay here, so no one will know. If the landlord tells any of his cronies they will think he is romancing. And they don't know who Sally is, and that's what's important.'

Phoebe was as neat as ever, and he wondered how she contrived to have her gown, which had been wet and splashed with mud the previous day, looking so fresh. He was a little sorry that her hair was neatly brushed. When it had been wet and dishevelled the previous day it had made
her, in some inexplicable way, look even prettier than she did now.

‘We must squeeze into the curricle as far as the next posting inn,' he told them, dragging his mind back to practicalities. ‘I will hire a chaise for the two of you, and we will travel together.'

Sally looked up and frowned. ‘You'll act as a guard? To a prisoner? Don't you trust us?'

‘I would describe it as escort, child, but if you choose to see me as a guard perhaps it will remind you of your folly. Can I trust you not to behave stupidly again?' he demanded.