Elizabeth Mansfield (28 page)

Letty was also damp and cold. Her shoes had been so badly soaked during her wait in the rain that they were quite ruined, the inner lining cracking and curling and causing her additional discomfort. Even more disturbing was the growing doubt in her mind of Brandon’s ability to see to the practical matters involved in a long journey. She was depressed by the prospect of her future—a future which now seemed considerably less bearable than it had appeared when Brandon had described it. He’d spent the first four hours of the trip telling her about the dramatic intrigue of the
Choephoroe,
but the Greek names had so confused Letty that Brandon had felt it necessary to lecture at length on the genealogy of the House of Atreus. This only confused her further, and her mind wandered to other matters. She was beginning to realize that, while Brandon was brilliant on the subject of the classics, he was vague and absentminded about the practical matters of life. At a toll gate, he had caused a considerable delay while he searched through all his pockets for a coin (which Letty finally supplied from her reticule), and he would, more than once, have taken the wrong road had not Letty been watchful. But he had gone on and on about Agamemnon and Clytemnestra and their impossible offspring until Letty was sorely tempted to tell him that it was time for school to be out. At length, however, even
he
had tired of the subject. They had lapsed into silence—a brooding, empty, isolating silence.

They had gone a little way north of Ombersley when Letty noticed that Brandon looked ill. Over his objections, she insisted that they stop at the nearest inn for the night. They both needed rest and warmth, she pointed out, and she would prefer to
sleep
through the rain than
drive
through any more of it. Brandon, too weak to argue, turned the carriage into the courtyard of a small, thatched inn whose lights had beckoned invitingly to them through the gathering shadows.

From the curious and somewhat discourteous glance of the innkeeper when they entered, Letty became uncomfortably aware of the shabby appearance they made. Their clothes were badly wrinkled and soggy, their hair matted, and even their luggage was meagre and unprepossessing. Brandon wearily requested two bedrooms for the night and, turning to Letty, asked if she would mind dreadfully taking her dinner alone. He was not hungry. A warm bed was all he wanted. Letty assured him that she would manage well enough on her own. Brandon bespoke a private parlor for her and limped tiredly up the stairs.

A young boy brought in their things. Letty followed him up the stairs to see to the distribution of their boxes and to make sure that fires were lighted in their bedrooms. She told the boy to give Mr. Peake assistance in his undressing, and after settling everything upstairs to her satisfaction, she went
down again to procure some hot soup for Brandon to drink before he fell asleep. This time she was greeted by the innkeeper’s wife. The woman was robust and red-cheeked, and Letty would have assumed her to be a cheerful, warm-hearted country wife except for her narrow eyes and thin lips, which combined to give her a sour expression strangely inappropriate when combined with her apple-dumpling appearance. The narrow eyes surveyed Letty with obvious suspicion and disdain, taking due note of the wrinkled gown and ruined shoes. Letty requested the soup. The woman, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded a surly acquiescence and went off to prepare it, her reluctance apparent in every step she took.

Letty herself took the soup to Brandon and sat beside him while he drank. His cheeks were flushed and feverish, and though she kept up a flow of cheerful conversation, her heart failed her. What would she do if Brandon became seriously ill? He handed the bowl to her with a grateful smile and slid down under the covers. He was asleep almost at once.

She tiptoed from the room and, having two hours to wait before dinner, went to her room, removed her damp clothing with relief, and lay down to rest. She, too, was soon asleep. She woke with a start to find the room in darkness. She didn’t know how long she’d slept. Quickly she dressed in a fresh gown, brushed and tied back her hair, and went out. She opened the door to Brandon’s room. He was still asleep, and she was relieved to hear his steady, unobstructed breathing. Perhaps he was not as ill as she had feared. A good night’s sleep might be sufficient to restore him to health. If he were sufficiently recovered by morning and if the sun shone at last, the prospects for the future might seem a little brighter.

With the return of more hopeful spirits, Letty realized that she was very hungry. She went down the stairs and found the innkeeper in the taproom where he was busily supplying tall mugs of home brew to a surprisingly large number of locals. Evidently the weather had not deterred his patrons from seeking their nightly refreshment. She learned from the innkeeper that it was after eight. Requesting her dinner, she went to the private parlor where she took a seat before the fire and tried to relax. After only a moment there was a tap on the door, and the innkeeper came in, followed closely by his wife. The innkeeper, embarrassed, took only a couple of awkward steps into the room. He stood blinking at Letty wordlessly. His wife, however, came in purposefully, closed the door, and with a deeper frown than was usual with her, poked her husband in the back with an angry forefinger.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the innkeeper said hesitantly, “but we was wonderin’—that is, my wife here was wonderin—if you could see your way clear to … to …”

“Yes?” asked Letty encouragingly.

The innkeeper glanced dubiously at his wife. She glared at him in disgust and took over the matter herself. “We was wonderin’ if you’d be so good as to pay yer shot now,” she said grimly and shot a look at her husband that seemed to say that
that
was how to deal with suspicious-looking customers.

“Now?” Letty asked, nonplussed. “But … I don’t understand. Is it customary to demand payment before the end of one’s stay?”

“Well …” the innkeeper began.

“Don’t care if it is or it ain’t,” his wife said flatly. “You come in ’ere wantin’ two bedrooms ’stead of one and askin’ fer the private parlor like you was a duchess. Well, how’re we to know if you’ve so much as a copper in yer pocket?”

“I can assure you, madam, that your reckoning will be paid in full,” Letty said sternly.

“That’s all well ’n good, but assurances don’t ring near so good as brass,” the woman said insolently. “A night like this’n is always busy fer us. We had
two parties
we turned away because you took the bedrooms, ain’t I right, Joddy?”

The innkeeper nodded. “It
is
a busy night, ma’am,” he said sheepishly.

“And now you want dinner, after I already let the fire die out,” the woman complained. “This ain’t the royal kitchen, y’know. We ain’t inclined to ’ave dinner at all hours.”

“There’s no need to upset yourself over that,” Letty said calmly. “Some cold meat and a piece of bread should do quite well.”

“Cold meat or hot, I’d like to ’ear the clink o’ yer guineas,” she retorted.

“I’d be glad to oblige,” Letty explained curtly, “but my … but Mr. Peake is not feeling well and is fast asleep. I would rather not disturb him just now. You shall have your money first thing in the morning.”

The woman sneered and folded her arms across her chest adamantly. “It’s now, my lady, or out you go,” she declared.

Letty gasped and looked questioningly at the innkeeper. He shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, ma’am,” was all he said.

Letty got stiffly to her feet and, with head erect, walked out of the room. She ran quickly up the stairs, tapped on Brandon’s door, and went in. He didn’t stir. Reluctantly, she shook his shoulder. With a groan, he turned over and blinked up at her. “Letty,” he mumbled hoarsely, “what—?”

“Sorry to wake you, Brandon, but I’ve just had a rather uncomfortable scene with the innkeepers. They want us to pay them
now.
”

Brandon rubbed his eyes and reached for the spectacles he had placed on a table near the bed. He put them on and peered at her, trying to get his brain to function. “Pay them?” he muttered thickly. “Yes, of course. Just take the—” Suddenly he sat bolt upright, his eyes wide awake and staring in alarm. “Money! Good God, Letty, I’ve forgotten to take any money!”

Letty paled. “Oh, Brandon, no!”

He clapped his hand to his aching forehead, and a croaking sound came from his throat. “What a complete
fool
I am! What are we to do now?”

For a moment Letty stared at him in disbelief. How
could
he have been so disordered? She felt a wave of revulsion for so muddleheaded a man. But immediately, the injustice of her feelings became apparent to her. She had
begged
him to do this for her. He had been safe and comfortable and content with his life. It was
she
who had turned his world upside down, brought him to this miserable inn, sick and penniless.
She
was the muddleheaded one. Whatever had possessed her to involve him in her life, to use him for her own selfish purposes? If she had any character at all, she would release him from his promise and set him free.

But this was not the time for such thoughts. He was sick, and his eyes were desperately worried. She bent over him and put a cool hand on his forehead. “There, now,” she said soothingly, “don’t look so alarmed. I shall simply tell the man to trust us for a while.” She took off his spectacles and helped him to settle himself into the pillows again.

“Do you think he will?” Brandon asked, eager to believe that they were not so close to disaster as he had feared.

“Of course he will,” Letty said with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling.

“But what about money? Where can we procure some money?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get a good night’s sleep. We’ll think of something in the morning.”

Brandon sighed. “Very well, Letty. Sorry I’m such an absentminded idiot. Good night, my dear.”

Letty went out and closed the door. She paused for a moment on the landing to brace herself for the ordeal ahead. Then she went firmly down the stairs. The innkeeper and his wife were waiting at the foot. “I’m sorry,” she told them without mincing words, “but I’m afraid we could not put our hands on the
money tonight. You will have to trust us until tomorrow.”

“
Trust
you? Do y’think we’re loobies? You can pack yer things right now and take yerselves off.”

“What are you saying?” Letty asked, trying to control her agitation. “You cannot mean to put us out at this hour … and on such a night?”

The innkeeper turned to his wife diffidently. “She’s right, pet. It ain’t human to send ’em off in this downpour.”

His wife fixed him with a glare of such animosity that Letty quailed. “Keep yer sneezer out o’ this if you’ve nothing better to say, you cod’s head!” she sneered at him. “We ain’t in the business o’ givin’ charity. If this fancy piece and her chap upstairs ain’t out o’ here in a quarter hour, you can pick ’em up by their tails and heave ’em out the door!”

A gust of wind and spray of rain behind them caused them to turn their heads toward the outer door. It had opened. Impressively filling the dimly lit doorway stood the most elegant gentleman the innkeepers had ever seen. His tall, rain-spattered beaver, his driving coat with its six capes, the high boots that gleamed under a spattering of mud all proclaimed the Corinthian. The innkeepers gaped, and even Letty was struck by the imposing figure before her. It wasn’t until he spoke that she realized who he was. “Mind your malignant tongue, woman!” he was saying to the innkeeper’s wife in coldly imperious accents. “Apologize to the lady
at once
!”

“Roger!”
cried Letty joyously, and completely without thought but with a sensation of glorious relief at the sight of him, she ran to the door and flung herself into his arms. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in all my life!” The terror of the last few moments vanished like the remnants of a nightmare, and she clung to him with the instinctive wisdom of a drowning child for his rescuer. She had been battling an antagonistic world all day, a world that had persistently presented her with larger and larger obstacles. She had pushed herself and Brandon into such deep waters that it had seemed they must drown, but Roger’s sudden appearance had changed all that. Her prospects no longer had the power to overwhelm her. She was safe. With her head pressed against his shoulder, she surrendered to the tears that had been held just beneath the surface throughout this deplorable day.

Roger, amazed by the unexpected warmth of her welcome, held her closely to him in speechless gratification. He had no knowledge of the circumstances that had brought her to this pass, and he suspected that she would soon come to her senses and reconsider—with regret—her rash greeting. But in this brief, unguarded moment, she had revealed something of the depth of her feelings for him, and suddenly his prospects seemed brighter, too.

For an instant, he forgot his surroundings, the people who watched, the wind and the rain blowing at his back, and the reason why he came. His arms tightened around her, and he laid his cheek against her hair. Letty felt the movement of his arms and came to her senses with a jerk. She pulled herself from his arms and stammered guiltily, “Oh! I didn’t mean to … that is I … I must explain why I— Good God!
Prue
!”

Prue, who had been standing just behind Roger and watching the scene with fascination, could not help smiling. “I’m glad to find that
someone
has taken notice of me at last,” she said. “I shall be drenched if I’m not permitted to come in out of the rain at once.”

“Oh, indeed, come in, Miss,” the innkeeper said hastily, ushering them all toward the private parlor with repeated and obsequious bows.

“I’m that upset that I disconstrued you, ma’am,” the innkeeper’s wife said to Letty with painful eagerness, “but I didn’t know … I mean, if I’d know’d you was related to
this
gent ’ere …” But no one paid her any heed. With a great number of exclamations, gasps, and half-uttered questions, they made their way into the private parlor.