The Road to Gretna (13 page)

Raising herself on one elbow to watch his silhouette, she marvelled at the wantonness of her imagination. The strap of her chemise slipped off her shoulder, exposing one breast. It didn’t matter—it was only a dream. But as he turned towards her she ventured a sleep-slurred token protest.

“What’re you doing here?”

With a start of surprise he reached for his candle. Holding it high, he approached the bed and stood looking down at her. The flickering light glinted on a silver pendant about his neck, rippled and quivered enigmatically across his face. Penny’s breath caught in her throat.

“No beauty she doth miss

When all her robes are on:

But Beauty’s self she is

When all her robes are gone.”

He quoted the verse softly. Then his forefinger touched her parted lips and gently, oh so gently, traced the curve of her full white breast. A glowing heat invaded her body, yet she trembled as a chill raced down her spine.

As he stooped towards her, he suddenly halted, motionless, his gaze on something beyond her. He straightened with a self-mocking smile, then leaned down again. Briefly, feather-light, his lips brushed hers before he stepped backwards and bowed ironically.

“Forgive me, madam. I forgot they had switched our rooms.”

With bewildering swiftness he gathered his clothes and slipped out of the chamber. The door clicked shut, leaving her in darkness. She sank back on the pillows and, never quite awake, slid back into dreams where his arms enfolded her and his kisses were full of passion.

In the morning, as she washed and dressed and helped Henrietta, the memory of her dreaming faded, leaving a vague sense of uneasiness and one curiously clear detail. Why on earth had her sleeping mind endowed her fantasy lover with a silver neck-chain bearing a shilling and two threepenny bits? Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. There was no accounting for dreams, and it was going to take all her persuasive skill to get Henrietta downstairs in less than an hour.

She managed it, and without ruffling Henrietta’s temper, though her own was somewhat the worse for wear.

“Congratulations,” murmured Jason, seating her at the breakfast table.

His quizzical look brought a slight flush to her face. She reminded herself that he couldn’t possibly know what she had dreamt. “I cannot think why you want to marry such a ninnyhammer,” she whispered, with as much asperity as it was possible to put into a whisper.

Angus, moving stiffly but apparently without pain, was seating Henrietta. “And where is Mistress Lily this morning?” he asked cheerfully.

“The bootboy has taken her out, because Cora is too ill. It was Penny’s idea, so as not to keep you gentlemen waiting.”

“An excellent idea. No doubt the lad will be glad to escape his usual duties.”

“He seemed to regard it as a splendid treat,” Penny agreed, for once in charity with her betrothed. “I went to see Cora this morning and she said you had already visited her.”

“Aye. She will do well enough in a day or two. I left her a draught and Kilmore has provided for her and Mrs. Ratchett’s stay here and journey back to London. Ah, here is our breakfast.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“I hope they have cooked your porridge properly, Angus.” Penny was exasperated to find he had ordered bacon and a muffin for her again. Was she to be condemned to eat the same breakfast for the rest of her life just because he always wanted the same thing? Tomorrow she would insist on something different. Today she yielded without protest, to avoid delay and to preserve his good mood.

Jason had no such scruples. “Porridge?” he said. “I am reminded of Dr. Johnson’s definition of oats as ‘a grain which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.’”

Penny frowned at him, but the doctor, having discovered that his porridge was smooth and unburnt, was not to be affronted. “Aye, you Sassenachs treat your horses better than your poor,” he riposted.

With a grin, Jason acknowledged himself bested and applied himself to his sirloin.

Mrs. Ratchett being absent, the meal was quickly disposed of. They left just before half past eight; not early, but the best one could hope for given Henrietta’s dawdling, Penny felt. In any case, once they were on the road she had burnt her boats. Angus would never agree to hiring a chaise and going on alone now that her chaperon had been left behind.

Uncle Vaughn must be in hot pursuit by now, but travelling under the auspices of Lord Kilmore might provide a sort of disguise, or at least confuse the trail. His presence made her feel safe, though he had neither right nor duty to protect her. She wondered whether he would choose to. Last night he had seemed—no, last night had been a dream. She must resist the impulse, and the temptation, to confuse fantasy with reality.

“What medicine did you give Cora?” she hurriedly asked Angus, sitting opposite her in the now comfortably spacious carriage.

“More willow bark for her fever and aches, and syrup of ipecacuanha for the cough.” He launched into a description of the properties of ipecacuanha, a powdered root from Brazil.

Penny resigned herself to listening to the lecture. Not so Jason: with ruthless adroitness, he turned the conversation to the country whence came the medicine. Having recently read a review of a book about travels in Brazil, by a Mr. Henry Koster, Penny was sufficiently familiar with the subject to realize that Jason’s knowledge was extensive. She was intrigued to discover that his interest in history was far deeper than he had hitherto displayed or admitted. He also had a gift for presenting his knowledge in entertaining stories as he did with the information about the places they passed through en route.

Angus managed to insert a word or two about tropical diseases into the discussion, but Henrietta had sunk into one of her ruminative silences.

“Dr. Knox,” she said suddenly, “why does medicine taste so horrid?”

Since she was sitting next to Penny, diagonally opposite Angus, the rest of the long stage was enlivened by a confused crosswise dance of words. Penny and Jason continued to talk about South America, while Angus endeavoured to explain in simple terms the principle of bitterness and the use of syrups and pastilles in combatting it.

“I think you are very clever, sir,” said Henrietta admiringly as they pulled into the yard of the Swan and Talbot at Wetherby, “but I still do not understand why medicine tastes so horrid.”

The look of incredulous frustration which crossed Angus’s freckled face made Penny bite her lip. She didn’t dare meet Jason’s eyes. At times it was decidedly awkward to be with someone who shared one’s sense of humour.

They all stepped out to stretch their legs while the horses were changed, and to let the kitten out for a few minutes. With three vigilant guards, Lily found no opportunity for mischief. Henrietta, however, ignored her pet, appearing to be entranced by the inn sign.

“Jason, what is a Talbot?” she asked at last, plaintively. “Is it the name of the river the swan is swimming on? The only other things in the picture are a tree and a dog.”

“I’ve been wondering, too,” Penny admitted, “but I hesitated to expose my ignorance.”

“Craven, Miss Penny?” Jason laughed at her. Bending to seize the kitten by the scruff of the neck and deposit her in Henrietta’s arms, he went on, as they returned to the carriage, “The dog is a Talbot, an ancient breed of hunting hounds.”

“Jason knows everything,” Henrietta confided to Penny. “And your Dr. Knox is excessively clever, too. I daresay he will not mind that you are clever.”

“Perhaps not. Will you not call him Angus, as we are all decided to drop formality?”

Henrietta was shocked. “Oh no, I could not. He is a doctor. Do you think he will mind if I ask him about Papa’s gout?”

“Not at all. Angus is the kindest of men.” And never reluctant to parade his knowledge, she added silently to herself.

It seemed natural, when they all settled in the carriage, that Jason was now opposite Penny, and Angus opposite Henrietta. The two separate conversations which ensued flowed with much greater ease than before. Penny caught snatches: “poor Papa;” “Buxton waters;” “toes horridly swollen and red;” “tincture of colchicum;” but for the most part she was able to concentrate on Jason’s exposition of the history of their next stop.

“Boroughbridge was the site of Edward II’s victory over the barons, a victory for Parliament in the end since it led to the House of Commons’ gaining veto power over laws passed by the Lords.”

“A shocking state of affairs,” Penny teased.

“On the contrary.”

“But you’re a member of the House of Lords.”

“I have not taken my seat. None knows better than I that peers are no separate race, exempt from folly.”

Disturbed by the self-contempt in his voice, Penny did her best to distract him. “You approve of Edward II, then? I always thought him a bad, weak king.”

“So he was. In many respects his chief opponent, Lancaster, had right on his side, though in others he was as bad as Edward, or worse. Incidentally, after his defeat at Boroughbridge, he took refuge in the church, but he was taken from the sanctuary and executed. Don’t tell Henrietta,” he added with a grin.

“I shan’t. Shall we see the church? I hope you don’t think me shockingly hard-hearted that I do not shrink from such tales.”

“Oh, positively bloodthirsty. Yes, the church is still there. We’ll stop at the Musketeer for luncheon, so if you wish we can go to see it. I rather think, though, that you might like to take a short walk to see the Devil’s Arrows.”

“The Devil’s Arrows? What are they?’

“Why, arrows shot by the devil to destroy an ancient city. It is to be supposed that he succeeded, since the city has vanished without trace.”

She shook her head at him in mock reproach. “No, really, Jason, what are they?”

“You will see,” he promised, grinning at her frustration.

She was fated not to see, however. Neither Angus nor Henrietta was interested, and Penny was uncomfortable with the thought of walking in the fields beyond the town alone with Jason, even if Angus had not disapproved.

Henrietta refused even to take a turn about the market-place, where a busy, noisy, and admittedly smelly livestock market was in progress. Still too stiff for comfort, Angus elected to stay with her, but he had no objection to Penny’s going with Kilmore.

Hurrying past a pen of squealing pigs, they slowed when they reached the comparative peace of the area set aside for cattle. A huge black-and-white bull bellowed, making Penny jump and grab Jason’s arm.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to walk in the fields?” he suggested.

“No, thank you, but you will tell me what the Devil’s Arrows are, will you not?”

“You need not look so disappointed, you haven’t missed one of the wonders of the world. They are three prehistoric standing stones, large, but by no means comparable to Stonehenge.”

“Then why were you so mysterious about them?” she asked indignantly.

“I meant you to be so intrigued you’d insist on going to see them. How was I to know you would turn missish?”

To her annoyance, she blushed. “I am not missish. Only...well, after all, I’m going to marry Angus and he didn’t want me to go.”

“To be sure, and of course you will always do exactly as he wishes.”

“I fear I am not so biddable,” she said with a sigh. “But he is kind in his way and I do mean to do my best to make him happy.”

“Who can ask for more?” His tone was light, with his usual hint of irony.

It would never dawn on Henrietta to try to make him happy, she thought, with a sudden rush of pity. All the love he could lavish on her, she would accept as her due. How foolish men were, to be so easily taken in by a pretty face!

“Cheer up, Penny. Not every man wants a biddable wife. Come, shall we go to look at those lambs?”

The animals in question were past the playful age. Their tails already cropped, they stood stolidly, bleating now and then, under the watchful eye of a white-and-tan sheepdog. The weather-beaten shepherd, gnarled as an old tree in his homespun smock, leaned on his crook nearby. To Penny’s surprise, Jason engaged him in conversation, asking about the particular breed of sheep, where they came from, how much they might fetch. The man responded in such a broad Yorkshire dialect that she understood not a word, but Jason was undeterred.

Penny spoke to the dog. It glanced at her with bright, intelligent brown eyes and gave a perfunctory wave of the tail, then turned its attention back to the lambs as if to say, “I’d be happy to make friends but I’m busy at present.”

“Drink to the lady’s health,” said Jason at last, giving the shepherd a coin and offering Penny his arm.

The old man touched his cap and nodded, his eyes as brown and bright as his dog’s under equally shaggy brows.

“I didn’t know you were interested in sheep,” Penny said as they turned away. “I thought you quite the Town Buck.”

He looked disconcerted. “You were quite correct. I know next to nothing of estate management and less of animal husbandry.”

His voice held the note of bitterness she had marked before. She wished she dared ask why, but it would be far too personal a question. “I should like to have a dog,” she said, “but it’s not at all practical when one lives in Town.”

Inexplicably, he whooped with laughter.

“What is so funny?” she asked crossly. “I know ladies keep pugs. I want a proper dog, like the shepherd’s, and I don't believe it would be at all happy living in Town.”

“A collie probably wouldn’t, but I once knew...someone who lived quite happily in London with four dogs, and though three were small terriers, the fourth was a monster. It required a good deal of exercising, but I suppose it was contented as it was an amiable beast—usually.”

“Usually?”

“A long story.” He shook his head, his self-mocking smile reminding her with a shock of her dream. “We’d best return to the inn. I daresay you are anxious to be on your way."

“Yes. Yes, let us go.” She took her hand from his arm and hurried her steps. Ridiculous to let a dream embarrass her, even affect her actions, yet it did.