The Road to Gretna (16 page)

“Who be this Lily, my lord?” the innkeeper demanded. Penny didn’t blame him for sounding suspicious after the earlier screech of “
murder!
”

Jason’s head was sunk in his hands, whether in despair or to hide his amusement she couldn’t tell, but he appeared to be incapable of answering. “A kitten,” she said. “A small white kitten. Pray have your staff search the house for her.”

“Well, I dunno, miss...”

Jason raised his head. “Do as Miss Bryant instructs,” he said coldly.

“Yes, my lord, at once.” The man bowed, rubbing his hands nervously and scurried out, the waiter at his heels.

“Come, Henrietta,” said Penny, “we must go and ascertain that she’s not hiding under the bed.” With her arm about the girl’s shoulders, she led her out.

The landlord was already mustering his troops as the young ladies passed through the narrow hall. His summoning of the tapster had brought several customers to join the search, a couple of burly farm-hands and a wizened shepherd somewhat the worse for drink. Hurrying Henrietta past them, Penny cast an anxious glance back at the parlour door. Angus was an abstemious man; she hoped Jason would not dispose of the entire bottle of rum by himself.

Their bedchamber struck chilly after the warmth of the fire below. Penny closed the door firmly and looked about. The doors and drawers of the clothes press were all shut, and it sat square on the floor, with no space beneath for a hiding kitten. The window was shut, thank heaven. The bed was the only--

“Henrietta, your candle!” Swooping, she just managed to save the bed-curtains from going up in flames as Henrietta leant down to look under the bed. Penny set the candle on the floor and went down on her knees. Henrietta knelt beside her.

“Lily! Lily, come here, you naughty puss,” Henrietta called hopefully.

A very faint miaow answered her.

“Lily! Here, kitty. Oh, where is she?”

They both peered into the dusty gloom.

“Miaow.”

“That’s not where it’s coming from,” said Penny, standing up and brushing at her skirts. “Call her again, and then hush.”

“Lily, here, puss. Here, kitty!”

This time the mewing was accompanied by a scrabbling sound, and a shower of soot fell down the chimney. Henrietta screamed as a small black kitten dropped into the empty grate.

Lily sat down and began to wash herself.

“Oh, don’t let her do that,” cried Penny, seizing the nearest piece of cloth which came to hand in an open portmanteau. “She’ll be ill if she swallows all that soot.” She pounced on the kitten and swathed her in Henrietta’s pink-and-green paisley shawl.

Henrietta rushed to take the squirming bundle from her. “Poor little thing. What shall we do? She will have to be washed.”

“I daresay one of the kitchen servants will do it, or an ostler could hold her under the pump, if you pay enough.”

“Oh no, I could not let a rough servant wash her. He might hurt her. I wish Cora were here!”

Penny had no intention of volunteering for so hazardous a task. She kept her mouth shut.

“Do you think Jason...? No, he has been horridly disagreeable this evening. I shall wash her myself,” said Henrietta with an air of conscious heroism.

A peremptory knock on the door preceded the unceremonious entry of Jason and Angus. Behind them in the passage stood a now-familiar half circle of gaping innkeeper and servants, with the addition of the drunken shepherd.

“Did you scream again, Henrietta?” Jason demanded. He caught sight of the struggling, squeaking shawl in her arms. “Good gad, what the devil?”

“Oh Jason, poor Lily was up the chimney. She is black all over!”

A grin began to form on his face.

Penny frowned at him. “If you will kindly arrange it with the landlord, Henrietta wishes to go down to the kitchen to give Lily a bath.”

“She does?” he asked sceptically.

“Yes, she does.”

“Then far be it from me to cast any rub in her way. Landlord, you heard?”

The innkeeper’s lips quit moving in silent prayer and he opened his eyes. “Aye, my lord.” He sighed and turned to shoo away his staff, muttering, “I just hopes as t’wife don’t fall into a fit.”

With an equally resigned expression, Jason said, “Allow me to relieve you of the beast, Henrietta. She appears to be about to escape. I daresay I had best go with you to the kitchen.”

“Will you, Jason? Oh, thank you.” Henrietta’s sparkling smile drew forth an answering smile from her betrothed. They departed together, Jason holding the indignant bundle in both hands, as far away from his clothes as possible.

“Miss Henrietta will lead his lordship a rare dance,” Angus prophesied. “When she’s not playing the sulky child, she has a cozening way to match her pretty face.”

“For all her silliness Henrietta can be very engaging at times,” Penny acknowledged. “She didn’t even make a fuss about her shawl, which is certain to be ruined, and she’s bound to be scratched if she actually does wash Lily. I hope you still have some tincture of iodine. It will be interesting to see whether it’s Jason or Henrietta who needs it.”

“Indeed. I shall fetch my bag.”

They went back down to the parlour. On the table stood the unopened bottle of rum, the punch-bowl with a sliced lemon in it, and the tea-tray. Penny laid her hand against the teapot.

“Stone cold.” Suddenly she felt like crying. She blinked back hot tears.

Angus took her hands in his. "You are weary, my dear Penelope. Sit you down and I will order fresh tea.”

Gratefully she obeyed. He went to the door and called for a waiter. The man came in looking nervous, piled the punch-bowl and rum bottle onto the tray and went off with it, returning shortly with a steaming pot, Angus did not disdain the feminine task of pouring the tea. They were both sipping the hot, refreshing liquid when Henrietta and Jason entered. From a white towel in Henrietta’s arms a bedraggled, unhappy, but white little face peered out.

“I had to buy another towel,” Jason complained, but he seemed in good spirits none the less and he didn’t mention the disappearance of the punch makings. “Ah, tea! Just what we need. Put the monster down on the hearthrug to dry, Henrietta. I wager she’s too exhausted to try any more tricks.”

Henrietta’s pink gown was splotched with grey, and her hands were more scratched than Jason’s, proving she had taken an unexpectedly active part in bathing the kitten. Penny wished she had thought to suggest that they wear gloves. Angus produced his iodine.

The sting of the iodine took Henrietta by surprise. Her mouth opened and the beginning of a squeal escaped before Jason clapped his hand across it.

“Another scream and we’ll be thrown out of the place! Hold still, Henrietta. It’s not half so painful as when Lily inflicted the scratches in the first place, and you were amazingly brave then. Are you finished, Knox? Then come, my dear, sit by the fire and drink your tea.”

To all appearances, thought Penny later as she undressed, if Jason had been falling out of love, he had jumped back in again. She tried to be glad. He would be happier married to a woman he loved, and Henrietta was young enough to learn to overcome her spoiled petulance, if not her hen-wittedness. She had behaved very sweetly over Lily’s misfortune, she was generous, and even now she was on her knees by her bed praying that her dear Papa was not too horridly distressed by her disappearance.

Besides, in all decency Jason had to marry her after eloping with her, with or without her father’s assistance. And Penny herself was equally committed to marrying Angus. As she slipped into bed she recited to herself all his good qualities.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Despite Mullins’s storm warning, the next day dawned fine. Beyond Bowes, the Roman road continued uphill, straight as an arrow. Penny, sitting on the right side of the carriage today, looked out at rough, sheep-cropped grass sloping up to rougher moorland, a patchwork of green bracken, purple heather, and vividly yellow gorse. Here and there outcrops of grey rock broke through. The colours faded into the distance, where the huge, dark bulk of Mickle Fell surged to meet the mass of storm clouds which had blown over during the night.

Despite her low spirits, Penny’s heart lightened. The wild freedom of the moors called to some part of her which had been cramped by city streets, hedged in even by green fields.

It would be hard to go back to live in London. She wondered whether Jason had a country estate, and if so, where. Wherever it was, Henrietta wouldn’t be willing to spend much time there, far from shops and amusements.

Angus glanced out at the black horizon. “’Tis doubtless raining on the Border,” he announced in a voice of doom.

At that moment the carriage passed a large patch of gorse on the opposite side. The sweet, coconutty fragrance wafted in through the open windows and Henrietta exclaimed in delight.

“I would like to pick some of those yellow flowers. Jason, pray tell Mullins to stop so that I can pick some.”

“I wager you won’t care for the experience if you do,” he said drily. “Most of that charming greenery is not leaves but spines, to protect the bushes against nibbling sheep.”

“How horrid!”

Silence fell. None of the four travellers was talkative that morning. As the road carried them up and ever up, they all gazed out of the windows at the treeless hills, alone with their thoughts.

Henrietta broke the silence. She sounded uneasy. “Jason, I do not care for this place. It is not at all pretty and there are not even any villages here. We have not even passed another carriage this age.”

“The moors often seem harsh and bleak to those unaccustomed to their wildness,” he soothed her. “In truth, few people live so high in the hills. The land is poor, and the winters can be cruel. But there is beauty in the very wildness, if you will try to appreciate it on its own terms.”

“It’s not picturesque, Henrietta,” Penny put in eagerly, “but it’s magnificent. Look at the unconfined hills, the great sweep of sky. You could ride forever.”

“I think it is horrid. It frightens me. There is nothing there! You would get lost if you went riding, and I don’t like to ride anyway."

“I do.” Penny decided it was time to change the subject, as Jason was once again wearing his forbidding look. “I learnt to ride at school, but I have had very little chance to practise since. I should have to start out again on a placid, elderly nag.”

Angus looked as if he was about to say that a London doctor’s wife would have little occasion for riding, but Henrietta spoke first.

“I have the prettiest riding habit, only I have never worn it.” She prattled on about scarlet cloth, black braid, and a shako-style hat. That reminded her of another favourite hat, which had to be described, along with the pelisse that went with it.

Distracted from the stark scenery outside the windows, she was quite surprised when Jason mentioned that the road was now winding down out of the hills.

"We shall soon be in the midst of green fields again,” he said sardonically, “so you may rest easy, Henrietta. And our next stop, Brough, has another ruined castle for you, Miss Penny, built, like Bowes, on top of a Roman fort. It was rebuilt in the seventeenth century by Lady Anne Clifford, though it is once more falling into ruins. She also rebuilt Brougham and Appleby Castles, which you’ll see today, and others.”

Penny wanted to know more about Lady Anne Clifford. By the time the subject was exhausted, the ruins of Brough Castle were visible ahead. They stopped briefly at the Golden Fleece, just to change horses, as the next stage to Appleby was short.

Far from being pleased by the return to a gentler countryside, Henrietta looked both worried and perplexed.

“Why are there so many castles, Jason?” she asked. “Every little village has a castle. I am sure there are not so many near London.”

“You’re quite right, my dear. The north bristles with them, like a gorse bush with prickles, to protect against the attacks of the Scots.”

Henrietta threw such a terrified glance at Angus that Penny reached for her hand.

“There’s no need to be in a quake,” she said, frowning at Jason. “The Scots haven’t invaded England in seventy years.”

“Aye, ‘tis doctors and engineers Scotland sends south now,” Angus confirmed, “not border raiders nor fiery clansmen.”

“Indeed, the Highland regiments were among the bravest fighting Napoleon,” Penny went on. "We are on the same side now, you see.”

"Which is just as well," said Jason, "since most of the castles are in ruins."

Their concerted efforts failed to convince Henrietta that she was safe, though she did look upon Angus with a more kindly eye. Fortunately the carriage just then rolled over a bridge and Penny managed to distract her by exclaiming over a family of ducks on the stream below.

Listening with half an ear, Jason watched the two girls chatting about the possibility of keeping ducks as pets. Pets being Henrietta’s second favourite subject, after clothes, her pretty face was happy and animated. He wondered whether a menagerie of kittens, ducks, and lambs would keep her happy after they were married.

Married! What the devil had made him decide to marry for money? By tonight Henrietta would be his wife, to do with as he pleased; the money he needed so badly would be his, to do with as he pleased. She was a pretty chit, and a rich one, with an undeniable kittenish charm. Yet all he really wanted was to take Penny in his arms, to loose her cloak of coppery hair, to kiss her sweet lips and...

He tore his gaze from the gentle curve of her bosom and looked out of the window. It wasn’t just her body he wanted. He wanted her for her sense of the ridiculous; for her lively interest in the world, especially in history; for her calm, practical good sense, her kindness, her cheerfulness, and her flashes of rebellion. Yes, most of all he loved her for her longing for independence in a world where independence was beyond women’s reach, the longing that made her defy her uncle and chafe against Angus’s authority.

Even if she were a thief—and he believed it no more than he believed that she was a wanton—he needed her. That one copper Penny, even if she were penniless, was enough to compensate for the thousands of golden sovereigns he would willingly relinquish if he could find an honourable way to avoid marrying Henrietta. But there was no honourable way; he was pledged to Henrietta, and Penny was pledged to Dr. Angus Knox.