The Road to Gretna (4 page)

“Is this inn not charming? Nothing could be more delightful than a thatched roof, I declare. It is amazingly old; Jason says it was built in the time of King Charles II and I know that was a very long time ago, for he wore a wig as Papa was used to.”

“A very long time ago,” Penny agreed, wondering how Mr. White would like being classed with the long-dead Merry Monarch. “We must be off. Perhaps we shall see you again along the way.”

“The Falcon at Huntingdon, Miss Bryant,” said Lord Kilmore, with a slight bow of greeting and farewell.

As the chariot began to move, Henrietta turned away and said to her abigail, “Cora, pray take Lily out of the yard. She will be frightened of the horses’ hooves.”

Penny sank back in her seat, chuckling.

“Who is Lily?” Angus wanted to know. “Surely Miss White has not brought two maids with her?”

“Lily is a kitten. Can you imagine anything more ridiculous than taking a kitten on an elopement?”

“She must be very attached to the wee beastie.”

“It is kind in Lord Kilmore to allow her to bring it.”

“No doubt he is prodigious anxious to please,” said Angus drily.

“Oh. I suppose he must be.” Penny paused in momentary disillusionment, then asked, “Do we stop at the Falcon?”

“That is where I told the postilion to go.” Angus appeared less than pleased at the prospect of encountering Henrietta and Lord Kilmore again.

Penny looked forward to it, and hoped that they would meet often on the road. It was not likely, she realized. Travelling fast with their four horses, the others had caught up. Next they would overtake and then they’d not be seen again.

She wondered whether to try to persuade Angus to hire a team of four, but she was not sure that they could be harnessed to their chariot. Finding a new vehicle to hire would take time and cost money, and four horses, with the requisite second postilion, cost twice as much as two. Even with the rolls of sovereigns concealed in her portmanteau, her purse was not bottomless. She had not reckoned on the extra expense of a room and meals for Mrs. Ratchett. Penny resigned herself to merely continuing to insist on paying a little extra for good horses.

Sighing, she gazed through the window, watching for Lord Kilmore’s carriage. The road was busy now, with gigs and curricles, stage coaches, carriers’ carts, and riders. A mail coach swept by them with a warning blast of the guard’s tin horn, the passengers on the roof hanging on to the rail for dear life.

And then the maroon and gold of the baron’s vehicle edged past, Henrietta waving excitedly at the window. Penny gave her a half-hearted wave in return.

When they reached Huntmgdon a short while later, the maroon carriage was standing at the Falcon. Lord Kilmore stood nearby, examining with a critical eye the two pairs beings harnessed by the ostlers. Penny followed Angus down from the chariot as the baron raised his hat in greeting.

“What a delightful surprise to meet you here, my lord,” Penny responded, smiling.

Angus merely nodded briefly before addressing the nearest ostler, promising a good tip for the inn’s best horses.

The man shrugged. “His lordship here’s took the best. There’s not much to choose atween the rest. Try the George if you be in a hurry.”

“I could step across and ask what they have available,” Angus suggested to Penny, without enthusiasm.

She dithered, feeling that another delay would make her scream. Uncle Vaughn and Bartholomew must be well on their way back to London from Hampshire by now. Would it be quicker to try the George or just to accept what the Falcon had to offer?

“How long is the next stage?” she asked.

“‘Tis a matter o’ fourteen mile to Stilton,” the ostler told her, “or fifteen to Norman Cross.”

Lord Kilmore intervened. “Miss Bry—Cox, I refuse to be responsible for hindering your fli—journey. Pray avail yourself of a pair of these fiery steeds. Osler, unhitch the leaders,” he ordered.

“If you says so, my lord.” Shaking his head at the peculiar ways of the nobility, the man and his mate started to unbuckle the harness.

“You are generous, sir,” said Angus unwillingly.

“Most generous,” Penny exclaimed. “But I cannot like to be responsible for hindering your fli—journey.”

“No matter, ma’am. Henrietta and her maid have taken that dratted kitten into the garden behind the inn and there’s no saying how long she will dally. I cannot claim to be in as much of a hurry as I fancy you are.”

“Yes, I am anxious to travel as fast as possible,” she admitted as Angus turned away to supervise the harnessing. “And I know that Henrietta has not the least notion of the passage of time.” His teasing look reminded her that she had told him so once before. She felt her cheeks grow pink. “You may have to wait a long time if the garden is as pleasant as the inn looks,” she added, gesturing airily at the oriel windows.

“It is an interesting building, is it not? It was Oliver Cromwell’s headquarters for a time during the Civil War. He was born in Huntingdon. No, I am not a serious student of history,” he said wryly, noting her surprise. “I find that knowing something of the places I pass through lessens the tedium of the journey. As it happens, I am particularly familiar with the Great North Road.”

“So the inn people must know you and it would be pointless to use an alias.”

“Quite pointless. Besides, a lord receives better service and I hesitate to invent a non-existent title. I find recalling
your
alias difficult enough.”

“I do, too. I suppose Angus chose it because it sounds like Knox, but Ryan, or Lyons, or something of the sort would have been easier for me.”

“Perhaps you should change it, which would have the merit of further confusing your trail,” he suggested with a smile.

Penny was about to say that that was a splendid notion when a curious noise reminiscent of fingernails on a slate made them both swing round. Henrietta was hurrying towards them, followed by Cora, who carried a dripping, screeching kitten by the scruff of the neck as far as possible from the damp skirts of her grey gown.

“Jason, Lily was trying to catch a goldfish and she fell into the pond. I must have a towel for her at once. She will catch cold!”

“Heaven forbid,” said Lord Kilmore indulgently. “Come into the inn and we’ll find something to dry her with. Until we meet again, Miss Bryant. The Bell at Stilton, perhaps?”

Back on the road again, Penny found herself with much to ponder. She was glad of the distraction of her thoughts when Angus and Mrs. Ratchett embarked on a revoltingly graphic discussion of the ailments of her many and varied relatives.

Penny found Lord Kilmore puzzling. His patient kindness to Henrietta impressed her, and she was grateful for his giving up the good horses, yet it was odd that he was not in a hurry, nor travelling under an alias. Whatever the reason for their elopement, he must surely fear pursuit. Probably he feared still more losing Henrietta’s affection by insisting on haste. Unless the poverty-stricken peer was prepared to abduct his heiress against her will, her fickleness could put a stop to the marriage as certainly as being caught by an angry father.

Presumably his lordship had rather be caught than stoop to abduction. Penny was relieved. She liked him and she wanted to think well of him.

Another reason for his reluctance to rush Henrietta might be that he loved her and didn’t want to distress her. As a motive for elopement, the combination of love and money was far less dastardly than money alone, and men were always falling in love with Henrietta. Her pretty face and pretty ways blinded them to her hen-wittedness, or at least persuaded them to overlook it.

Penny found she had come full circle. Lord Kilmore and Henrietta were a strikingly suitable couple. Admiring her looks, he would laugh at her folly and indulge her whims while, without ever understanding his laughter, she would be happy with a handsome, indulgent husband and delight in being called “my lady.”

The thought was depressing.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jason was infernally bored. The kitten’s antics, mildly diverting at first, had soon palled, though fortunately Henrietta still found the mischievous little creature entertaining. He was glad to have brought it if only for that reason. The prospect of a bored Henrietta didn’t bear thinking about.

Her chatter, so delightfully ingenuous in half-hour doses in the drawing-room, or even an hour in Hyde Park, was driving him to distraction. Why had he never noticed how childish she was?

Even her figure was childish, especially compared to the tall but admirably curvaceous Miss Bryant. He was intrigued by that odd pair, the impatient redhead and the phlegmatic Scot. They seemed an ill-matched couple. No more so, perhaps, than he himself and Henrietta, but an exchange of a title for a fortune was not uncommon, after all, whereas an heiress eloping with a threadbare doctor was enough to raise a few eyebrows.

He assumed she was an heiress. Russell Square was an expensive address, not socially exclusive in the way of the Mayfair squares but inhabited by wealthy Cits. Her father was probably a lawyer, a banker like Mr. White, perhaps a stock-jobber, or an underwriter at Lloyds. Not that Jason could have guessed from her conduct or speech that she was not a lady. Even her forthright manner was allowable in a young lady who was no longer a debutante. Even more effectively than Henrietta, she had been carefully trained to eradicate any suggestion of the bourgeoisie.

Yet she was throwing herself away on a Scottish doctor. She must be very much in love.

He had not that excuse. Henrietta was a pretty little thing and he was fond of her, but he had never claimed to love her. Not so long ago he would have scorned to lower himself to marry the daughter of a tradesman, seeking a rich bride only among the ranks of the
Haut Ton
. Alison had taught him the folly of that. Brought up by eccentric and very middle-class aunts, with only a slight leavening of wild Irish noble blood in her veins, she had enchanted him when she made her bow to Society. He bitterly regretted his attempt to abduct her—though, to be honest with himself, perhaps only because he had failed. He had never pretended to be a saint.

“Oh, what is that horrid smell?” cried Henrietta, wrinkling her exquisite nose.

Jason sniffed. “Stilton cheese. We must have reached Stilton. The cheese isn’t made here, but the landlord of the Bell collects it from all over Leicestershire and ships it to London.” He lowered the window and looked out to see the long yellow stone facade and the inn sign with its fanciful ironwork scrolls and arabesques. “Yes, we are just arriving at the Bell.”

“Pray tell the coachman to drive on, Jason. Indeed I cannot bear to stop here. I never knew cheese to smell so dreadfully.”

“It is a great delicacy, a white cheese with veins of blue running through it.”

“I wonder anyone will eat such nasty stuff. Pray let us not change horses here.”

“Very well, my dear. I shall step out and tell Mullins to go across the road to the Angel.” He had spotted Miss Bryant’s ramshackle chariot and he didn’t want her to think he was deliberately avoiding her and her doctor.

“Across the road! I am sure that is not far enough to escape the stench.”

“To Norman Cross, then,” he said impatiently. “A mile is surely far enough.” Opening the carriage door, he jumped down without bothering to lower the step.

Henrietta’s voice followed him. “Cora, shut the door at once, and the window. Where is my handkerchief? Give me the lavender water, quickly.”

He waved away the ostlers and told the burly coachman to drive on in just a moment, then went across to the decrepit chariot. Dr. Knox was occupied with the horses, Miss Bryant and her elephantine chaperon still within the vehicle. She saw him coming and lowered the window. Her nostrils quivered.

“Papa was used to enjoy a piece of Stilton,” she greeted him, “and I was used to leave the room while he ate it.”

He laughed. “The unripe cheese is not offensively odorous, however, unless one is subjected to the somewhat overpowering concentration one finds here.”

“My cousin Bartholomew would love it.”

“Henrietta finds it insupportable. We shall change horses at Norman Cross instead. Where is your next stop?”

“Angus mentioned taking a nuncheon at the Haycock at Wansford.”

“A short stage, no more than eight or nine miles. I had thought to go on to Stamford.”

The Scotsman came up just then and overheard.

“We are more likely to be looked for at Stamford,” he said stiffly.

“But less likely to be found, since there are a number of inns to choose from. I can highly recommend the Bull and Swan as a quiet, respectable place with an excellent bill of fare."

“Let us go to the Bull and Swan, Angus. You said yourself that Wansford is an inconvenient distance. Mrs. Ratchett will not mind going a little farther before we eat.”

“‘Ye have brought us forth into this wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger,’” said a grumpy voice from the depths of the chariot.

Jason raised his eyebrows, an ironic gesture which had had a devastating effect on more than one young lady. Rather than showing any signs of confusion, Miss Bryant was obviously suppressing a laugh.

“By the time this journey is over,” she murmured, “I shall know the Good Book back to front. Those parts of it at least that deal with food or a lack thereof. Thank you for your suggestion, my lord. I daresay we shall meet you in Stamford, shall we not, Angus?”

The doctor, looking irritated, had opened his mouth to answer when Henrietta called out, “Jason, what is keeping you? I shall die, I vow, if we do not drive on at once.”

With a rueful glance directed at Miss Bryant, he bowed slightly and returned to his carriage and his promised bride.

They reached Norman Cross a few minutes later. Lily was fast asleep on Henrietta’s lap, so he managed to persuade her the kitten didn’t need to get out, and the change of horses was quickly accomplished. Miss Bryant’s chariot passed just as they were leaving, but they soon passed it in turn, Mullins on the box being of no mind to trundle on behind the slower vehicle.