The Road to Gretna (6 page)

“Then you must not eat it, my dear.” He directed the waiter to serve her with minted green peas and some fricassee of chicken and mushrooms.

Penny finished her soup and went on to try a little of every dish. In spite of this, she swallowed her last bite of apricot tart while Henrietta was still toying with a custard (“I like it better with a little more nutmeg”), Angus was still methodically disposing of his cold saddle of mutton, and Mrs. Ratchett had barely begun on her second plateful. Somehow, every serving platter, casserole, chafing dish, and sauce boat had ended up surrounding Mrs. Ratchett.

Looking round the table, Penny suppressed a sigh. Pleasantly replete, she found her energy restored and she was anxious to be on her way again.

Lord Kilmore finished his cheese and biscuits and waved away the waiter offering the cheese board.

“The Stilton was particularly good,” he said to Penny, grinning as her shoulders shook, “but another bite and I shall have to be carried to the carriage. A little exercise would not come amiss.”

“Oh yes, I should like to see something of the town, since we cannot leave yet.” She threw an exasperated glance at her chaperon.

“Precisely. Henrietta, do you care to stroll about the town before we depart?”

“This town? Why, it is only a little country place. I am sure there can be nothing worth seeing to one who was brought up in London.”

“As you will,” he said, shrugging. With a glance at the one remaining waiter, he went on, “Cox, will you entrust your ‘sister’ to me for twenty minutes or so? We both feel the need of exercise.”

Angus frowned. “Bide a wee while and I’ll gang wi’ ye.”

Penny quickly stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “You must not hurry your meal, Angus. I’m sure it is bad for the digestion. I shall be quite safe with his lordship.”

“Cora shall go with you, Penny,” proposed Henrietta, beaming with pleasure at her solution. “She can take Lily and find a patch of grass for her.”

His lordship accepted this alteration to his plans with resignation. At least Henrietta was not jealous, Penny thought as she put on her hat and gloves; then she was struck with gloom as she realized Henrietta considered her no competition.

Stepping into the street on Lord Kilmore’s arm, she scolded herself. She had no business thinking that way. She was committed to Angus and the baron was committed to Henrietta.

“The thorn,” he said conversationally, “was from your rose-bush.”

“Was it indeed! I hope you don’t hold me to blame, when you shouldn't have been stumbling around my garden.”

He shook his head in mocking self-reproach. “Entirely my own fault, ma'am.”

The overcast was breaking up, the sun shining fitfully on the mellow grey stone. “It’s a pretty town,” she said. “Is that a bridge at the bottom of the hill? And what is that sign hanging over the street?”

“A bridge over the River Welland, and it’s the sign of the George.”

They started down the street and a stage coach rumbled past them in the opposite direction, the passengers on the roof leaning forward as if to help the straining horses up the hill.

“That must be the inn Angus said scores of coaches stop at. I wonder how many inns called the George there are in England!”

“Hundreds, I imagine, named after St. George of England—a Greek I believe!—if not our illustrious Hanoverian monarchs. This one predates the first King George, having been erected by Queen Elizabeth’s chancellor, Burghley.”

“You warned me that you know the history of every town on the Great North Road,” said Penny, laughing.

He looked disconcerted. “I beg your pardon. Am I boring you?”

“On the contrary, my lord, I agree with you that it adds interest to the journey. And I hope you don’t think me so rag-mannered that I should mention it if I disagreed.”

No one could have guessed from his boyish grin that his usual expression was one of sardonic mockery. “You’re asking for it, my girl,” he said. “You shall now hear every morsel of legend about Stamford I can retrieve from the recesses of my brain.”

“Weren’t this where Daniel Lambert lived, my lord?” put in Cora, curiosity overcoming her usual awe of the nobleman. “I heard a ballad ‘bout him.”

“Who was he?” Penny asked.

“The fattest man in England. You’re right, Cora. He was buried right here—” he waved at the church they were passing “—in St. Martin’s churchyard in 1809, weighing fifty-three stone and with a waistline of ninety-two inches, if I’m not mistaken. You shall see his portrait in the George’s hallway, Miss Bryant.”

“Thank you, that is a treat I can well do without,” she said tartly. Cora’s face fell. “Unless you consider it an indispensable part of my historical education?”

Jason met her gaze with understanding. He, too, had noticed the maid’s disappointment. “Indispensable,” he said, and led them across the street under the hanging sign.

The maid gaped in fascination at the gross figure in the painting, but a single glimpse of the late Daniel Lambert was more than enough for Penny. She turned from the portrait with a shuddering distaste amounting to revulsion.

Jason was taken aback. She was a cheerful girl of equable disposition, apart from her evident desire for haste, which was understandable if she feared the prevention of her marriage to the man she loved. That she should love the humourless, somewhat pompous Scot was less understandable; nor could he begin to account for her distress at the sight of the fat man.

He didn’t know her well enough to ask for an explanation, so he swiftly removed her from the George and attempted to distract her with history.

“There was a monastic hostelry on this spot in medieval times,” he said. “The Knights of St. John of Jerusalem used to gather here in their black robes with a white cross, on their way to the Holy Land. The sunken garden behind the inn is supposed to have been their carp pond.”

As the dread faded from her expressive face, giving way to interest, he was surprised at how relieved he felt. They discussed Walter Scott's medieval novels as they strolled down to the bridge.

Cora put Lily down on a patch of lawn outside a row of almshouses by the river. They all stood close about the kitten in a way which must have embarrassed any more sensitive creature, but she found nothing to interest her and made no attempt to escape. Walking up the opposite hill to St. Mary’s Church, Jason told Penny about the many ancient hospitals and almshouses in the town.

“They are known as ‘callises’ because they were founded by rich wool merchants who traded with Calais.”

“What strange reasoning! One might as well call a cotton mill a Charleston because that’s where the cotton is shipped from!”

Once again Jason was taken by surprise. Not only was Miss Penelope Bryant interested in history, she was knowledgeable about modern commerce!

Reaching the church, they left the maid outside with her wriggling burden while they went in to see the Chapel of the Golden Choir.

“I’ve never seen anything so odd,” Penny exclaimed, gazing up at the ceiling painted with gold stars, each framing a face, some laughing, some grotesque. The twinkle of mirth in her grey-green eyes delighted Jason.

“Before I saw it I was used to think of medieval folk as sadly lacking in humour. How easy it is to form misconceptions, and to find oneself living by them!” He spoke with more meaning than he had intended. The serious look she turned upon him told him that she had caught the regret, the shadow of bitterness, in his voice. How damnably perceptive of her! “Come, let us be on our way,” he said quickly. “I dare not leave that kitten for more than a moment with none but the abigail to guard it.”

“It would be taking a frightful risk,” she agreed, smiling.

Lily was now snoozing peacefully in Cora's arms. “It’s not a bit of use saying aught to Miss Henrietta,” the maid confided, “but you was right, my lord, when your lordship didn’t want to bring the dratted beast. I don’t never want to see a cat again long as I live.”

“Bear up, Cora. At least she keeps your mistress entertained in the carriage.”

“It’s when we gets out the trouble starts,” she said ominously.

“She has been perfectly good this time,” Penny soothed her. "I daresay she has exhausted herself and will be good for the rest of the day.”

Jason could only pray that she was right.

She might have been, had a passing cur not noticed Lily just as they reached the comparative safety of the Bull and Swan. It barked at her, startling Cora, who loosed her hold. The equally startled kitten sprang for a dangling tangle of the vine growing up the inn’s façade. Catching hold, she stopped and turned, hissing and spitting. The dog leaped up at the wall in an ecstasy of yelping excitement. Lily decided that discretion was the better part of valour, scrambled upwards, and disappeared into the valley between two gables before Jason had time to gather his wits.

Losing interest, the dog trotted off.

“Hell and damnation,” Jason swore aloud.

“You can’t...really blame her...this time,” Penny gasped, helpless with laughter. “Oh dear, I shouldn’t have tempted Fate by saying she was going to be good, not without touching wood.”

He grinned at her. “I hold you entirely to blame, Miss Bryant.”

“Oh, my lord, Miss Henrietta’ll turn me off for sure,” Cora wailed. “What’m I going to do!”

“Go and find someone with a ladder,” said Penny. “His lordship and I shall stay here to catch her if she comes down."

“Shall we?” he asked ironically as the abigail hurried off. “This seems to me the perfect opportunity to rid myself of the brute.”

“Yes, but if we don’t retrieve her, Henrietta really might dismiss Cora, which would be most unfair.”

“True. There is no reason, however, why your journey should be delayed.”

A shadow of anxiety crossed her face. “Perhaps...You will do your best to catch Lily? And defend Cora if you cannot? Here, I’ll leave some money for her in case...”

“No need.” Gently he clasped her hands between his as she began to untie her reticule. “I’ll see Cora fairly dealt with, I promise you. Off with you, now. Your
dame de compagnie
must surely be finished eating.”

Her ready smile flickered. “Surely! Goodbye then, sir, and thank you for the tour of Stamford.”

“I shall not say goodbye, for we are certain to meet again.”

“I hope so, my lord,” she murmured.

Watching her enter the inn through the door under the arch, he admired her proud yet graceful bearing, so different from Henrietta’s quicksilver movements. She had left off her pelisse to walk through the town and her figure in her simple but well-cut brown gown was worth a second look.

His thoughts were interrupted by the return of Cora, wringing her hands, followed by a wiry ostler carrying a rickety ladder.

“Is that the best you have? Well, then, it will have to do. Set it up here, right by the bay window. There’s a crown for you if you catch the kitten.”

“Wot, me, m'lord?” He looked pointedly at Jason’s scratched, iodine-stained wrist. The story of Lily’s misdeeds had evidently travelled. “I thought your lordship were going arter puss.”

“Certainly not,” said Jason impatiently, “and the ladder is not strong enough to bear my coachman. I should dislike to have to complain to mine host that his servants are unwilling to serve.”

“Orright, orright, I’ll go, but lemme get me gloves on.” He extracted from his coat pocket a pair of torn leather gloves, pulled them on, and started up the ladder.

A waiter and two more ostlers came to watch, and a pair of apprentices from across the street. Jason directed one of the ostlers to steady the ladder for his colleague, who was fighting his way through the luxuriant vine as he neared the top.

His head rose at last above the level of the valley between the gables. “Got it!’ he said in triumph, reaching forward.

Lily dodged past him and started scrambling down the vine.

“Spread out and grab her!” Jason ordered. “A shilling to whoever catches her.”

Naturally, instead of spreading out, all his eager troops moved en masse towards the point the kitten was heading for. Equally naturally, Lily at once changed direction. Stumbling over each other in their haste, the apprentices came to blows and the waiter swore at the ostler.

Lily launched herself into the air, a flying snowball aimed at Jason. With amazing precision she landed on his shoulder, her claws penetrating his blue superfine coat, his linen shirt, and his skin.

“Devil’s spawn!” he yelped, seizing her by the scruff of the neck and handing her to Cora just as Henrietta dashed out from under the arch and threw herself into his arms.

“You saved her! Oh Jason, thank you. Penny said she might be lost for ever on the roofs, but I knew you would rescue her.”

The delicate little face was raised to his, the great blue eyes glowing with admiration and gratitude. A stray sunbeam turned her ringlets to pure gold. He kissed her soft, yielding mouth.

His audience cheered, masking the clopping hooves of the pair of horses which next emerged from the arch, pulling a dilapidated chariot. Over Henrietta’s head, Jason saw Penny at the window, her hand raised in a farewell wave. As she caught sight of Henrietta in his arms, her hand dropped abruptly. A moment later the chariot turned down the hill and she was gone.

Stifling his regret that she had seen the embrace, he told himself fiercely, I’m marrying Henrietta. With more deliberation than desire, he kissed her again.

CHAPTER SIX

“‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it,’” said Mrs. Ratchett sentimenta1ly as the chariot rumbled down the hill and across the bridge over the Welland, now sparkling in the sun.

“Embracing in public!” said Angus disapprovingly. “His lordship ought to know better than to risk Miss White’s reputation.”

“‘A good name is better than precious ointment,’” Mrs. Ratchett agreed. “‘As a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.’”

Two homilies for the price of one, Penny thought, diverted despite her low spirits. “At least it proves he loves her,” she pointed out. “It’s to his credit that he isn’t marrying her just for her money. I am glad for her sake.”