The Road to Gretna (7 page)

But it wasn’t gladness she felt for Henrietta, it was envy.

She did her best to convince herself she was only envious because Angus didn’t love her enough to kiss her in public. In fact, he didn’t love her enough to kiss her at all. He had at most just enough affection for her to want to save her from the horrid fate proposed by her uncle.

If only Uncle Vaughn wasn’t so large and intimidating! Penny didn’t consider herself a coward, but when he shouted at one it was very difficult not to shake in one’s shoes. He seemed always on the edge of violence. She knew that if she hadn’t escaped, sooner or later she would have bowed to his will.

Marriage to Angus was infinitely preferable. Perhaps love would grow between them after marriage as her schoolfellows, daughters of the gentry and the minor aristocracy, had been brought up to believe.

Not that many of them did believe it, she thought with a sigh. Everyone at school had hoped for a handsome, dashing, romantic and adoring gentleman to sweep her off her feet—an eligible gentleman, of course. How few had achieved such bliss Penny knew from the letters of her friends, and a few brief visits to them in Mayfair during the Season, before Papa died.

Henrietta was not merely fortunate, she was exceptionally lucky to have won the heart of Jason, Baron Kilmore.

Sunk in gloom, Penny hardly noticed the snores emanating from Mrs. Ratchett’s post-prandial nap. Angus had put on his steel-rimmed spectacles and, ignoring snores and jolting alike, was reading a book entitled
An Epitome of Juridical and Forensic Medicine
. Penny had brought a volume of
The Quarterly Review
in her portmanteau but she was sure she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. She wished she’d thought to bring a novel. Failing that, she watched the hedgerows pass.

Though delayed by a missing postilion when they stopped for fresh horses at Colsterworth, they drove on towards Grantham without seeing Jason and Henrietta. It was well after five o’clock when a bend in the road revealed the tall spire of Grantham’s church, towering over the Lincolnshire plain.

“We shall spend the night in Grantham,” Angus announced.

Penny opened her mouth to protest, and suddenly realized that she was aching in every joint. They had been on the road since the early hours of the morning; she had had no proper sleep in thirty-six hours, and little enough before that what with worrying about the elopement.

“Very well, Angus,” she said.

Taken by surprise by her meekness, he insisted on justifying his decision anyway. “The human body cannot withstand constant motion,” he began.

He was interrupted by a tapping at the carriage window. Penny turned her head and saw Lord Kilmore riding alongside. He looked perfectly splendid on horseback.

Quickly Angus let down the window. “Has some accident occurred to your vehicle?” he asked.

“No, doctor, we are all quite safe. I simply needed a change from sitting inside. Miss Bryant, Henrietta sent me after you to beg that you will put up for the night at the Angel in Grantham. She feels herself sadly in need of female company other than her abigail.” He smiled at Penny, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Of course, I shall be happy to give her whatever support I can."

“I had thought to stay at the Beehive, in Castlegate,” said Angus, vexed. “Being secluded from the busier part of the town it is likely to be overlooked by pursuers. But if Miss White..."

“My dear doctor, we can very well join you at the Beehive. I must ride back to tell my coachman of the change in plans, so you will arrive before us. Hire a private parlour in my name, if you please, and make what arrangements for dinner and bedchambers you consider appropriate. We shall see you shortly.”

Wheeling his mount, he rode off. Somehow Penny wasn’t tired any more.

“I dinna care tae be treated as his lairdship’s factor,” Angus fumed. “Hire this and make arrangements for that indeed!”

“Lord Kilmore was most obliging in changing his accommodations to suit us,” Penny defended him, “and I believe he was entrusting you with the arrangements for our comfort, not ordering you to make them.”

“It’s only nacheral for a lord to sound like he’s giving orders,” Mrs. Ratchett put in. “‘He shall rule them with a rod of iron.'"

“Weel, he maun ken he canna rule me,” grumbled Angus.

"Think how much we’ll save by sharing a parlour,” Penny said. “Besides, if Henrietta really wants my company I should hate to be so unkind as to disappoint her.”

Angus subsided, merely muttering that he’d had no intention of taking a private parlour at all and wasn’t sure if the Beehive, a modest hostelry, even possessed such a luxury.

Penny couldn’t help wondering whether Henrietta’s request had really been her own idea, or whether Jason had prompted it. Even a man in love must grow tired of the conversation of a ninnyhammer, however beautiful to look upon. Doubtless his lordship would welcome any distraction, but she dared to believe that he liked talking to her. If nothing more, they shared a sense of the ridiculous and an interest in their surroundings.

As they drove through the market-place, she saw the Angel, a fascinating-looking medieval hostelry. Jason probably knew a few tales about it. There was another inn, the George, and she recalled their joking about the number of Georges in the country.

If she ever travelled this way again, and she was bound to as wife of a Scotsman, the road would be haunted by memories of Lord Kilmore.

The chariot turned down a narrow street and then into Castlegate. It stopped at the Beehive, a small, whitewashed building. To Penny’s delight, the place of an inn sign was taken by a real beehive, perched in a lime tree by the door. Between tree and wall hung a board with a verse inscribed on it:

Stop traveller this wondrous sign explore

And say when thou hast viewed it o’er and o’er

Now Grantham now two rarities are thine

A lofty steeple and a living sign.

“Foolishness,” Angus snorted. “‘Tis a wonder they don’t lose all their patrons for fear of being stung. I hope Miss White willna fear to stay here. We could have gone to the Angel instead if his lordship had deigned to wait for a reply.”

“‘Death, where is thy sting?’” Mrs. Ratchett enquired gloomily.

Penny noticed with a pang of guilty compassion that the old woman looked exhausted. “It’s too late to change,” she said impatiently. “Come, ma’am, you shall lie down for a while before dinner. I’m sure you will find it more restful to dine in your chamber, too, come to think of it. I shall not need you to chaperon me as Henrietta and her abigail will be with us at table.”

“Why, miss, that’s right kindly of you but I knows me dooty and...”

“I’ll make sure the waiters have instructions to bring you everything you would like.” As she expected, Mrs. Ratchett’s protest faded away.

On hearing Lord Kilmore’s name—or rather his title—the landlord sent his servants bustling about. There was some confusion over the number of chambers to be prepared. Angus requested two for his lordship and two for his own party, only to be contradicted by Penny.

“I want a separate chamber,” she told him in a fierce whisper. “I cannot bear her snoring and her quotations all night.”

“But ye maun hae a chaperon wi’ ye. Besides, I doot they’ve anither chamber tae spare.”

“Then Henrietta shall share with me. She will not object, after asking for my company, and if she wants the bed to herself I don’t mind a truckle bed. Cora can go in with Mrs. Ratchett. And she can take the kitten with her.”

This plan meeting with Angus’s approval, they all repaired to their chambers. Penny’s was low-ceilinged and far from spacious, being half filled by a huge four-poster bed with a flight of steps by which to climb up to it. A connecting door led to Mrs. Ratchett’s room at the front of the house. Someone had set Penny’s portmanteau on a carved wooden chest by one of the small, diamond-paned windows.

She unpacked her evening gown. The moss-green sarcenet was even more crushed than the dress she was wearing. She was trying to shake out the creases when a cheerful, white-aproned chambermaid brought her a jug of hot water.

“Let me press that for ye, miss,” she suggested, pocketing the sixpence Penny gave her. “It don’t look like your maid’ll be budging again this night. Snoring away already, she is.”

“Yes, please, that will be a great help.” Penny realized that Angus bad forgotten to give their aliases, including Mrs. Ratchett’s as her aunt, to the innkeeper. In fact, despite his annoyance with the baron, Lord Kilmore’s was the only name he had mentioned. It certainly was smoothing their path. “And I’d like this dress I’m wearing pressed also,” she added.

“I’ll help you off wi’ it.”

“Thank you, I shall manage. You can take it when you bring back the other.”

“Right, miss. If there’s aught else you need, just ring the bell.” She poured the hot water into the white china bowl on the washstand and departed.

Penny stripped to her chemise and washed. Unpinning her hair, she brushed and rebraided it. Though she had had her own abigail before her father died, she was used to taking care of herself now. Not for the first time, she wondered sadly what had become of Nancy when Uncle Vaughn dismissed her.

There was a knock at the door and a different maid put her mob-capped head around it. “T’other young lady’s come, miss. I thought tha’d best be warned, for t’boy’ll be bringing up her bags.”

“Thank you.” For want of any other wrap, Penny put on her pelisse.

A moment later Henrietta came tripping in, carrying the kitten and followed by Cora. “Penny, what a delightful notion to share a chamber! It will be just like school. Only think of all the secrets we shall exchange before we fall asleep.”

She continued to chatter as a sturdy youth came in, laden with a staggering quantity of baggage which he stacked in a corner. Penny glanced at her solitary portmanteau. Obviously Henrietta hadn’t escaped from home by climbing from her window.

“Cora, I shall wear the pink tonight, the one with the coral ribbons, and unpack the paisley shawl, if you please. Take Lily away now. I cannot play with her while I dress.” She handed the kitten to Cora. “Where is my hot water? Travelling is shockingly dirty. You will have to wash my gloves tonight.”

“What’ll I do with her, miss?” asked the abigail, unable to obey any other instruction until the kitten was disposed of.

“Put her in your chamber, through there,” Penny suggested. “Nothing will wake Mrs. Ratchett. Just make sure both doors are closed.”

With a grateful look Cora opened the connecting door, releasing Mrs. Ratchett’s snores from their confinement in the servants’ room. She pushed the kitten through and latched the door again.

Henrietta giggled. “How lucky it is a solid door!”

“I hope the noise won’t disturb you tonight, Cora,” said Penny. “Would you prefer a pallet in here with us? I daresay we could squeeze you in.”

“Thank you kindly, miss, but nothing’ll keep me awake tonight. The pink you said, Miss Henrietta?” The tired abigail started unpacking.

The chambermaid returned with hot water for Henrietta and Penny’s green gown. She took away the brown carriage dress. Penny quickly dressed and pinned up her hair.

“La, how neatly you manage it,” Henrietta marvelled. “I should not be able to go on at all without my abigail, I declare. Oh, Cora, not that gown. The one with the coral ribbons, I said.”

“That weren’t one of them you told me to pack, miss. This one with the blond lace, you told me.”

“And the one with coral ribbons, you silly girl. I must wear it tonight. It is the one I want to wear tonight.”

“You cannot if it isn’t here,” Penny pointed out. “The blond lace is very pretty, I must say, and this particular shade of pink perfectly complements your cheeks.”

“Oh, very well, but it is horridly wrinkled. You must press it, Cora. Or perhaps I shall wear the white gown after all, with the spangled bodice. Have you no shawl, Penny? You shall borrow my paisley, for it does not go with the white gown. Where are my pearls, Cora? Never say you have left my jewellery case in the carriage.”

By the time the jewellery case had been found beneath a bandbox, Penny was ready to go down.

“Would you like me to wait for you?” she offered half-heartedly.

“Oh no, I should not keep you waiting for the world. Jason ordered dinner for seven o’clock and I shall scarcely be ready in time, for the white gown needs pressing, too. I vow I cannot think how Cora came to pack my clothes so carelessly. Here is the shawl, do not forget the shawl.”

Though the evening was still quite warm and her gown had long sleeves, Penny accepted the shawl, patterned in pink and green and white, rather than argue.

A passing wailer showed her the way to their private parlour, confiding that the coffee room had been cleared of customers to accommodate his lordship. A long deal table, battered and moisture-ringed, bore witness to the many travellers who had fed at the hospitable board.

As she entered, Lord Kilmore rose from a wooden settle by the empty grate and said, “Miss Bryant, the good doctor agrees with me that a little gentle exercise before dining is beneficial to the digestion. We have been hoping you would come down in time to take a turn with us, if you care to?”

“That will be delightful.” She was glad after all that she had brought no indoor slippers and so was still wearing her half-boots. Her gown was hardly suitable, but with Henrietta’s shawl thrown over her shoulders it would do. “A historical tour of Grantham, I trust?”

“But naturally, ma’am.” The twinkle in his dark eyes acknowledged her teasing.

“A historical tour?” Angus sounded dubious. “We have no time for more than a brief stroll.”

“I shan’t make you study every stone in the church,” Jason promised mockingly, “though it has some interesting features.”

“Lord Kilmore knows the most fascinating anecdotes,” Penny hastened to say. Taking Angus’s arm, she urged him out of the room.

“Will not Miss White wish to come?” he asked, holding back.

“Miss White vows she has scarce enough time to change her gown before the dinner hour. And we will not have enough time for a little gentle exercise if we don’t go right now."