by Andre Norton
Now they might try to make things hard for her, Nan believed. She would have to watch out, especially when Pat was around. That the other girl could have hidden the pin in her pocket without her knowing shook Nan.
She made her way as fast as she could through the sale crowds and did not really breathe freely until she reached the street, fearing that Pat and the rest could still in some way cause her trouble.
As Nan plodded back through the slush, she allowed herself really to recall for the first time every bit of her dream. If she had not faced up to Uncle Jasper—why, maybe she would not have been able to defeat Pat today.
But still the inn scared her. She hoped that Chris would keep it right where it was—hidden in his desk—and she would never have to see it again.
She was evasive when Aunt Elizabeth asked her about her day. Yes, they had gone to Lumley's, and yes, Marve had treated them to lunch. But when Aunt Elizabeth suggested that she repay Marve's treat with a visit to the movies this coming Saturday, Nan said she would have to see—that Marve had ballet lessons, which was true as Marve had spoken of them with pride only yesterday.
When she went to do her homework, Chris was waiting for her in the hall.
“Listen.” He caught her arm. “The inn—I had to put it in your room. Aunt Elizabeth says my desk has to be refinished and the man's coming for it tomorrow. I haven't any other place Clara doesn't look into—”
“I don't want it!” Nan replied in a low but fierce voice.
“You've got to keep it!” he returned just as emphatically.
Nan could see there was no arguing with him. Very well, she would keep it, at the bottom of her dresser drawer.
Yet when she had finished the book report for the Crab, Nan could not help but open that same drawer once again and pull aside her neatly folded sweaters to look at it. She was both afraid and fascinated. At last, against her will, she set the model on the bedside table. If it just did not look so real!
She longed to hide it away again. But she discovered she could not. However, later, as she settled in bed, she determinedly turned her head away. Though she knew very well it was there, she was not going to look at it again!
THE GENTLEMEN
“Nan!”
At first the voice sounded far away, muffled.
“Nan!”
She opened her eyes and sat up in bed. But this was not her bed. In grayish light the ceiling sloped sharply toward one side where there was a small window nearly at floor level.
“Nan!” A heavy thump sounded on the door which flanked the bed.
She must have overslept. That was Emmy who had called her, and—Nan tumbled out of the covers, gave a gasp as her bare feet hit the icy boards of the floor.
“I'm a-coming,” she called back. Grabbing for her first petticoat and wriggling that over her head, she tied it tightly over the smock which served her for both day and night wear. There was a second petticoat, a heavier one, and then her wool dress. She snuggled into that, before she dropped on the edge of the bed to pull on thick stockings she had knitted herself and to thrust her feet into heavy, clumsy shoes.
The water she had left overnight in the basin was ice-rimmed, and her breath was white on the air. She dabbed at her face with a wet end of rag and coiled her braid up to pin under her cap. Now there was just her apron, and she was still tying that as she scrambled down the narrow stairs toward the warmth of the kitchen.
Cook would be snappish, and they had three guests in the bedrooms, storm-stayed. Nan would be needed to haul up those big copper jugs of hot water which made her shoulders ache and to take the lady some hot chocolate later. If only Aunt Prudence was not aware of her tardiness! Could she possibly be that lucky?
“ ‘Bout time you showed, wench!”
Cook rattled pans as she always did when she was angry. Nan did not even try to excuse herself. Cook would never listen anyway. Emmy pulled a face and shook her head warningly. There was no sign of Aunt Prudence. That was one bit of luck.
Emmy had already poured the water into the jugs from the big kettle. Nan knew what she would expect in return for that helpfulness—Nan's breakfast portion of bacon. Inwardly Nan sighed: Emmy always seemed to get ahead of her one way or another.
‘To the Doe and the Unicorn,” Cook ordered unnecessarily, just to show that she could give orders.
Nan nodded. The steam arising from the jugs burned her fingers. She took a good grip on the handles and started back up the crooked stair the servants used.
The Red Hart had five chambers for those wishing to spend the night. In the old days these had been shared. Now with gentry it was different. Of course each gentleman's servant slept on a floor pallet, and the lady had her abigail in her quarters.
No matter how carefully Nan went, a little water slopped over the top of the jugs. She would have to come back later and wipe that up. Now she set down each jug before the door with its painted design (of a stiff-looking doe and a prancing unicorn), knocked until she heard an irritated answer from within, before clumping back to the kitchen.
Cook was fussing over a tray of the best china, setting out cup, saucer, and chocolate pot. But she did not fill the pot with brew.
“No need to trouble about this yet,” she was assuring herself rather than talking to either girl. “No fine miss opens her eyes before the sun is well up. Don't stand there a-gawking, wench,” she turned on Nan. “Mistress will be a-waiting her bread and tea in the little parlor. Mind you cut it fine now— no plowman's hunks for her.”
Nan wiped her hands on the edge of her apron and took the white loaf, which was guest fare and which Aunt Prudence shared. She was nervous about this. It was easy to cut a slice too wide or shave it too thin. Either way would bring her a scolding. And she must remember it was not Aunt Prudence, but Mistress Simpson now.
Not many women managed an important inn like the Red Hart. Mistress Simpson had inherited it from her father, Sam, and she had made it a good place for stopping. Gentry came when they were on their way to and from Rye.
Nan piled three slices of bread on a plate which matched the chocolate cup in pattern, set out a pat of butter that she had churned and worked two days ago, added a small dish of cherry jam to the tray with the cup and teapot. Mistress would make the tea herself from that kept in the locked caddy in the parlor.
Balancing the tray with all the care she could muster, Nan started down the hall. She could not dream of any fate worse than to drop and break a piece of that china. No matter if she was Mistress's sister's child, she'd have a sore back for that!
Aunt Prudence told her twenty times a day how lucky she was to be at the Red Hart at all—after what had happened at Tylsworth. Nan pressed her lips tightly together and tried to push away memory.
Only it was not easy to do that. She saw again the fire blazing high and heard the shouts of the men as they worked to get the animals out of the barn. Then the house had caught— and now there was nothing left but a celler hole with briers growing up about it to hide its ugliness. Da'—he took cold, bad, on his lungs that night. And before the week was out he had died. Mum—she and Ruth, they went back to Granda'; and the land—John sold that. He said as how he was not going to risk going like Da’.
John had spoken out against Da’, and Mum had said she did not want to see him ever again. All because Da’ stood for the law and would not help “the Gentlemen” by leaving his horses loose for their use at night.
John said there was no harm in acting against bad laws, laws as made it hard for the poor man. If there were those as worked against those laws—like the Gentlemen, smuggling in what poor people could buy cheap—then they were doing all a good turn.
But Da’, he said the law was the law. First he sheltered an Exciseman as was shot and left to die. He had a warning the smuggling Gentlemen had left pinned to his door with a knife. Then Da’ said No when they wanted the horses. John said they believed Da’ went tale-telling to the King's men. So Tylsworth was burned, and all of
them—the Mallorys— except John, were looked upon by those who supported or gained by the smugglers’ activities as traitors.
Aunt Prudence, she was Mum's older sister who had never wed. People said as how she was not minded to let any man rule her or the Red Hart when her father left it to her. She took Nan ‘cause she said Nan was old enough to make herself useful, but she saw to it that Nan worked her way all right.
Nan knocked at the door and came in, dropping a curtsy after she set the tray on the table. Aunt Prudence looked at the silver watch which hung from her belt.
“You are late. Lateness wastes time, and time wastes money.”
Nan knew better than to answer. She had learned that quickly enough after she came here. Now Aunt Prudence was critically inspecting the bread.
“At least, you've learned to cut a slice fairly.” She spoke as if she begrudged having to admit that. “Well, be off—You must have plenty of tasks.”
Nan curtsied again. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Then be about them!”
Nan hurried back to the kitchen. If she did not get there in time, Emmy would have gobbled up more than just her ration of bacon.
“So there was he a-holding a fistful of grease and no pony at all!”
Hearty laughter filled the kitchen. Joshua, the head ostler, stood in front of the fire, the back of his stable-smelling jacket pulled up so he could warm the seat of his leather breeches. Cook, a far more pleasant expression on her face, splashed ale into a tankard for his refreshment, while Emmy sat on a stool and gobbled away from a plate resting on her knees, listening round-eyed.
But when Nan entered, Joshua's laughter came to an abrupt end. He eyed her unpleasantly, though a wide grin still held about his mouth.
“We be talking as how the new Riding Officer got befooled.” His grin was malicious. “The Gentlemen have a way of sending their goods through. Take their ponies, they do, and shave down their hair, then grease ‘em like Cook here puts grease to her skillet. After that, they gets them a good old mare as knows her way through a dark night and strings out the ponies behind her. No need for any man to lead ‘em. And do anyone try to catch ‘em—like as how the Excisemen did two nights past—they can't be caught. That Havers, he be always up to the tricks—a smart one, he is!”
That was meant for her, Nan well knew. She refused to look at Joshua. Instead she took up the plate Cook pushed at her. Bread and cheese—Emmy had already helped herself to the bacon. She leaned back against the edge of the dish-burdened dresser and began to eat. What tricks the smugglers played were nothing to her, she told herself. Havers—she had heard plenty about him. Though like as not that wasn't his right name. He could be any man in the village, leaving out the parson and the squire.
They all thought her father had been a fool, those who did not give him the harder name of traitor and say he took information to the Riding Officer. Anyway now it was none of her concern. If Havers wanted to parade his greased ponies down the village street in broad daylight, let him.
“Ho—the house!”
The call came from without loud and clear, and they could hear the ring of what must be more than one horse's hoofs on the cobbles of the stableyard. Joshua jerked away from the fireplace, surprised. It was early for travelers, and he had thought himself able to spend some time in the kitchen warmth. With a sullen look he made for the outer door.
Emmy had crowded to the window, her plump cheeks filled with the food she chewed as she went. In a moment she turned her head. “It's them!”
“Who's them?” Cook elbowed her swiftly away from her vantage point.
“The Excisemen!” Emmy swallowed. “They do have a hurt man with ‘em!”
Cook did not look around, but her order reached Nan. “Nan, you go tell the Mistress. This will be for her deciding.”
Nan sped back down the hall, knocked on the door, and was in the parlor before her aunt called permission to come.
Aunt Prudence frowned. “What is this—?”
“Aunt, Mistress"—Nan corrected herself hastily—"there are Excisemen outside, and they have a hurt man with them!”
For a long moment Aunt Prudence neither moved nor spoke. Then she arose from her seat by the table, no expression at all to be read on her face. She moved past Nan in her decisive way and took the other door, which led directly to the stable yard, stopping only briefly to catch up a cloak from a peg.
The snow had been swept off the cobbles by the stable-boy, and stamping and blowing here were three horses, their rough winter coats touched with frost as if they had been long outside. One man still in the saddle supported another, the reins of a led horse held with his own. But the third man stood fronting Joshua, his cloak thrown back a little to show his uniform coat.
“What's this to-do?” Aunt Prudence swept forward, that authority which was always hers making both men look quickly to her now.
“I've a wounded man here, Mistress, who needs shelter and tending. I am Robert Leggitt of the King's service.
Joshua spat. “He's an Exciseman; that's what he is, Mistress.” He smirked slyly. “You don't want the likes of them around here.”
“Be still!” Aunt Prudence looked from Master Leggitt to the pale-faced man with closed eyes. “I hope I know my duty, sir. Bring him in.”
An hour later, Nan stood ladling hot water out of the steaming pot over the fire. She had run hither and thither, bringing salve her aunt made from herbs, carrying pieces of old torn linen to the small back room where belated travelers were sometimes packed away on the ground floor of the inn. Aunt Prudence and Master Leggitt had worked together, first getting out a bullet and then binding up the wound. Aunt Prudence thought their patient would be the better for bleeding, lest his fever rise too high, but admitted that the apothecary was near ten miles away and not like to ride this distance in such weather, for the snow had begun again and the cold was cruel.
“There is no right in it!” Joshua held forth in a low mutter with Cook and Emmy for an audience. “It was Havers as shot this fellow. Do you think he'll take kindly to having one of the King's Riding Officers to nurse and coddle? Mark me, we'll not come well out of this! The Mistress has had her way too long; she thinks she's above any man born. Well, she'll learn different. Right that is, Nan?” He grinned at her. “You could tell her a thing or two ‘bout them what sets their will against the Gentlemen.”
From somewhere Nan gathered the spirit to speak up. “What would you have her do? Leave a man to die?”
“If he'll bring Havers down on us,” Joshua returned, “yes. Do you want the Red Hart to be burnt out like your da's place?”
For the first time Cook shook her head. “That he would not dare, Jos. The wench is right. Mistress is only being Christian, taking in one as is hurt.”
“Havers might not see it that way.”
“Joshua, Cook—Emmy!” Aunt Prudence came in, her bunch of keys swinging from her waist. “You have your tasks, get to them. Nan, the lady in the Leopard is awake. Do you take her up her chocolate, straightway now.”
But before Nan had poured the chocolate into the delicate pot, she saw Aunt Prudence confront Joshua. “Put a saddle on Maggie as soon as you can and send Matt to me.”
“Mistress"—the head ostler did not move—"if you be minded to send word—”
“I send word,” Aunt Prudence said distinctly, her eyes holding Joshua's in a level gaze, “to the Excise station. Lieutenant Fitton who lies here has a young son visiting him there. It is well that he see the boy and soon. Matt is to ride Maggie and lead the horse Master Leggitt will give him. And there is to be no time lost, do you understand me, Joshua?”
The ostler wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Mistress, I would do you no good if I didn't say this. Havers will not take kindly to the sheltering of any Riding Officer—”
“Havers!” Aunt Prudence flushed. “Do not quote that house-burning rogue to me! These men are officers of the King, and as such I give them shelter as all law-abiding
people must do. I will have no more arguments, do you understand? Send Matt to me—I shall write a note for him to carry, and he is to make the best time he can. Let him know that.”
She turned her back on Joshua and marched out of the kitchen. The man stood for a moment pinching his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, his eyes fixed on the door before him.
Nan could delay no longer. Carefully carrying the tray she made her way up to the door of the Leopard where she scratched on the panels, until she was faced by the stiffness of my lady's maid, who took the tray smartly and bade that hot water be brought directly.
Now she had a busy hour, running back and forth. The two gentlemen guests had come down into the larger parlor and were impatiently waiting breakfast, so that Nan struggled with larger and heavier trays. In spite of the confusion Cook had done well. There were platters of cold ham and beef, sausages sizzling fresh from the pan, fried eggs, fresh bread with cherry jam and butter—tankards of ale.
If these guests knew about the early morning arrival at the Red Hart, they showed no curiosity but ate their way stolidly through what was offered them. Both were middle-aged and of sober dress, their wigs small and neat-tied. Save that one showed a waistcoat of brocade when his coat fell open and they both had a fall of lace at the throat, ruffles at their sleeves, they made less show than Squire Allard of the Manor on market day. When they had done, one went to look out the window and shook his head.
“No good day for the road, Thorpe. And with the young lady—No, I would not advise it. We lie snug enough here.”
Nan, clearing away the dishes, saw the other man frown. “I do not like this delay. It is very necessary to make Rye as soon as possible. Girl"—he turned to Nan—"get our coachman here. We'll take Jenkins’ word on the matter. He is not reckless and will know well the odds.”
