by Carola Dunn
"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."
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."
