The Road to Gretna

by Carola Dunn

  "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."

  They stepped out of the inn under the lime tree, from which came the drowsy humming of bees, and turned down the hill. Ahead towered the great spire of St. Wulfram's.

  "What interesting features has the church?” Angus enquired without enthusiasm.

  "The architectural beauties are many, but perhaps the most unusual sight is the sixteenth-century library of chained books."

  "In medieval times the bibles in churches were
chained, were they not?” Penny put in.

  "Yes, they were very valuable as they had to be copied by hand. I know two or three noble bibliophiles who might be tempted by St. Wulfram's collection even today, for all the books are at least two hundred years old. We'll not have time to study them this evening, alas. He indicated a narrow back street. “Let us stroll as far as the market-place."

  "How old is the Angel Inn?” she asked as they reached the imposing building. “It looks ancient."

  "The gatehouse is from the fifteenth century, but the hostelry was founded much earlier. There is a room known as the King's Chamber where King John held court in 1213, and in 1480 or thereabouts Richard III signed the Duke of Buckingham's death warrant."

  "You see,” Penny said, turning to Angus. “I told you he knows everything of interest."

  Angus responded with a sceptical grunt. He brightened, however, on learning that another nearby inn, the George, had been Sir Isaac Newton's home; and the sixteenth-century stone water conduit inspired him to deliver a lecture on sanitation and public health. Penny listened conscientiously. As a doctor's wife she ought to be conversant with the subject. It was a pity that she found the doings of long-dead kings so much more engrossing.

  When they returned in the dusk to the Beehive, two small boys were standing underneath the lime tree gazing up into its branches.

  "Betcha a taw it does,” said one as they passed.

  Glancing up, Penny reached out to tug Jason's sleeve. “My lord,” she said demurely, “pray look up into the tree."

  There was Lily, batting playfully at an angry bee.

  "I don't believe it,” moaned his lordship. “This is the second ... third ... fourth time today."

  "Fourth?” queried Penny.

  "Have you forgot the garden pond at Huntingdon? I have not, but then you were not present when I had to buy a towel from the innkeeper to wrap the little horror in. I swear this time it can take care of itself."

  "Miss White will be sorely dis—” Angus was interrupted by a yowl that would have done credit to a full-grown tom-cat. Lily hurtled down from the tree and clawed her way up his trousers. An incomprehensible Scottish oath escaped him.

  "Tolja so,” said the small boy to his companion. “You owe me a taw."

  Penny smothered her laughter and went to Angus's aid as he seized the kitten by the scruff of the neck and tried to disengage her claws from his best coat. “I collect Lily has been stung,” she observed. “If I were you, my lord, I should purchase a basket with a lid, for her own safety—and everyone else's."

  "A splendid idea, ma'am,” he said with an excellent imitation of sober politeness belied by his twitching lips. “Pray allow me to assist. I have perforce developed something of a knack for handling wild beasts."

  Between them they rescued Angus from Lily and vice versa. Angus's concern for Henrietta's distress had vanished, but Penny managed to soothe his ruffled feelings as they went into the inn. The kitten, in Jason's firm grip, made unhappy little mewing sounds.

  "Oh Lord,” he said as they moved from the passage into the brightly lit parlour, “her foot has swelled up as big as an orange. Quick, doctor, do something about it before Henrietta comes down and sees it or we shall have a hysterical female on our hands!"

  "More like the size of a greengage,” said Penny, taking the kitten from him and examining her paw. Lily was all sweet docility now. “The little demon must have climbed out of the chamber window into the tree."

  "I canna bring doun the swelling,” Angus grumbled, producing his spectacles and a pair of tweezers from his coat pocket. “But if I tak’ oot the sting, mebbe it willna grow worse. A slice of raw onion will tak’ awa’ the pain."

  "Raw onion!” said his lordship faintly. “Raw onion,” he repeated to the waiter who came in just then to see if they were ready to dine, it being a quarter past the hour. “A slice of raw onion, and send my coachman to me.

  "At once, my lord,” said the waiter, not turning a hair.

  A few minutes later Henrietta came in, a slender sprite in pink crape with huge satin roses around the hem of her skirt. Jason was just sending Mullins out to buy a covered basket and Penny, weeping involuntarily, held Lily while Angus applied a poultice of mashed onion to her paw.

  "Oh!” Pausing in the doorway, Henrietta raised her hand to her mouth, her blue eyes filling with tears. “Is she ... dead?"

  "Now why would I be buying a basket for her if she were dead?” enquired his lordship tartly.

  "To bury her in?"

  "Don't be a widgeon,” advised Penny. “She was stung by a bee but Angus has treated her and she is perfectly comfortable now."

  "Oh, doctor!” Henrietta pattered across the room to them. “How kind you are, and how very clever."

  Fascinated, Penny watched Angus blush right up to the tips of his ears.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "For pity's sake, Angus, Uncle Vaughn is probably after us by now. We must leave early."

  "Airly, to be sure, but there's nae need to gang wi’ the dawn. I dinna fear your uncle."

  "But I do.” Penny suddenly became aware of the expression of sympathy on Lord Kilmore's face. Embarrassed, she concentrated on cutting up her juicy pear.

  "We are all tired after a long day,” Jason pointed out. “I, for one, mean to retire very soon after dinner, so rising early will be no hardship."

  Henrietta looked at him in alarm. “But Jason..."

  "We shall leave whenever you are ready, my dear,” he assured her hastily, patting her hand, “but I shall order breakfast for you, Miss Bryant, at whatever hour you decide upon."

  "Please, Angus,” she beseeched. “Breakfast at six,” he conceded. With Mrs. Ratchett to be fed that meant they wouldn't be on the road before seven, but it was better than she had expected. Sighing, she nodded. She really must try to remember that Angus often gave in to an appeal, whereas arguing simply set his back up.

  "My dear Miss Bryant, you are half-asleep already,” said Jason, and she realized she was sitting with her fruit knife poised, unmoving. He took it from her. “Allow me to finish slicing that for you."

  Quickly and neatly he prepared the pear. She thanked him with a weary smile and ate the sweet fruit while he cut up another for Henrietta. Crotchety as a tired child, she took one nibble and decided she'd rather have some damsons, so Jason stoned a few of the small purple plums for her.

  Penny had to admire his patience when Henrietta declared that the damsons were sour and their skins too tough and she wanted a pear after all, but not that one because it was already turning brown.

  When the second pear was pushed away half-eaten, Penny stood up. “Bedtime,” she said firmly, as if Henrietta were indeed the child her behaviour suggested. “You are burned to the socket, and I shall never make it up the stairs if I delay any longer."

  Taking the cue, Jason rose and ruthlessly pulled out Henrietta's chair. “Sweet dreams, my dear,” he said, kissing her hand.

  Before she could protest, Penny swept her out of the room and up the stairs to their chamber. Cora appeared at once, doubtless warned by one of the inn servants and eager for her own bed. She had already laid out her mistress's lace-bedecked nightgown and a blue velvet wrapper.

  "I cou'n't find your night rail, Miss Bryant,” she said apologetically, starting to undo Henrietta's buttons.

  "There was no room in my bag so I didn't bring one. I shall sleep in my chemise.” Penny struggled with her own buttons. Her fingers seemed to be all thumbs.

  "Sleep in your chemise!” said Henrietta, shocked. “You cannot do that. You must borrow my spare nightgown."

  "I'd split the seams, my dear. I shall be quite comfortable, I promise you, and I did bring extra chemises to change into."

  However irritating she could be, Henrietta's generosity was undeniable, Penny thought as a chambermaid came in wielding a warming pan. A few minutes later she slipped between the warmed sheets, and she fell asleep while Henrietta, her hair in curling papers, was tryi
ng to decide what to wear in the morning.

  She woke to see Cora's candle-lit face above her. The rest of the room was in darkness.

  "Time to get up, miss,” the abigail whispered, sniffing.

  "There was no need for you to rise so early,” Penny whispered back.

  "It's not that early, not like what you wanted. The chambermaid said as they don't have stages stopping here and most people don't get up that early, she's not used to it and she overslept."

  "Drat! What time is it?"

  "Past six, miss. I don't know, ‘xactly. The girl came to wake Mrs. Ratchett, and I didn't want her to wake Miss Henrietta by mistake so I brung your hot water. I'll help you dress, miss, then go back to bed.” She made an extraordinary noise that Penny took for a swallowed sneeze.

  "Are you ill, Cora?” she asked, shivering as she sat up and swung her feet out from under the covers.

  "I must of caught cold, miss, when I got wet fishing that dratted cat out of the pond. I'll be awright."

  "I'll ask Dr. Knox to leave some medicine for you if he has anything suitable. Go back to bed now, and get your rest. I can manage."

  "Bless you, miss.” She set down the candle and departed through the connecting door, snuffling into a handkerchief.

  In the quiet, Penny heard dripping water. She went to the window and pulled aside the heavy curtain. Grey daylight revealed falling rain, a steady drizzle which looked to be set in for the day. Dismayed, she hurried to wash and dress. The rain was bound to slow them still further, and even the prospect of spending a wet day trapped with Mrs. Ratchett in a rickety chariot did not abate her sense of urgency.

  When Penny reached the parlour it was in darkness. She was drawing back the curtains when Angus came in.

  "'Tis a pity the chambermaid overslept,” he said, “but I gave our breakfast orders last night so as not to waste time."

  "That was well thought of. I hope the cook has kept everything hot, as we are so late. This wretched weather!"