by Byrnes, Tess
She flinched as the false appellation brought her back to the reality of her situation. An overwhelming desire to leave engulfed her; a need to be away before she was forced to make some false explanation, or to lie further to the man before her. She walked quickly to pull Beauty’s reigns free, and tugged the horse out into the sleeting rain.
“Wait,” the Earl called urgently.
“I have to go,” Sally called in an unsteady voice. “Thank you for your help!” She put one foot into her stirrup and vaulted upwards, turning agilely to land on the saddle. Slipping one leg over the pommel, and feeling with her other boot for the stirrup, she urged Beauty into a canter, and as soon as she was down onto the moor, thence into a gallop.
Chapter Five
Sally recklessly allowed Beauty to race away from the caves, putting as much distance as quickly as possible between herself and Hugh McLeod. As the moors disappeared behind her and she gained the road, she slowed her mare to a walk. She needed time to try to understand what had just happened and to calm herself before going back to the cottage and the searching eyes of her maid, Millie.
The storm had blustered itself out, and there was only a drizzling rain continuing to fall. Sally raised her face to allow the mist to cool her heated cheeks. Such a short time ago she had been chilled to the marrow, and now she felt as if her bones had been melted in a furnace. She raised one hand to her lips, which felt tender and swollen. Nothing in her existence had prepared her for what she had just experienced. Growing up in the country, Sallie knew about animal husbandry. She knew that something physical happened between a husband and wife. But the few kisses she had experienced had not even raised her pulse. She remembered with distaste the times that Simon Atherly had pressed his hard lips to hers, and shook her head in wonder. Nothing had ever opened the floodgate of sensations in her like Hugh McLeod’s touch.
She pressed one hand to her breast, and it felt as if the responsive tip was still tingling. “So that is what these are for,” she said aloud with a scandalized smile. Her breasts still felt full and heavy, and incredibly sensitive. She shifted uneasily on the saddle, remembering the feelings that had spread through her body. She had wanted more, and if the storm had not stopped Hugh McLeod’s actions, she knew that she would not have been the one to stop him.
Then she remembered the moment when she had come up with her alias. “Den-ling-ton?” she repeated in disbelief, smacking herself lightly on the forehead. “That’s not even a real name!”
She was still chuckling at this absurdity when Beauty came to a sudden halt in the road.
“I’m sorry, dearest,” she crooned to the brown mare. “My thoughts are I do not know where.” As she chirruped at the horse and urged her back into motion, her eye was caught by a movement in the hedgerow that ran along the lane. Pulling back on the reigns, Sally looked more closely, and saw a small, cloaked form huddling in the meager shelter afforded by the bushes.
“Hello!” Sally called, and the cloaked figure turned reluctantly around. A small pinched face, surrounded by damp brown curls looked up at her with an apprehensive expression. The girl looked to be a little younger than Sally. Her cloak, which was made from serviceable, rather than fashionable, grey fabric, was muddied and wet, and Sally did not think it could be providing any warmth at all.
“Can I be of any assistance?” Sally asked, trying to sound harmless and reassuring.
“No, ma’am,” the girl replied in a quiet Scottish brogue. “I’m sorry if I startled your horse. I was trying to find a bit of shelter from the rain.”
“You look wet-through,” Sally sympathized. “Do you have far to go to your destination? If you can climb up behind me, I’d be more than happy to take you with me.”
To her dismay, Sally saw two big tears well up in the girl’s eyes, and tip over to run down her thin cheeks.
Sally slipped her leg over the pommel and slid to the ground. She approached the small figure, and took the chilled hands in her own. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked gently.
“You’re not to be bothered with my troubles, ma’am,” the girl whispered miserably.
“Nonsense,” Sally said bracingly. “Come, we can’t stand here in this weather. I have a cottage nearby, and we can go there and talk much more comfortably before a fire.”
She could see the girl wavering, and allowed her no time to cavil. Pulling Beauty over to a nearby stump, she climbed into the saddle, and reached down to pull the waif up behind her. The girl was a few inches shorter than Sally, and very slight, and she fit neatly on Beauty’s back behind the saddle. She wrapped her arms around Sally’s waist, and within a very few minutes, the horse arrived at Whitethorne cottage.
Miles came out to greet his mistress, whose arrival he had been expecting for more than an hour. “I was starting to worry about you, Miss Sally. That storm came on without any warning at all!” Relief sounded in his voice as he approached to take Beauty’s bridle. Noticing the small form behind Sally on the horse he continued, “And who do we have here?”
Sally felt the girl flinch, and she spoke quickly. “I have met a friend who needs a place to weather this storm. Help her down, Miles.”
The groom easily lifted the girl down, and then his mistress. “There’s a fire in the sitting room, Miss, but I think you’ll still find it uncomfortably cold.” He looked at the stone cottage with disfavor, shaking his head.
“It will be better than nothing, Miles,” Sally said hopefully. She put an arm around the sodden little figure and shepherded her into the cottage.
The small sitting room was furnished with a hard settle and a horse-hair chair which were set in front of a large stone fireplace. A fire crackled merrily in the grate, and despite Miles’s gloomy prediction, the room was much warmer than the draughty hallway. Sally pressed the girl down onto the settle, and untied the strings of her cloak.
“Let me take this into the kitchen,” she said to the girl. “My maid can brush it and dry it before the fire there.”
Sally entered the kitchen to find her maid sitting at the table with a collection of vegetables spread out before her.
“I have no idea how to turn this into supper for us,” Millie said, looking up at her mistress. “Do you think I should boil them, or roast them in the oven?”
Sally picked up a beet, and turned it over in her hand. “I wish I knew. Is there a cook book here, by any chance?”
Her long suffering maid held up a small volume. “There is this. There are many recipes for rabbit and chicken, and as soon as we get one of those, we’ll be fine. What we have right now, however, is these vegetables, and a sack of oats.”
“Oats,’ Sally repeated with loathing. She had volunteered to make breakfast, and had discovered that it was harder than she could have ever imagined to turn oats and water into something edible. Miles had manfully eaten his full portion of lumpy, slightly charred and entirely tasteless oatmeal, but Millie and Sally had decided that tea would suffice.
Millie suddenly noticed the muddy grey cloak that Sally held. “Where did that come from?” She took the cheap garment from Sally, and held it up by her fingertips, eyeing it distastefully.
“I have rescued a waif,” Sally admitted. “Can you make this wearable again, Millie? And bring tea into the front room?”
“Miss Sally,” Millie said suspiciously.
“Not to worry,” Sally reassured her. “I found a girl who was wet-through and stuck out in the storm and brought her back with me to warm up. We can give her a cup of tea, and once the rain has stopped I will saddle Beauty and take her to her home.”
Millie merely shook her head, and put the kettle on the stove. A long acquaintance with her mistress had inured her to surprises.
When she entered the sitting room a few minutes later, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and three cups, Millie had to admit that their visitor did not look very troublesome. She was small and slim, with thick brown hair that fell past her shoulders, and was attired in a serviceable bla
ck dress, such as a maid might wear. She had plain features, and a worried expression, but did not look disreputable or criminal in nature.
“Thank you, Millie,” Sally looked up as she entered. “Put the tray here please, and let me introduce you to Bridget.”
The girl stood and curtseyed politely. “How do you do, ma’am.”
Millie’s expression softened. “Very nice to meet you, Bridget.” She poured a cup of tea and handed it to the girl, who took it gratefully.
“I was just asking Bridget where she was heading to when she got caught in the storm,” Sally said. She looked a question at the girl, who colored painfully.
“I am a maid up at the Castle, ma’am,” Bridget replied. “Or was, I should say. I was turned off, and had been home to see if my mam and dad would take me in, but they turned me away. I was trying to get to the village, when you found me. I was thinking they might need a maid at the posting house or summat.”
“Why were you turned off?” Millie broke in.
“Oh, don’t ask me that, ma’am,” Bridget quavered.
“Don’t be afraid,” Sally’s compassionate nature could not stand to see the girl in such distress. ‘You have nothing to fear from us.”
“It wasn’t anything dishonest, ma’am,” Bridget assured them. “I didn’t steal, or anything like that. I fell in love with the carrier’s lad, and Mrs. Cameron, that’s the housekeeper up at the Castle, she found out and told the Laird, and I was let go without a character. How am I to find another job without a character?” She sniffed loudly and her eyes filled. “I’m sorry miss, I don’t know why I’m crying like this.” She accepted a handkerchief from Sally, who put an arm around her and gave her a quick hug.
“Where is the carrier’s lad now?” she asked. “Does he know what has happened to you?”
“Oh, no, Miss,” Bridget hiccupped. “He works in London, and isn’t expected back for a fortnight or maybe more.”
Millie, who had been watching Bridget closely, suddenly spoke. “Why did your parents turn you away?”
Bridget reddened, and eyed Millie with a scared look. “They were ashamed of me,” she muttered.
“Because?” Millie continued relentlessly. “There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Bridget said miserably. “I’m going to have a baby.”
Sally sat back, dumbstruck. “How old are you, Bridget?”
“I’m eighteen,” she replied. “And Robbie is twenty and has a very good job with a carrier in London. He wants to marry me, and bring me to his mother’s house. But Mrs. Cameron said the Laird wouldn’t keep a compromised girl in his house, and she turned me out.”
Sally’s ready temper surged up. “They turned you out in the middle of winter, when it was very unlikely that your family would take you in?” She stood and strode angrily about the room. “The Laird wouldn’t keep a compromised girl! If that isn’t just like every man I’ve ever known.” She thought of her own family hustling her out of sight. The poor compromised Denham girl. She knew an irrational desire to meet the laird and give him a piece of her mind.
“You should write to Robbie,” she advised Bridget. “Let him know that you are in trouble and need him to come sooner than two weeks.”
“I can’t do that,” the girl averred. “I can’t write, miss, nor Robbie neither.”
“That’s a barrier,” Sally admitted, feeling a little daunted. “Well, when he next comes to the Castle, can you arrange to meet him?”
“Oh, yes. If I can get a message to Mary, or one of the other maids at the Castle, I know they would tell him for me. Unless Mrs. Cameron tells the carrier about us, and gets him turned off as well. I have no money, though, miss, and nowhere to go until then. If the landlord at the posting house finds out I’m going to have a baby, he won’t give me a job, either.”
“And in a small village like Thorne, there’s no keeping a secret,” Sallie mused. “Well, you can just stay here with us until then,” she offered impulsively.
“Uh, Miss Sally,” Millie caviled. “Are you forgetting that we have but two chambers, and can barely feed ourselves?”
“Bridget can share my chamber. You won’t object to sharing with me, will you?”
“Oh, no, miss. Do you really mean it?” Bridget clasped Sally’s hands to her lips, overcome with her good fortune. “Oh, thank you, miss. Thank you!”
Sally smiled and pulled her hands away. “You are very welcome. But I must tell you that we are not very plump in the pocket at present.”
“That’s nothing to me, miss,” Bridget assured her. “My mam has thirteen bairns, and my father works a small farm. We’ve always been purse pinched.”
A hopeful gleam appeared in Sally’s eye. “Can you, by any chance, cook, Bridget?”
“Oh yes, miss,” Bridget nodded emphatically. “I can cook anything!”
“What would you do with some beets, some carrots and a few potatoes?” Sally asked casually.
“Oh miss, I could make a very good root vegetable stew. My mam can take a few old vegetables and make a meal that can fill all of us, and before I went to be a maid, I always helped in the kitchen.”
“And can you make bread?” Sally held her breath.
“Oh yes, miss. I can make bread, and cakes, and stews. I truly can.”
Sally laughed happily, and even Millie had to smile. “Then this is very fortuitous. You may stay until your carrier’s lad comes for you. You can earn your keep by cooking, and teaching Millie and me how to do so, too. And in return we will devise a plan to contact Robbie when next he comes to Castle Kane.”
Chapter Six
The Viscount Denham sat at the ornate, glass-topped desk in his book room at Denham Park, his fingers turning a paperweight over again and again, his mind in a brown study. Ever since he had received the letter from his mother-in-law informing him that Sally had never arrived at Waverly, he had been unable to concentrate on business or leisure. The door opened, and he looked up as his wife entered the room.
“My dear, I believe I will ask the Turners and the Wisbecks for dinner on Saturday, and a few hands of piquet afterwards. It’s been such a long time since we’ve had any of the London gossip.” Lady Denham walked to the French windows as she talked, and pulled the curtains back, and sunlight flooded the room. She turned and bent a frown upon her spouse. “Why are you sitting here in the dark, George?”
Sally’s papa shook his head. “How can you, Regina? Sally is missing, we have no idea if she is safe or in danger, and you are organizing card parties.”
Lady Denham raised one elegant eyebrow. “What would you have me do, George? Sit around ringing my hands? The wretched girl made her bed, and must lie in it. Must I lie in it as well?”
“My dear,” the Viscount objected. “Can you not find one particle of pity for Sally in your heart? You know as well as I do that she is blameless of the charges laid at her feet.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” Sally’s mother stated baldly. “We have only her word. Simon Atherly made no such charge.”
“Simon Atherly wanted Sally’s eighty thousand pounds.”
“And he’s welcome to them, if he takes her and her tarnished reputation. You know that he is in town, and the word is that he has had some very bad losses at the gaming table. I am very sure that he is still interested in a match with Sally.”
“That’s as may be, my dear, but first we must locate the girl.” He passed a hand across his brow, a frown on his face. “I still think that we were wrong to banish her to Scotland. You know that your mother has never had any fondness for the girl. Sally begged us not to send her, and we didn’t listen. And now she is gone, we know not where.”
“What choice did we have?” Lady Denham snapped. “You saw the Turkish treatment we received at the Hunt ball. Mrs. Greenly gave us the cut direct in the village. Sally had to go.”
“We could have let her stay in her home, to wait and see if it would all blow over.”
“You are
a hopeless romantic, George.” Regina said acidly. “That was never going to happen. There are many examples of women who have been thoughtless of their reputations, and they are never again received in any household with standards. My god, would I receive such a girl into my own home? I would not!”
“She is your daughter, Regina.”
“Yes, and I have two sons to worry about as well. Should I allow them to be tainted by Sally’s indiscretions? Where has all this sentiment come from, George? You were as angry as I was when we heard from my mother that Sally had run away.”
The Viscount raised a hand to shade his eyes. His conscience was smarting, and he was truly worried about where Sally was, and in what straits she might be finding herself.
“My anger has been replaced with worry, Regina. I made sure that Sally was coming home, but we have not heard a word form her. I have made up my mind that we will travel to Waverly, and see if we can pick up Sally’s trail.”
“On no account in the world!” Lady Denham averred. “Believe me, George, the girl will come home when she has run out of money. She just received this month’s pin money, but that will not last long.”
“I cannot sleep for worrying about where she is,” the Viscount ran a hand distracted over his head.
Lady Denham approached her husband, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I will bring you some laudanum after dinner tonight. You just need a good night’s sleep, and you will see that I am right. Sally is snug in some inn or posting house with her maid. Once she runs out of funds she will return to us, mark my words.”
The Viscount reached up to pat his wife’s hand. “Do you think so?” he asked hopefully. “The only thought that sustains me is the fact that Millie is with her.”
“I am certain of it,” she replied with conviction. “Sally has not gotten her way for the first time in her life, and she has thrown a tantrum. We would be very wrong to fall for her tricks, George. Trust me. I know very well what I am about.”
