by Sahara Kelly
And to everyone’s surprise and delight, there was indeed news of Hannah by the following evening.
“Cart went past real early like.” One of the patrons leaned against the aged wood bar. “The missus ‘eard it. Had a bit o’ a creak to it, she said. Only place it could ‘a come from were this ‘ere lane.”
There were several nods at this bit of information, since there were half a dozen others sharing that wonderful ale.
“So I knows there’s a cart wi’ a creak like that over to Tubworth way and I sent me third boy over to have a chat like.”
“Smart move, that, Joseph.” There were mutters of approval.
Charles was having a very difficult time keeping his mouth shut and his hands off Joseph. He wanted to shake the information out of him with both hands securely around the man’s neck.
However, he knew that country folk moved at their own speed and he’d gain nothing but disapproval if he tried to hurry things along. So he merely nodded with everyone else and tried not to shatter the tankard in his hand.
“Sure ‘nough, ‘Arry Dashburn said the cart was ‘ired out just a’fore the snow started. Two men, ‘e said. One of ‘em a bit slow like.”
“Any other description or names, Joseph?” Charles was amazed his voice still worked.
“One mebbe a gentlemen, t’other the slow top. But paid up and gone yesterday mornin’ early. So they’s the best shot at who took our Hannah.”
“An’ that’s where I got summat. After they was ‘ere and did their neffarrious deed.”
Tom, an older man, glanced at Charles, who leaned forward with enthusiasm, appreciating the fancy language of which Tom was clearly proud.
“Please, go on.” Charles encouraged him.
“Well, sir, I got a cousin livin’ near the postin’ house on the Tubworth road. And she seen two men change ‘orses on a cart wi’ a creaky wheel yesterday mornin’. ‘Bout two mile from ‘ere that would a’ bin.”
“Well that’s good news,” said Charles, digging up a smile. “Did she by chance find out anything else?”
“She did indeed, sir. Not one to stand back, our Lizzie. And two ‘orses is out of the ordinary for ‘round ‘here. So, like the nosey parker she is, Lizzie goes down to the postin’ house and ‘as a cuppa with Michael Rowan what takes care of the stables, like. ‘E tells ‘er them two are off to Southampton. Askin’ about the roads, they was. Down by Redbridge.”
“Redbridge?” Charles raised his eyebrows, surprised at that piece of information. What on earth was in Redbridge? It was a village near the Test river. He’d been fishing over that way once upon a time. “That’s quite a few miles the other side of Lyndhurst.”
“Yes, sir, you’re in the right of it,” Tom agreed. “An’ that’s why they needed two ‘orses, see. Not only that…” he paused, showing an excellent sense of the dramatic.
The entire room was silent.
“Not only that, but Lizzie swears she saw a big lump under the cloths they ‘ad in back o’ the cart.” He took a breath. “I reckon it were our Hannah, like.”
There was a gasp, and Charles swallowed. “You may well be right, Tom. And I’m very grateful to Lizzie. Will you convey my thanks? I’ll try and get over to see her myself. Looks like I’ll be on my way to Redbridge come morning.”
That opened up the conversation and the buzz continued as the ale flowed and everyone shared their opinion.
Charles was surprised to feel like one of them. He was included in their chats, circulated around the room and welcomed wherever he paused to thank someone for their help. They were united, he realized, by concern for one of “their own”, an emotion that knew nothing of rank or heritage or fortune, but was based on loyalty, affection and the knowledge that some things were just right.
He was humbled and honored by their inclusion. Especially if it helped him find Hannah.
The crowd was thinning when there was a flurry of activity outside and a thundering on the door. When they opened it, a young man hurried in, shutting ir firmly behind him.
“Where’s the toff, then? I got news.”
Charles strode forward. “That’d be me. Martin, get this man an ale.” He tossed that request over his shoulder. “What do you have for us, lad?”
“They said where they was goin’, sir. The slow one. You know that one of ‘em—”
“Yes, we heard. A bit slow. Go on…”
“Well, ‘e said to ‘is mate that ‘e weren’t sure ‘e knew the way to the Mayflower. ‘Is mate tells ‘im to shut up, ‘cos ‘e knew it an’ they’d be there by midnight.”
Charles’s senses picked up. He knew which way to head and now what to look for when he got there.
His muscles tensed with eagerness to be gone, to be on the road and nearer to Hannah every minute.
But common sense told him that going now in the darkness would be a disaster. A lame horse or worse would set him back hours he didn’t wish to waste. So he bit down on his urges and began to make plans to head out at first light.
Maps were produced, roads discussed and many knowledgeable opinions offered.
Finally Charles asked one question. “The Mayflower. Is that an inn, I wonder? Or a ship in Southampton Water? I don’t recognize the name.”
At that point, an elderly man with pure white hair and a full beard scraped his chair as he stood.
“Did I ‘ear someone say Mayflower?” He held a hand up to his ear, which explained why he’d played hardly any part in the night’s conversation.
Charles went over to him. “Yes, friend. The Mayflower in Redbridge.” He all but yelled.
“Ahh.” The old man nodded. “Yes. I remember that place.” He grinned, showing a very fine tooth. “I was younger then, o’ course.”
“What is it? Is it an inn?” Charles kept his voice loud. He hoped the man had something useful, otherwise he’d be rescuing Hannah and unable to speak a word to her.
The old man croaked out a lusty laugh. “Nay, lad. ‘T’is no inn. ‘T’is a whorehouse.”
Charles grabbed a chair and sat down. Hard.
Chapter Nine
Hannah knew she probably should have been shocked and horrified to find herself in a house of dubious repute. And she did admit to being confused and a little frightened at how easily she’d been abducted from the Sow’s Ear.
But being a young woman of insatiable curiosity and a positive disposition, she set to learning all she could about her temporary prison, with the aim of discovering a way out.
She hadn’t been hurt, or threatened. She had no idea why she was here, but apart from a few minor inconveniences, like her missing shoes, she was in one piece. Certainly she wished she knew what lay behind all this, but she could learn nothing by sitting and whimpering.
So while she was here, why not take the opportunity to learn about what went on in such a place? Her mother would have shrieked in horror. Hannah was interested, quite unafraid of the denizens of the Mayflower, and eager to learn. Her introduction to the sensual pleasures of the flesh had incurred an even greater need to understand what could take place between lovers.
Where better to learn such things than a house where they took place on a nightly basis?
Maisie had given her some soft slippers, so Hannah could move around the building if she wished. “I don’t want the Missus seein’ yer out an’ about now, yer hear?”
“I hear,” she nodded. “But you know I can’t go outside. I have no cloak or muffler. Not to mention boots. I will have to stay indoors, but I’ll try and keep out of her sight.” She paused. “Er, which one is she?”
Maisie rolled her eyes. “Missus Tanner. Tall. Dark hair. Always wears a pretty cameo brooch. Gold, I ‘spect. Temper like the devil, so stay out o’ her way.”
“All right.” Hannah followed Maisie down a corridor, noting the numbered doors on either side. “Are these all for—um—other extraordinary delights?”
Maisie giggled. “Yer could say that, yes”
“Goo
dness.” Hannah had counted to nine. “There are quite a few of you.”
“Not all those rooms ‘ave girls. Some come an’ go. And some ’r off duty, yer might say. Them’s the ones wi’ their monthly time, yer see.”
“Ah, yes.” Hannah answered, realizing she had a lot to learn. “When do your…guests arrive? Do they stay all night? Do they get to pick who—“
“Hey. Slow down wi’ the questions. Yer like a fountain, fer Gawd’s sake. We’ll get to all that. Right now we need food.”
Since the drug had worn off and her stomach was rumbling, Hannah concurred, deciding that her inquiries could wait until she’d eaten something. There were some tasty smells coming from a lower floor so it was no hardship to follow Maisie down a well-worn staircase and into a large kitchen, where the air was warm and rich with the fragrance of fresh bread.
“Harriet, this ‘ere’s Hannah.”
Maisie introduced them, and Hannah smiled and nodded, wondering how Maisie managed a perfect “H” at the beginning of names, but ignored it most of the rest of the time.
When Harriet lifted her head to nod back, Hannah repressed a gasp. One side of her face was puckered and reddened, all the way down to her neck and possibly beneath the collar of her blouse.
“Miss Hannah. Nice to meet you.”
The voice was cultured, surprising Hannah. “Thank you. A pleasure to meet you as well.” She was staring, she knew. But she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the dreadful scars.
Harriet raised a hand to her face. “A burn, dear. ‘T’was the curse of my family, that stove. And I was the errant daughter who preferred cooking to reading. After the accident…well, who would have me?”
“I…” Hannah was lost for words.
“It’s quite all right. It’s better to get it out right off than leave people wondering all kinds of terrible things.” She turned to the oven and removed a baking tray with two loaves of bread, golden and steaming just a little. “Now come and eat. I understand you missed breakfast.”
“I did. And this looks absolutely wonderful, Miss Harriet.”
Maisie smiled, flashed a glance at the other woman, and they both nodded. A little by-play not lost on Hannah, who hoped it meant she’d done something right for a change.
The bread was as expected, warm and satisfying. With a pat of butter and a pot of local honey, breakfast was a delicious meal and Hannah realized she felt much better with food in her stomach.
“Well now, Miss, time you went back upstairs, I think.” Harriet glanced at the clock. “Mrs. Tanner will be up wanting her tea shortly. Best you be elsewhere.”
Hannah frowned. “Why do I have to be elsewhere? Why should I not meet Mrs. Tanner? I’ve been brought here, to her house, against my wishes. I would have thought the least she could have done would be to explain herself.”
The other two women looked at each other once more, then at Hannah.
“It’s for your own protection.” Harriet looked somber. “Yes, she knows you’re here. But it’s temporary. You’ll be gone soon, I understand.”
Maisie put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Yer a lovely lady, Hannah. If the Missus sees yer, it’s likely she’ll ignore the bit about yer leavin’.”
Hannah stared. “You mean…”
“Yes. She’s one wi’ an eye fer a sure thing. She’d put yer to work.”
“Good God.”
She stood and followed Maisie from the kitchen without another word. But her mind was in a whirl and it was hard to keep silent until they reached the sanctuary of Maisie’s room.
“How long am I going to be here, Maisie? Tell me. I need to know. This is an absurd situation and it’s time I found out what the devil is going on.”
Maisie sighed. “I dunno, dearie. I was told yer would be ‘ere a day or so. No more. Seein’ as you got ‘ere yesterday an’ slept til this mornin’, I’m guessin’ you’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
“But gone where? With who?” She blinked. “With whom?”
“That I dunno. Mebbe that batty cousin o’ yours?”
Hannah made a sound of frustration and began to pace. “Even if it was Benby, why on earth would he do such a thing? I haven’t seen him in years.” She swung around. “Is he staying here?”
“Gawd no. Missus don’t allow nobody ‘ere what ‘asn’t paid fer the privilege.”
“Damn, damn, damn.”
Hannah was perplexed, confused and maybe just a little bit afraid. But she still believed, deep down in a tiny little secret place, that perhaps Charles might arrive and rescue her.
If he didn’t, then she would have to rescue herself, of course.
Thoughts of exactly how to accomplish that kept her occupied most of the afternoon. Maisie and the other girls had chores, and after Maisie left, Hannah was alone for several hours.
It was getting dark and she was about to light a candle when Maisie returned. “Night’s gettin’ goin’. But Missus says likely it’ll be quiet, like. Snow an’ all that. Bad roads.”
“It snowed again?”
“Still is.” Maisie crossed to the window and pulled aside the thick drape. “See? Gonna be ‘nother good one.”
Hannah sighed. “So I doubt I will be leaving today, at any rate.”
“P’robly not.”
“Well then.” Hannah refused to admit defeat. “What can I do this evening? Do you have a book, perhaps?”
Maisie gave her a look.
“All right. No book. There must be something I can do, Maisie. I can sew. I can darn socks. I can clean too.”
Maisie laughed. “Very nice. Not a lick ‘o help round ‘ere.”
“I wish Charles were here.” Hannah sank onto the bed. “I’m going to marry him, Maisie.”
“Oooh.” Maisie sat down next to her. “Is ‘e nice then?”
“Yes. Ever so nice.” Hannah smiled. “He’s very tall and has beautiful blue eyes and a wonderful set of shoulders.”
“Sounds like a dream.”
“Oh he is. And he kisses…”
“Aha. You got that far then.”
Hannah blushed.
Maisie stared at her. “You naughty girl.”
“Oh we didn’t…I mean it was just a touch here and there, you know?”
“I knows all ‘bout them touches.” She giggled. “An’ all the rest, too.”
“You do?”
Hannah had the most dreadful idea that sent chills of excitement down her spine.
“’Deed I do. After all, look what I do fer a livin’.”
“Maisie,” said Hannah persuasively, “I have had a thought about what I might do this evening…”
*~~*~~*
Charles was off and away from the Sow’s Ear just as dawn was breaking. The sky was red, not a good sign, but nothing would stop him from getting on the road to Lyndhurst and eventually Redbridge, where he prayed he’d find his Hannah, in one piece.
The thought that she might have been hurt—in any way—made his temper as violently red as the sunrise, and he struggled to put such notions aside. Losing his focus would not be a good idea.
The road was a mess, since the melt of the previous day had frozen over when the temperatures fell after dark.
So he nursed his horse, trusting it to find safe footing even though it cost him precious time and more than a few moments of clinging to the saddle.
Every minute he wasn’t keeping his balance was spent on worried thoughts about Hannah’s disappearance.
What possible motive could anyone have for kidnapping a young woman of modest means? Did it have anything to do with the Penvale business? Would he be slipped some kind of note for ransoming his future bride?
No, that was nonsense. Firstly the Penvale lineage was also modest—and penniless. Granted he had a tidy fortune, but he found it hard to believe that it was large enough to warrant this kind of act.
Besides all those logical thoughts was the realization that very few people even knew Hannah was the fifth bride, or that she’d l
eft home precipitously upon learning of it.
Once he’d accepted that theory, he was left with the members of Hannah’s family. Of whom he knew exactly nothing.
His growl of frustration bothered his horse, and the beast promptly stumbled over a rut, jostling Charles once again.
He swore with great fluidity. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on his bride once more, but if this kept up he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing with her until his balls healed.
The red dawn sky soon darkened with ominous clouds and the weather seemed set on thwarting his progress. A miserably cold drizzle turned to sleet and finally to snow, great fluffy flakes that meant business.
Lights ahead told him he’d reached the outskirts of Lyndhurst, and he was grateful to be able to make his way to the Stag Inn. There he found a warm welcome, a lad to tend his horse and a room for the night.
He also found an unexpected surprise.
“Charles Fontaine, damn your eyes. Where the hell have you been, you bastard?”
He swung around and gasped in shock. “Goddamn, Dev. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Mind your language, boy.”
A formidable woman with a very hard cane swiped Charles around the shins, making his eyes water. “I do beg your pardon, Ma’am.”
“Tsk, tsk.” She stalked off, her cloak dripping snow on the carpet and the feathers in her hat drooping with the additional weight.
Dev was hard pressed to hold in his laughter. “C’mon. I feel the need for a brandy.”
“I share the need, my friend. I share the need.”
They strolled toward the far end of the hallway and the sound that heralded companionship and fine liquors, not to mention a roaring fire.
The companionship was sparse, given the weather, comprised mostly of locals who planned on walking back to their homes. The few other men looked much like Dev and Charles; travellers forced to interrupt their journey to seek shelter.
Charles chuckled as he took his brandy over to a deep leather chair positioned perfectly next to the fire.
Dev joined him. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking of the parallels. Humans have been seeking shelter from the elements for God knows how many years. We’re still doing it. Only this time…” he held his glass to the firelight, “we’re doing it in style.”