Bennett’s dour “of course” received an answering twinkle from Lyndell, but Mrs. Bennett was enthusiastic. “Just think, Mr. Bennett, a big garden and fresh country air and good, honest folks, all in visiting distance of King’s Mark.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “I shouldn’t be saying this to you, Miss Lyndy, but Islington is getting Fast. It is too, Mr. Bennett, don’t you laugh. That little house at the comer, the one with the nice primroses, was sold last month to Lord Ainsley—and for what? To house his ... his ... oh dear.”
Lyndell smiled, showing a dimple, and patted Sarah’s hand. “All the more reason to consider a move. What do you think, Benny?”
His wife looked at him anxiously but Mr. Bennett only studied the tobacco in the pipe, poking at it and puffing, before turning to Lyndell at last. “This bit o’difficulty young Riddley found himself in, just what might that be?”
Flushing slightly and lowering her eyes, Lyndell told them about the letter, all of it, and her plan to clear Jasper’s name and safeguard her own, with their help. “It’s not that we’d be so all alone, either. There’s this Captain Jamison, and the whole King’s Mark staff if we need it.”
“It’s not quite what I’d like,” Mrs. Bennett confessed. “You pretending to be what you’re not, and people not like to treat you as a Lady of Quality, but we’re good loyal Englishmen too, aren’t we, Joseph?”
Bennett thought he knew enough about traitors to be fairly sure none would return to a scene of so much suspicion, so he hadn’t many misgivings on that score. He also thought he knew enough about young creatures, horses or otherwise, to probe a little deeper. “Won’t you be missin’ out on all those fine parties and such? The missus’n I could go on and see what’s in the wind, without you comin’ along.”
Lyndell almost squeaked, “Without me? Oh no! What are a few parties—they’re all so boring anyhow, after the first few—compared to this? I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” When she noted Bennett’s grin, she added, “And don’t you start on me about wasting time when I could be finding a husband, either. I’d rather catch a spy!”
“But, dear,” Sarah started, looking from one to the other, before she was interrupted by her husband’s muttered, “The gypsy fair again.”
“What was that, Mr. Bennett?” she asked, but Lyndell was blushing, a curse of her fair skin.
Bennett had to pause to relight his pipe. “The gypsy fair. Miss Lyndy was nobut six years or so, and I was under-groom. Th’viscount and Henesley were off buyin’ horses and little miss here, red hair in braids down her back, ‘n no front teeth, comes up’n tells me to saddle her pony, she’s goin’ to the gypsy fair. So I asks if the master said she could and she tells me he didn’t say she couldn’t.”
“Well, he didn’t,” Lyndell put in.
“Then she says she’ll go anyway, if I don’t help her creep out where no one’s lookin’, because she has two pence all her own and wants to have her fortune told. I wasn’t going to saddle up that pony no how, but she looks up at me with those green eyes all watery and a quiver in her voice, sayin’ she’ll be my friend, forever, if I go with her. I was cotched, all right and tight. That little grey pony—”
“Peasblossom.”
“—barely come up to my stirrups, but Missy sat so tall in her saddle, off adventuring.”
“And a fine adventure it was, too, Benny.”
“Until we got home. Henesley wanted to have my hide, but the viscount, he understood.”
“Understood? Gammon, I couldn’t sit for a week!”
“He told me there’d always be women who could wrap men around their little fingers—like his puss, he called her—and there’d always be men spineless enough to curl up tight for them. Like me, I guess. Inevitable, is what he called it. And he weren’t mad, just so’s long as I kept her safe.” He stared at his wife, then grinned. “So when are we off to the gypsy fair?”
It wasn’t till Lyndell’s fine carriage had pulled away, plans made, times set, that Sarah said to her husband, “Adventuring indeed. That girl needs a husband,” and he answered, “Amen to that.”
Chapter Three
After an early morning start, they changed carriages at the posting house in Chelmsford, the first stage out of London, so as not to inconvenience Lord Hardesty any further, Lyndell told her uncle’s driver. It looked like snow, and she didn’t wish the coach and horses stranded in the country. If the London servants thought it too smoky by half for Miss not to be driven direct to her destination, they were too used to the ways of the Quality to be bothered overmuch, and Bennett’s largesse also helped quiet their reservations, and their tongues.
So Mrs. Bennett and Lyndell, the hood of her green cloak pulled over the unmistakable coppery curls, her head lowered, were shown into a private parlour while Joseph Bennett hired a chaise to continue their journey. At the next stages, Lyndell and Sarah stayed in the coach while the horses were changed, an unremarkable young woman and her companion, taking refreshment from the hamper at their feet. It wasn’t till just past Framingham, well into Suffolk, that any change occurred. First Lyndell opened her cloak and laid it aside to reveal a grey merino gown of fairly good quality, but with no embellishments to mark it a fashionable creation. It had a loose enough fit to hide Lyndell’s own notable figure and at the same time proclaim to the experienced eye that Miss Lynn Riddley bought ready-made clothing. Serviceable and unpretentious, the grey merino, along with a dreary brown bombazine and a plain navy kerseymere hidden under Lyndell’s muslins and silks, was Isabelle’s prepregnancy visit-the-poor clothes. From the portmanteau at her feet Lyndell next pulled a huge droopy nightcap, a relic of Isabelle’s mother-in-law’s last visit. Unlike the scraps of lace most ladies perched on their heads to denote their attaining “a certain age,” this item more closely resembled a dairymaid’s mob-cap—after the cow had worn it too. It did have the advantage of hiding every stray curl of Lyndell’s hair and, flopping over her brow as it did, of shadowing the sparkle in her green eyes. Right now those eyes were alight with merriment as she pulled from her reticule a pair of spectacles, Uncle Hardesty’s unknowing contribution, and placed them low on the bridge of her nose, right at the Markham deviation. A touch of powder to dull her fine complexion, a slight stoop to the shoulders, and voila, Miss Lynn Riddley, spinster. Poor but respectable, meekly come to hold house or inn for her brother. What a great actress she would be, Lyndell decided, if she ever got tired of the ton.
Unfortunately, there was no one but the hired driver and his postillion to behold her performance, and they had seen nothing more than the green cape before. Instead of being impressed by her transformation, or even noticing it, they wished only to discharge their passengers and head back toward Chelmsford while some grey afternoon light still remained. And before the snow started.
Bennett’s knee-slapping guffaws almost compensated, but there was no mistaking that her grand entrance was marred by the lack of an audience. The place was deserted. A dog barked somewhere, the only sign of life, so Lyndell took the spectacles off before she tripped, straightened up to help tote parcels in, and jauntily set off to inspect her new surroundings.
The tavern sign, a faded blue horse running, hung crookedly. Someone, Jasper most likely, had crudely painted a crowned figure on the horse’s back. The King, passing by, as any sane customer would do. The inn’s exterior was something less than dramatic; it was dingy. A two-story brick-and-beam construction, it hadn’t so much as a single rosebush to relieve the dreariness. The inside was no better. The large common room smelled of stale ale and staler bodies. The one tiny private parlour was dark, and showed none too clean in what weak light filtered through the smoke-grimed windows. To the rear were the kitchen, a nearly empty pantry, a few minute rooms for maidservants, and what must have been the Quinns’ quarters.... They’d left the bed and the wash stand.
“How nice,” Mrs. Bennett declared firmly. “We’ll have lots of room for our rugs and furniture from Islington. If we decide to s
tay, of course.”
Lyndell was doubtful. “There’s a great deal of work to be done ...”
“And best it got started. I just knew you’d ought to have a lady’s maid with you. ‘Tisn’t proper, no one to bring you hot water to wash. Well, there’s no hot water either. You, Mr. Bennett, go find the woodpile and see to lighting some fires while I air these rooms and check the stores, so’s we can have some tea. Things’ll look better with some warm food in us. And Joseph, the trunk and that hamper ...”
Lyndell escaped upstairs, travelling case in hand.
At the top of the stairs the corridor branched to left and right, with doors showing on either side of the hall. The opened rooms were tiny, but at least neat, waiting for the occasional merchant or family travelling to Yarmouth, Lyndell supposed. They were certainly nowhere as fine as the least grand room she’d ever stayed in, so any noble putting up here was either down on his luck, lost, or a suspect. Selecting the right-hand corridor and wishing she’d brought a candle, Lyndell continued on till she found Jasper’s apartments at the end of the hall. A small sitting room and the bedroom beyond had his unmistakable stamp: clothes strewn all over, racing papers and playing cards spilling from the bureau, empty bottles guarding the corners, an article of feminine apparel dangling from a wall sconce. Definitely Jasper’s rooms. She carefully sidestepped piles of papers and account books, deciding to leave it all untouched till she could make an organised search for any hints Jasper might have left. Another bedroom opened off the sitting room—for Jasper’s lady callers?—and this Lyndell selected for her own use. It was clean and dry and convenient for her investigation, and logical for Jasper’s “sister.” By the light of a candle finally located, Lyndell unpacked a few of her belongings, straightened the cap over her curls and repowdered her face. Her grumbling stomach taking precedence over immediate exploration of the left-hand corridor, Lyndell returned to the kitchen, where she found Mrs. Bennett bustling over kettles and a welcome fire.
‘Tea will be ready in a minute, dear. I’ve just been making lists for Mr. Bennett to fetch from market, if the snow holds off for him to drive tomorrow. Jasper left his carriage—there’s a dray for supplies, and some horses— Joseph is seeing to them now. Why don’t you fetch him?”
The cold wind was blowing leaves about as Lyndell hurried across the rear yard. With her head down and one hand holding on to her cap, she almost came too close to a huge dog chained to a post. Its low snarls warned her when she was just outside its lunge distance, as she quickly found out. Saying “Good doggie, nice doggie,” to a creature showing foot-long fangs made Lyndell feel like a fool, but the animal went back to a pile of meat—probably its previous owner, Lyndell decided. Eyeing her warily, but not as warily as she eyed it, the dog ate while Lyndell edged toward the stables.
“You could have warned me about that dog, Benny,” she called into the dark reaches of the barn.
“Didn’t know you was comin’, did I?” he answered as he backed out of a stall dragging a bundle of ... sticks? Rags? “I got it some food from the missus, but there’s no getting near it. Prob’ly have to shoot the poor beast in the mornin’.” At those words whatever he was holding made a noise a lot like the dog’s and dashed for the stable door, right into Lyndell’s arms.
“Why, it’s a boy!” she exclaimed. She could see the tatters he was wearing and feel the skinny arm trembling, but she only heard those animal-like noises when she asked his name and what he was doing there.
“He don’t talk much, it seems, but he must’ve took care of the horses when Jasper left. There’s plenty of grain and hay. Not much for a boy or a dog, what I can see. Best take him to the missus. C’mon, lad, we’ll get some warm food in you.”
Lyndell wasn’t taking chances; she held firmly to the small hand, to make sure he didn’t escape, she told herself. The boy might also be a safe passage through the chained beast’s territory, herself added, honest to a fault.
There was still another surprise waiting in the kitchen, one more of Jasper’s bequeathals. If the authorities didn’t hang him, Lyndell decided, she would, gladly.
Sarah made the introductions: “Miss Lynn Riddley, this is Molly. She says she’s serving girl in the tap room.”
As Molly bobbed an awkward curtsy, her ... endowments ... nearly bobbing out of the low-cut blouse, it was all too easy to see just what Molly served to the customers. The rouged cheeks and impossibly yellow hair proclaimed her no better than she ought to be, and probably a lot worse.
Surprisingly, it was Joseph Bennett who told Molly she might as well stay on, in spite of his wife’s sniffing disapproval. “For if you’re to cook, Sarah, and I’m to see to the horses, that only leaves Miss Lynn here to see to the customers else.” That immediately quieted any protests Mrs. Bennett might have made. Her Miss Lyndy serving ale in a common tap room to a bunch of drunken farmers? She’d see the devil ice-skating first!
“Well, if that’s all right and tight I’ll just go freshen up,” Molly announced. “My room’s the end of the other hall from Jasper’s, Mr. Riddley, that is, if you need me. With the fires lit and some lanterns out, maybe we’ll have some business tonight.”
Lyndell nearly choked with laughter on Molly’s unfortunate phrasing, and the look of horror on Sarah’s face, but she had to ask about the boy. “Him?” Molly tossed over her shoulder as she flounced out of the kitchen. “He’s just the moron Quinn took out of the workhouse to see to the stables.”
The boy’s growling noises were too much for poor Sarah. She threw her apron over her face and blubbered into it. “A ... a light-skirt in my own kitchen! Am I to sit to supper with that Jezebel and a lice-ridden, horse-fouled, savage half-wit? I can’t do it. Miss Lyndy, I just can’t.”
Traitor that he was, Bennett went to fetch more wood. Lyndell dragged the boy to a chair near the fire and told him to sit, out of hearing, before returning to pat her old nurse’s hand. “There,” she said soothingly, “it’s just for a while, you know it is! And we can’t get rid of Molly. Like Benny said, she has to serve at the tables. She can even eat there, not with us! But she’s been here since the Quinns too, so she might have some information.”
“I know all about the information women like her have and I don’t want her giving any of it to you, you hear me, Miss Lyndy?”
“Of course, Sarah, and I’ll stay far away from her, I promise.” Lyndell carefully did not promise to stay away from Molly’s room, which she intended to search the moment it was unoccupied, if the moment ever came. What she did say was, “But we all have to listen in case she mentions any London gentlemen, or soldiers with important messages. That’s what we’re here for, remember?” When Sarah nodded, reluctantly, Lyndell went on, lowering her voice still further: “As for the boy, why, he’s just cold and hungry and maybe a little dirty. You wouldn’t put him out in the snowy night in those rags, with no supper, would you?”
“He took good care of the horses too, Sarah,” Bennett added, coming in with a pile of wood and stacking it by the hearth. The boy bent to help him.
“You see, Sarah, he’s no savage, just frightened,” Lyndell said. “Here,” and she took his hand, drawing him to the table near Sarah, where she knelt to his level. “You do understand me, don’t you?” The sad little head nodded. “And can you talk if you want to?” A pause, then another nod. “Good! Now, do you have a name?” A vigorous nod. “Of course you do! Well, I am Lyndy, and this is Mrs. Bennett, who is the finest cook anywhere in England. But we have a problem. You see, Mrs. Bennett won’t have strangers at her supper table, only friends, and friends always know each other’s names so ...”
A whisper: “Sam’l, ma’am.”
“Fine! Well, Mrs. Bennett, this is my friend Sam’1. Will he do?”
“Of course he will, as soon as Mr. Bennett washes him up some. Here, young Sam’l, have some bread and butter to tide you over.”
When the boy was shyly nodding his appreciation, Bennett touched his shoulder. “Come on then,
Sam’l.I like a lad what doesn’t jabber.”
* * * *
By the early suppertime the weather was even more threatening, dark an hour too early, but King’s Pass Inn looked almost cosy. Fires had taken the chill off the common room and private parlour, and a quick sweep with a broom had gotten most of the cobwebs. Lyndell’s trunk was unpacked and she’d had a warm bath, and a start at Jasper’s rooms, though she couldn’t have said what she was looking for.
Downstairs, the Bennetts had also unpacked and their rooms looked brighter, with furniture and bedding from one of the unused guest chambers. Sarah and Lyndell had even found an old jacket of Jasper’s they cut down for Sam’l— “The least Jasper could contribute”—which they’d sew up later. Scrubbed and fed, warm and dry, he still would not talk much. Lyndell managed to find out that he was eleven, or maybe twelve, and that the dog’s name was Ajax—the important things. Sam’l either didn’t know or wouldn’t say where Jasper was, what he’d been living on these past days, or if any London gentlemen visited frequently. For the most part, Sam’l kept his eyes firmly on his shoes. So much for that source, Lyndell decided, as she sent him off to bed in the stable with the last of Sarah’s apple tarts, a pile of warm blankets, and a promise to see about Ajax in the morning. He looked at her, actually at her, just for a moment. She thought his eyes were brown; she thought he may have smiled. And he whispered, “My friend,” then ran off.
Lyndell didn’t know if he meant her or the awful dog, but it gave her a warm feeling anyway.
* * * *
The snow began that evening, lightly at first. Bennett shoved an old bench out near the dog so it could have some shelter, and the beast missed his leg by a full inch, out of appreciation. Muttering about the dog keeping away all the customers if the snow didn’t, Benny sat down with his pipe.
My Lady Innkeeper Page 2