When she finished her chore, he heard her speaking to the cow again. He got out of his temporary bed, slung his coat over his shoulder, and made his way down the ladder.
“Good morning, Mr. Duncan.” She stood with pail in hand, a reserved smile upon her face. “I hope you rested.”
Wise of her to not assume it was a good night’s sleep. “Thank you. I did. Some.” He slid the coat over his arm. “And I thank you again for the hospitality.”
“You are most welcome.” She hesitated a moment, her eyebrows coming together before she spoke again. “Would you like to break your fast with us? There is coffee, hot rolls, and some preserves.” A rooster appeared in the barn’s doorway and took that moment to crow, with gusto. She laughed, the sound surprisingly light. “We have eggs, too.” The heaviness he had seen in her expression dissipated for a moment with her amusement.
What an odd woman.
“While your offer is generous, Mrs. Clapham, I cannot impose upon you any longer. I will take myself to the public house in Dunwich.”
She did not press upon him to stay, but nodded her understanding. “Of course, Mr. Duncan. I hope you have a fine day ahead of you.” She curtsied, then left him to his preparations.
Neil did not waste time saddling his horse. The creature seemed somewhat resentful of finding himself with bridle and bit in place again. With the unknown stretched before him as the dirt road stretched before his horse, Neil did not blame the animal at all. He rather hated the idea of going about to beg for shelter, too.
Only the girl was outside when he brought the horse out of the barn. She sat on a chair, glaring at an old book in her lap. Chickens were scattered about her, along with several half-grown chicks, scratching and searching the yard for their breakfast. Caroline’s expression changed from frustration to disappointment when she saw Neil.
“Are you leaving already?” she asked, closing her book. “It is nearly time for breakfast.”
“Your mother invited me in. I am afraid I had to decline.” Neil led his horse over to where she sat. The girl rose and came to give his horse a pat on its nose. Then she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an apple. “I was saving this for later. Can I give it to him now?”
“Of course.” He watched as she fed the apple to his horse; the animal’s ears perked up, as did the rest of him, at the treat. The animal snuffled at her hand, looking for more. Neil had to chuckle. “I think he enjoyed it.”
The girl’s bright smile appeared. “I like horses. We haven’t had one since we came here.” She gestured with the hand holding the book, to the barn. “I used to have my own pony.” Her shoulders dropped, though her smile remained. “Mama says a horse would be too expensive for us, even if it would be helpful, too.”
“I imagine your mother knows best about such things.” Neil ran a hand down the horse’s neck. Were horses generally expensive to keep? He had bought some fine specimens in his time, but once they were in his father’s stables, Neil had given little thought to what it might cost to keep an animal fed, watered, and cared for.
Yet another thing his limited funds must somehow cover. He could not give up his only method of transportation.
“I must go, Miss Caroline. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
She dipped a curtsy and responded politely. “It was our pleasure to host you, Mr. Duncan.”
He did not chuckle at the charming picture she made, but bowed to her as he would any lady, then mounted his horse. “Good day to you, Miss Caroline.”
She waved as he rode out of the yard, back the way he had come the day before.
Neil did not look behind him to see if the girl watched him retreat down the road. He had little energy to spare her another thought. His mind must bend to his own predicament.
When he arrived before the longest building in Dunwich, Neil saw the shingle hanging from it proclaiming it the Lost Mermaid. Strange name for a pub, but it would do.
He tethered his horse outside, then went through the door. A long, dark room with tables scattered about greeted his sight. He looked to an open doorway and caught sight of a trim man, wearing a clean apron and graying hair.
“Good morning to you, sir.” The man came out into the main room with a welcoming green, and he made haste to bow. “Welcome to the Lost Mermaid. Need you something to slake your thirst?”
Neil was soon at a table holding a mug of ale, and then a large metal plate full of eggs, sausages, and fried potatoes was placed before him. A few other people ambled inside, some for drinks, some to buy meat pastries. Everyone seemed to know each other, given how casually they spoke to one another.
The owner of the pub, a man who had introduced himself as Mr. Jones, came to check that all was to Neil’s liking. Then, with an overly friendly manner, the publican said, “It’s a might early for anyone to be on the road, coming from the south. Might you be from the north, sir? Walberswick is not far.”
A man with more wrinkles than hair on his head, seated nearer the kitchen, scoffed. “He might’ve come from Westleton.”
“And not had breakfast there?” an equally aged man with white whiskers croaked. “Mrs. Jones is a fair cook, but none would pass up a Westleton breakfast from the Gray Horse.”
Neil only raised his eyebrows as the argument continued between the old men.
The wrinkled man huffed. “Who’s to say he was at the Gray Horse? Might be he didn’t stay there.”
“Then how would he have come from Westleton?”
“Look at his clothes. He’s a gent. Maybe stayed at a fine house.”
“And then rode out come dawn to sit amongst us folk?”
Neil bit the inside of his cheek, irritated with the discussion of his business. “I did not come from Walberswick, nor any other village. I found myself in a barn last night, and here for my breakfast. Does that answer to your curiosity?”
The man with the white whiskers twitched his nose, then folded his arms and sat back in his chair. “Never heard of a gentleman sleeping in a barn. You steal those clothes?”
Neil sat up straighter, but before he could react with offence the more wrinkled of the two gasped out a laugh. “Blind, are you, Billy Higgins? Those clothes fit him better’n your teeth fit in your head. Man’s wearing his own clothes.”
Having never been subjected to such scrutiny, nor the open curiosity and gossip of men so far beneath his station, it took Neil several moments to determine how best to react. He looked to the owner of the establishment, not for any sort of aid, really, but for direction.
The man shrugged. “Don’t pay them any mind, sir.” Then he raised his voice to carry to the local men. “They’re too old to be of any use to anyone, so they sit about and gossip like old cats all day.”
“Old cats? Jones, I’ve known you since you were in your cradle. Respect your elders.” The one called Billy Higgins sniffed, as though he had right to be insulted. “Man comes in here, dressed like that, wrong time of day, slept in a barn, and you aren’t the least curious?”
Mr. Jones shrugged. “So long as people pay their bills, I take no interest in their business.”
A man came in, shouting about a delivery before disappearing out the door again. Mr. Jones sighed and bowed to Neil. “Pardon me, sir.” He followed after the delivery man.
The two old men exchanged a look, then both rose and ambled over to Neil’s table. They stood there, looking down at him with twin gleams in their eyes.
“What barn did you sleep in, sir?” the wrinkled man asked.
Neil sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “What business is it of yours?”
The man chuckled, then jabbed at his own chest with his thumb. “I’m Robert Putnam. This here is Billy Higgins. We’re old codgers, but we still have our wits. Billy was a butler for Baron Marsham, and I used to be the magistrate’s right hand. Your story is—”
“Odd,” Billy Higgins put in with a shrug. “Worth noticing.”
It would be easier to be amused than irrit
ated at this point, and it would take less energy. Neil sighed and then gestured to the two empty chairs at his table. “Please, sit. I’ll buy you both something to drink.”
They exchanged a glance, full of a silent conversation only the oldest of friends might have without a word actually spoken, then they sat.
“Tell us,” Mr. Putnam said. “What brings you out here? You hoping to find the lost city of Dunwich?”
Neil widened his eyes and looked about. “Isn’t this Dunwich? If it is lost, it appears I have already found it.”
“This is the village what’s left,” Billy said. He jerked his head toward the door. “And the ruins of the church, too. But there used to be a whole city here, back before even the Normans invaded. Rivaled London, the stories say. It fell into the sea, with all its riches.”
Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Neil answered with barely concealed impatience. “If it’s in the sea, no one is getting to it. No, Mr. Higgins. I am not looking for any lost city.”
“Oh.” The white-haired man appeared disappointed. “Then what are you doing in these parts?”
“I went too far down the road. I ought to have turned west some time ago, I suppose. I found myself without food or shelter last night, when I was kindly taken in and given both at a farm just north of here.”
“Sounds like you came across some good-hearted people.” Mr. Putnam’s expression went from concern to a knowing smile. He scratched at his whiskered chin. “Was it the ladies up at Bramble Cottage?”
Neil recalled the hedges along the road. Might they have been blackberry bushes? “A grandmother, mother, and daughter?” When the old men nodded, Neil relaxed. “Are they known for sheltering strangers, then?”
“They’re hardly known at all,” Higgins said, his shoulders drooping. “Good lasses, though, all of them. If I was twenty years younger, I’d marry Mrs. Godwin and take care of the lot. Isn’t right for them to be all alone out there.”
Putnam sighed and rested his forearms against the table. “How were they after that rain we had a few days back? I told my no-good son-in-law to go up and check on them. The thatch in these parts needs doing up again. We’ve got a leak in our’n. Are the ladies staying dry?”
“They seemed perfectly dry when I saw them.” Neil thought of the thatched cottage roof and could not think how one could tell, merely by glancing at it, that it needed replacing. But these men knew his hostesses well, it would seem. Interesting. “How long have they lived at the cottage? Did they lose their men to some illness or accident?”
“No, nothing like that.” Higgins tapped at the table with his fingers, looking to his friend before adding, “They showed up without any men, last year just before winter. Bless them. They were about done in.”
“Paid for help, though, right off.” Putnam shrugged. “Though I get the sense that was most of their money. They’re mighty careful with their pennies on market days.”
“Always genteel, though.” Higgins met Neil’s gaze and smiled, showing that he had more gums than teeth. “They treat everyone with respect. Kindness. It’s a real shame they’re out there alone.”
“They’re close enough to town.” Putnam waved off that sentiment. “It’s good they took you in, but makes me worry for them.”
Neil’s mind started turning over the new information he had gleaned. The women had come with enough money to settle, and pay to make the house and land livable, but were no longer spending as much on help. They had a roof that possibly leaked. He had seen the fence in need of repair. They had been willing to feed and shelter him, without asking questions.
A idea formed in his mind, but Neil cast it away. Then drew it out again. No, it was far too ridiculous. Better to forget it and keep trying his luck elsewhere. But he could make his ride about the countryside more pleasant. “Do either of you know where a man might purchase clothing?”
Chapter Six
Never in Neil’s life had he found himself in doubt of his path. As the son of a wealthy noblemen, people generally made his way easy with their smiles and willingness to indulge his whims. But no more. He had made it to Saxmundham, to the acquaintance who had somehow already learned of Neil’s disgrace. The butler of that house, upon Neil giving his name, had puffed up like a peacock.
“My master bids me tell you that he cannot harbor the disgraced son of Lord Alderton. He wishes you well. Good day.” Then the door snapped shut before Neil had said another word.
He went back the way he had come, in search of an inn. The first he passed was an establishment he would not allow one of his favorite dogs to rest in, let alone himself. One could tell merely from looking upon the black thatch and filthy yard that bedbugs and fleas abounded inside the walls.
Neil pressed on. He had some money left in his pocket, even after spending coin for meals that were worth far less than he paid.
A road sign told him Walberswick was but five miles away. That woman he had met at her cottage, Mrs. Clapham, had suggested the inn of that town to him. Even that slight recommendation was better than wandering about until he settled upon another plan.
A plan. How laughable. He had thought he might sit in a friend’s billiard room or library and pass the hours as comfortably as ever. But with each rejection, a cold feeling had grown inside Neil’s gut. It was with all the weight of lead that the certainty rested within him that no one he knew would offer him shelter. No one would brave the irritation of a marquess. No one liked Neil well enough to do so.
A strange clatter, clomp, and the horse stumbling jerked Neil out of his thoughts and nearly out of the saddle. Muttering a string of curses to himself, Neil dismounted. The horse pawed at the ground with a foreleg, and the sound of metal against stone grated against Neil’s ears.
The cursed horse had lost a shoe.
“You had to make matters worse, didn’t you?” Neil gave the horse a pat on the neck despite his displeasure. It was not the animal’s fault he was improperly shoed. Neil lifted the horse’s foot as he had seen blacksmiths do, holding himself over the hoof to examine the problem. The shoe had vanished. The horse would go lame if Neil continued to ride the gelding. The village was still several miles off.
Neil glared at the hoof, then lowered it back to the ground. As he had not the funds to purchase another animal, Neil walked. The horse seemed to understand the gravity of the situation enough to keep his head low and ears back.
Three miles from the village, Neil found another sign pointing the way. Nearly the same moment his eyes landed upon the wood with Walberswick painted upon it in white letters, thunder sounded above him.
“No.” Neil looked up at the gray sky. “Absolutely not.” The sky paid him no heed. Several fat raindrops landed upon his face.
“Absolutely perfect.” Neil kept walking, even as the rainfall sped before him. Trudging through the rain, leading his horse, the man’s ill-fitting clothing more suited to a farmer than a lord soaked up the water and mud.
By the time he reached Walberswick, it had grown dark, too. There were no people outside, rushing to and from the little shops of the town. No one to even ask for directions. The sensible people of that village appeared to have all gone home.
Smoke rose from chimneys, and lights glowed in windows. After walking through two streets of shops and houses, Neil found what he searched for. A large wooden sign with a white crown upon it, the word ‘Inn’ written in large yellow letters.
Neil tied up the horse, then pushed the door open.
The main room was full of tables, and the tables were full of people. Men and women both ate, talked, and some even played cards. The whole place smelled of bread and grease, and wet, unwashed people.
A tall, thin man wearing a white apron hurried through the tables toward Neil. The man’s eyes studied Neil’s clothes even as he started speaking. “Welcome, friend, to the White Crown, pub and inn. What are you in search of this wet night?”
“A room,” Neil said. “Dinner. And someone to take care of my horse, ti
ed up out front. He’s thrown a shoe, so I will need a blacksmith or farrier in the morning.” The innkeeper’s eyes flashed with surprise, most likely due to Neil’s educated accent.
“Splendid, splendid. You are in luck, sir.” The innkeeper then pulled his lower lip behind his front teeth and whistled, an ear-splitting and unpleasant sound. Neil winced, only then realizing how terribly his head ached.
A boy came through a door, all long-limbed and clumsy. “Yes, Mr. Fletcher?”
“See to this man’s horse outside. Get it dry and fed,” the innkeeper, Mr. Fletcher, said. “Be quick about it.” When the boy scampered away, the innkeeper turned again to Neil. “If you’ll find yourself a seat, sir, I’ll bring you stew and bread. Ale, too. Just after we discuss the matter of pay.”
Neil withdrew several coins and held them out. “Will this do?”
The innkeeper took the coins and pocketed them almost too quickly for Neil to realize it. “Aye, sir. That will do for two days of meals and lodgings for yourself and your horse. We’ll get your horse to the blacksmith come morning. Be right back with your dinner, sir.”
After a cursory glance about the room, Neil made his way to the only empty table that remained. It was pressed into a dark corner, without windows. The table was wedged too tightly against the walls for more than a single chair to fit. Which suited Neil perfectly. He had no desire to speak to anyone or invite conversation of any kind.
He needed to think. But given the pounding in his head and the noise of the room, even being alone would not be enough to clear his mind. After his belly was full, Neil followed the innkeeper up two narrow flights of stairs and down a long corridor with a low ceiling. The room he had paid for was smaller than the closet he dressed in at his father’s townhouse. But he locked the door behind him and fell onto the mattress without complaint.
The noise from the downstairs room did not filter up, but the sound of the rain pounding against the roof above remained steady.
“What am I going to do?” Neil groaned, turning himself over to stare at the rafters. No one would take him in. And there was no telling when his father would allow him back.
Reforming Lord Neil: A Regency Romance, Inglewood Book 5 Page 5