Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind

by Heidi Ashworth

  She cocked her head. “Do you always say just the right thing?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There. You did it again! I provoke you; you are polite. I compliment you; you are polite. I suppose if I were to drink myself silly at the Swan and Flute and dance on the table with my skirts over my head, you would still have that prim, polite smile plastered to your face”

  Sir Anthony broadened his smile. “I shall be sure to bespeak a private parlor in the case you feel such an urge.

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Does nothing ruffle you?”

  Sir Anthony considered. “My personal grievances are not meant for the ears of such as you” However, he could think them. Religious fanatics. Rose fanatics. Fanatics who flung reticules at the heads of unsuspecting gentlemen.

  “I suppose it would not be polite to mention them to, perhaps, a vicar’s daughter?”

  “That is correct. Even were you not, I would not deem it in good taste”

  “To whom could you mention them without risking a scratch on that fashionable veneer of good breeding?” She gave him a glittering smile.

  Sir Anthony’s, in return, was freezing. It was the same smile that had his tailor, bootmaker, and hatter on the run. “Have you something against good manners, Miss Delacourt?”

  “No. Against hypocritical, self-serving lords who always remember to say `please’ and `thank you’ when passing the butter boat, but who let the poor go cold, hungry, and ill clad, yes”

  Sir Anthony was taken aback. Surely she was painting him with the same brush as some of the more selfindulgent nobility littering London. He had every right to feel angry, but one could not scold the gently bred as one would a groom or a tailor. Besides, it was difficult to determine how she would respond to a tonguelashing. The tailor usually fled out the back door and did not benefit from it.

  With great effort he curbed his speech. He had learned long ago good breeding made up for many lacks. He would desert his personal code for nothing: not to earn another’s approval, not to save his own life, and certainly not for this slip of a girl who looked at him with such determination.

  With a rap of his cane to the roof of the carriage, Sir Anthony found the only safe response. “I shall inform the driver of your wish to stop at the next inn.”

  “Have you no reply to my rude words, sir?”

  Sir Anthony smiled with amusement. “Could it be you are purposely provoking me?” No answer. The woman could try the most placid man’s patience! Which he was not. Perhaps he should change tack. “Miss Delacourt. It is the duty of a gentleman to remain one, even in the face of his greatest challenge”

  Ginny left off her ministering to the sleeping Nan. “And what would you say presents you with the greatest challenge to your code of manners?” she asked with great interest.

  “A shrew, Miss Delacourt. I find I cannot abide a shrew.”

  Ginny’s eyes grew very wide. “Are you calling me a shrew, Sir Anthony?” She looked as if she would be glad to learn that was precisely his intention.

  “I would never do so, madam, for I am never rude.” At least, not out loud.

  She dropped her gaze to her lap. “No. I don’t suppose you are. There is something to be said for speaking one’s mind, however”

  Sir Anthony could make very little of that response and was glad when the carriage ground to a halt.

  “This can’t be the Swan and Flute!” Ginny exclaimed upon alighting. “I daresay Beelzebub himself wouldn’t set foot in the place”

  “Then we shan’t invite him in, shall we?”

  Ginny looked at him, her eyes rounded with surprise. “Why, that remark skated perilously close to sounding surly, sir.” She smiled, a delicious pink curving of the lips.

  “A regrettable oversight,” he said, biting back an answering smile. “Pray, forgive me.”

  Leaving the abigail in the care of the driver until a room could be procured, Sir Anthony offered Ginny his arm and they headed into what he suddenly recalled to be the most disreputable establishment in all the county.

  It was a good thing the girl had a sense of humor. She was going to need it.

  Ginny was wrong. The Swan and Flute was everything Beelzebub could wish. It was dirty, derelict, and dingy with the accumulated dregs of society: regulars who never left, who hadn’t moved in about twenty years, from the looks of them.

  Every corner of the room seemed to sport a leering, toothless smile fixed to the pasty faces of ne’er-dowells, knaves, thieves, and murderers. Ill at ease, Ginny picked her way among overturned chairs and puddles awash with something foul. She fixed her gaze to the center of Sir Anthony’s well-dressed back. It was too disconcerting to look into the overbright eyes of the locals.

  One of them waved his tankard at her. “Hey, missy, you can do better than that bit o’ blood.” He winked and passed out, spilling his ale in a great puddle on the floor. A filthy dog appeared from nowhere and lapped it up. With an ecstatic wave of his tail, he disappeared into the muck from which he had come.

  Ginny shuddered. How could she take tea in such an establishment? Why, the odor of the place was enough to make one gag.

  Sir Anthony must have sensed something of her thoughts, for he stopped and subjected her to close scrutiny. “Is something wrong? You look a trifle pale”

  “Do I? Sir Anthony, does this place not seem to be all that it should?”

  Sir Anthony looked about him with some surprise. “It looks precisely the way such establishments do. Oh, perhaps this one is a bit worse than some, though it is a sight better than others I’ve seen”

  “You’ve seen worse? Than this?” Ginny could not believe it was so. She sensed he was once again glossing over the truth.

  Perhaps that was why he took her hand. “If you are frightened, we could leave. We should be to Bedford in another few hours or so”

  “Oh, no,” she protested. “I am persuaded it would be best to secure the opinion of a physician for Nan first” She felt braver with his strong fingers curling about her own.

  “Yes, of course, the suffering Nan. The proprietor can tell us the whereabouts of the closest physician.” Sir Anthony tightened his grip on Ginny’s fingers, drew her to the bar of the taproom, and rang the bell.

  An enormous woman, her filth-encrusted apron woefully insufficient for her girth, answered the summons. “Well, what d’ we ‘ave ‘ere?” she demanded, rolling her wandering eye at Ginny in scornful amusement. “Come ‘ave a lookee ‘ere, ‘usband, at the fine-lookin’ swells”

  Ginny edged closer to Sir Anthony. She was aware of how she gripped his hand and was suddenly mortified. She hoped the physician would come with all speed. The sooner she left this godforsaken place for the safety of the carriage, the better.

  Sir Anthony gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled, his eyes nearly sparkling. “It looks as if we are to be waited on by Tubbins himself.”

  “Most reassuring,” Ginny mumbled. At least Tubbins couldn’t be any worse than his wife. Not unless he bathed in dirt, was the size of a horse, and both eyes wandered.

  Tubbins proved to be as short as his wife was tall. He appeared to be possessed of two ordinary eyes, though this was difficult to determine beneath his thick brows and forbidding expression. He said nothing, only stared at them with those frightening orbs.

  Ginny considered screaming, but who would be her rescuer? Everyone at the Swan and Flute, including Sir Anthony, seemed to think this place was perfectly acceptable. And, of course, there was Nan. Something needed to be done about her and time was wasting.

  “Excuse me, sir, but is there a physician to be had in this town?”

  Tubbins gave no response.

  “The man is quite deaf,” Sir Anthony said, then shouted, “Tubbins, we are in need of a physician. Is there one hereabouts?”

  “There be one in Bedford, I ‘spect. Will you be ‘avin’ a drink, Sir Anthony?”

  “Bedford!” Ginny exclaimed. “That is our destinatio
n! We might as well continue on home to Dunsmere rather than wait here for him to come to us”

  “In either case, we should take some refreshment. The brandy here is among the best I’ve tasted”

  Ginny pulled her hand free. “I don’t drink, sir.” How could he discuss alcohol when her Nan was so ill?

  Mrs. Tubbins ambled forward, wiping a glass with the corner of her apron. “You know whats they says,” she whispered, one eye staring straight ahead and the other aimed at the hearth yonder. “Look to the wall, me darlin’” Well, she certainly had that covered.

  “Well then, what shall it be, Miss Delacourt? Do we press on, or are you hungry?”

  Ginny realized she was famished. “We are like to miss supper at the rate we’re going. Perhaps we should take some tea and make Nan comfortable in bed for a spell.” If there was such thing as a comfortable bed in this establishment. She tried not to think about the food.

  “Very well. Tubbins!” Sir Anthony bellowed. “We will be needing a private parlor for our tea and a bed for the lady’s abigail. Oh, and see to my horses” He flipped a guinea into a crock on the counter and turned to Ginny. “Will you be all right while I fetch Nan?”

  “Yes, I think so. I shall wait for you in the parlor.”

  Mrs. Tubbins appeared with a tea tray and led Ginny into a small chamber off the taproom. She put the tray on the table with a clank. “I’ll be back with some food”

  Only after Ginny had closed the door on Mrs. Tubbins did she feel some relief. Sir Anthony would return in a moment, and she would feel even better after she had eaten something. She noticed Mrs. Tubbins hadn’t bothered to ask what she wanted for her supper. Ginny was so hungry, it didn’t matter. Plain bread and water sounded like ambrosia at this point.

  She had drunk a mere cup of tea before Mrs. Tubbins made her laborious way into the room with a tray loaded with platters of food, each with its own fragrant curl of steam rising into the air. She spread the food out on the table with clean hands, Ginny was gratified to notice, and left the room. Now, if only Sir Anthony would come, she could see herself clear to making short work of the lot. The food was so inviting and her stomach so noisy.

  Just when she thought she could wait no longer, the door finally opened. Only it wasn’t Sir Anthony. It was two men, one short and ugly, the other tall, thin, and uglier.

  “This parlor is spoken for,” Ginny hastened to tell them.

  “Not right for a pretty lady like you to be here all alone, now is it, Seb?” the first man said.

  Seb shook his head. “Nope. Sure aren’t, Dobbs”

  “I’m not alone. Sir Anthony Crenshaw is merely out attending to his horses. He will be along any moment” She treated the two of them to what she hoped was a scathing glance. “He will be very angry if he finds you here.” What was she saying? He was far more likely to invite them in to take tea. It would be the polite thing to do.

  “Sir Anthony Crenshaw.” The short one mused, licking his lips. “Would that be the mort what drives that pretty black carriage?”

  “Why, yes, as do any number of gentlemen. It is my aunt’s carriage, actually, and … oh! I don’t see how this is of any of your concern. It would be best if you were to leave”

  “I hadn’t known you were expecting guests, my dear.” Her heart leaped at the sound of the familiar voice.

  “Sir Anthony!” Ginny jumped up and ran to his side. Grandaunt Regina would deem it an action unbecoming of her grandniece, but Ginny thought it prudent under the circumstances. As Sir Anthony placed himself between her and their unwanted guests, she thought perhaps he agreed.

  “Be assured, Miss Delacourt, our friends here were just leaving, were you not?” Sir Anthony gazed steadily at the so-called Seb and Dobbs, a picture of easy calm.

  “Come along, now, Seb,” Dobbs declared, “we’d not be wanting to disturb the gentleman’s tea, now would we?”

  Seb nodded, a wicked grin splitting his mouth. “Sorry we be intrudin’ on your afternoon pleasures, wot here in this private parlor and all”

  Ginny’s cheeks grew warm. How dared they implyShe returned to her chair, humiliated.

  When the two left, punctuating their bawdy laughter with slaps to each other’s backs, she almost wished they had stayed. She didn’t relish the thought of sharing tea and conversation with Sir Anthony after their remarks. Alone. In a private parlor. Without Nan to lend them countenance, it looked for all the world like an elopement, or worse.

  Sir Anthony closed the door with calm deliberation and turned to Ginny. She was startled by the cold light in his eyes. “Your tea will be growing tepid,” he said, taking a seat.

  “It wasn’t better than tepid when it arrived.” Like Sir Anthony at his best. Most likely it was now stone cold. “You are not angry with me?”

  “Why? Because of those two? Not unless you invited them in.”

  He sounded sure she would do no such thing, but the look in his steely gaze implied she might.

  “Whyever in the world would I desire the company of those two?” Ginny exclaimed.

  “Did I say that you had?” Sir Anthony asked in surprise. “I do beg pardon”

  “No, but you looked it.”

  “Come to think on it,” he replied with exaggerated nonchalance. “I seem to recall Grandmama telling me how she came down to dinner one fine day to find she had unexpected guests. A traveling tinker and a trio of carolers, I believe.”

  “That was a very long time ago” Ginny felt a rush of humiliation at his quizzical smile. “I don’t suppose she told you it was Christmas and excessively cold that night? Besides, Mr. Simms and the Varleys were much more respectable than those two”

  “No doubt you learned your lesson after the tonguelashing Grandmama must have given you.” Sir Anthony picked up his knife and buttered a piece of bread.

  “Grandaunt is always kind to me, even when correcting my behavior,” Ginny explained.

  Sir Anthony, a bite of bread in his mouth, swallowed. Hard. “You mean to say, she didn’t comb your hair with a footstool for it?”

  “Of course not! Grandaunt Regina is a lady”

  “She must have become one sometime recently, then. It can’t have been that long since she last gave me a thrashing for some offense or another,” he mused. “More to the point, I am the one who should be doing the scolding. If you didn’t invite our friends in out of charity, perhaps you did it out of spite.”

  “Spite? Me? What reason could I have for that?”

  “I recall having said something about not inviting Beelzebub to dine with us. You thought it surly of me.”

  “Did I? How ungenerous of me,” Ginny said, smiling. “Well, it seems that you have done just the opposite. Invited me to eat with Beelzebub. This place would most likely suit him very well, indeed,” she murmured as she glanced around the room.

  Sir Anthony had to admit she had the right of it. This room was not too bad, but the taproom and the clientele-well, he should never have brought her here. He had thought it a great lark to ruffle her self-righteous sensibilities, but he hadn’t remembered the Swan and Flute to be quite so ramshackle a place until it was too late.

  “Shall we consign Seb and Dobbs to the devil, then, and be off?” Sir Anthony asked when they had finished eating.

  “Yes !” Ginny placed her napkin on the table. “I will just check on Nan and see if she feels up to leaving.”

  “Very good. And I will request our transport stand ready.” Sir Anthony rose from his place at the table and bowed.

  The warmth of her smile stunned him in return. “Thank you for supper,” she said. “Whenever I think of the Swan and Flute, I shall remember how delicious the food is here.”

  “That is most generous of you” Indeed, it was excessive. The food was barely edible. And that was the best anyone could say about the Swan and Flute. Perhaps she was learning it wasn’t always best to tell the exact truth. Then again, she could be agonizingly charitable. He hoped she resisted the impulse long e
nough to get to Bedford. He could just imagine her wishing to take up every stray dog or sniffly-nosed child from here to Dunsmere.

  “I believe it is you who are being generous,” she replied, extending her hand. “I haven’t thanked you for being of such service to myself and poor Nan”

  Sir Anthony pressed her hand, noting how tiny and delicate it felt in his own before releasing it. He watched her leave the room and, with a brave tilt to her chin, make her way through all manner of rabble to the stairs. He hoped she thought to lock the door to Nan’s chamber until he sent word that the carriage was waiting, and repressed an urge to run after her. After all, he was her escort for the day, not her beau, and he mustn’t forget his resolve to distance himself from his grandmother’s plan to see him wed.

  Out in the yard twenty minutes later, the carriage had still not arrived. When an ostler hurried by, Sir Anthony caught him by the scruff of the neck. “Where is my carriage?”

  No response. Sir Anthony peered into the pinched face topped with a thatch of straw-colored hair. Why, the boy was trembling and would not meet his eye. Surely his simple request could not have inspired such fear in the fellow. What was about?

  He let the ostler go and returned to the taproom. “Tubbins! Where is my carriage?”

  “It be gone, Sir Anthony” Mrs. Tubbins stood at the counter, drying glasses with her grimy apron.

  “I think you must be mistaken. I had it ordered out and it has not yet arrived. I believe that boy you have is minus a hinge in the attic.”

  “T’ain’t there. Had it of the boy hisself. A pair o’ bridle culls hopped on’t and took off down the road”

  “Since when are highwaymen in the business of carriage snatching?” Sir Anthony demanded.

  “Since one landed on’t their front door.” Mrs. Tubbins shrugged. “A body’s got to earn a livin’ somehows”

  Reminding himself it did no good to shout, he asked, “How long have they been gone?”

  “Couldn’t say for sure. Maybe ten minutes or so”

  Sir Anthony flew out the door in three great strides and ran into the yard. How could he have missed them? He hastened around to the stables to investigate. Sure enough, there was evidence of fresh wheel marks going toward the main road in the opposite direction from the yard. Apparently, no one had the gall to face him, for the place was deserted. A quick look into the horse stalls re vealed no hired hand or cowering thief, only a team of ancient work nags. And even they looked nervous.