Tavern Wench

by Anne Ashley

  Eventually he came to one written in an elegantly sloping hand which he did not immediately recognise, and which informed him of the surprising news that Richard Ashworth, now convalescing at the Hammonds’ home, had become engaged to the daughter of the house.

  He read Lavinia’s interesting missive, dated two weeks ago, a second time, paying particular attention to the very revealing postscript: I understand from several sources that your sister paid a visit to the Ashworth Arms recently, but as I have seen so little of Emma of late, the poor child having been unwell and keeping to her room for much of the time, I have been unable to discover what could possibly have induced Agnes to pay an impromptu visit. I sincerely trust nothing untoward has occurred. No doubt it might prove interesting to unearth the purpose of her visit, because she certainly did not come to see me.

  Benedict smiled to himself. Lavinia knew all right. She would have guessed at once just what Agnes had been up to, and had done her level best to rouse his curiosity and spur him into action. He needed no further prompting.

  Reaching out a hand, he gave the bell pull on the wall behind him a sharp tug, and a few moments later Fingle entered, his eyes brightening at sight of his master seated behind the desk, looking so businesslike.

  ‘You require something, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve suddenly discovered I’m famished. Ask Cook to send up some food on a tray. Nothing fancy, you understand—a cold collation will serve.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Will there be anything else?’

  ‘Yes.’ Benedict frowned slightly as he clearly detected the sound of several bangs and grunts. ‘What’s that confounded din taking place in the hall?’

  ‘It is the carrier, sir, this moment arrived with the chaise-longue you ordered for the boudoir during your brief trip to London a month ago. There are also several boxes. I believe they have been despatched from the same Bond Street modiste who sent those other parcels which arrived last week.’ A muscle twitched at one corner of Fingle’s mouth. ‘Do you wish me to dispose of them in a similar fashion to their—er—predecessors, sir?’

  A gleam of alarm flickered momentarily in violet eyes as memory stirred. ‘Would I be correct in thinking that I issued instructions for their contents to be burned on the kitchen range?’

  ‘You most certainly did, sir,’ was the solemn response.

  ‘Oh, Lord!’

  The mournful groan produced a further twitching smile. ‘Do not disturb yourself, sir. It was an order I quite happily ignored.’

  The bark of laughter which followed the admission was music to the butler’s ears. ‘Devil take you, Fingle! Where did you place them?’

  ‘Safely upstairs in one of the spare bedchambers, sir. Shall I now instruct one of the maids to consign them to their rightful place?’

  Smiling fondly across at his loyal retainer, Benedict shook his head. ‘You’re an old rogue, Fingle. I swear you know me better than I know myself… Yes, see to it at once. Oh, and Fingle,’ he added, checking the butler’s immediate departure, ‘send word to the stables to have the light travelling carriage ready at the door directly after breakfast in the morning. I shall be returning to Wiltshire.’

  ‘Mr Grantley, sir, rest assured that that is an order I shall not fail to carry out!’

  Having made excellent time, Benedict arrived at Ashworth Magna shortly before noon the following day. It had been his intention to go directly to the Ashworth Arms to see Emma. However, in view of the fact that Deborah and Richard had recently become betrothed, and that it would be unlikely that he would see them again for some considerable time, he decided to call at the Hammonds’ house first in order to offer his congratulations.

  After giving the highly polished brass door-knocker several short, sharp raps, and receiving no response to his summons, he walked round to the back of the house, where he well expected to find Lavinia, as she so often was, happily working in her garden. Instead he discovered Richard, quite alone, sitting beneath one of the trees that offered pleasant shade from the noonday sun’s strong rays.

  Detecting the sound of the footfall Richard turned his head, his expression a strange mixture of ruefulness and delight. ‘Ah, Grantley! You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up?’

  Benedict focused his attention on the right foot resting on the stool. His brow rose. ‘It would appear you have been in the wars again?’

  ‘It’s this dratted country of yours!’ his lordship retorted, sounding thoroughly nettled. ‘It’s been one thing after another since I arrived here.’ A further rueful grin flickered. ‘Still, I’ve only myself to blame for this, I suppose. I was warned not to overtire myself by the old sawbones, but I didn’t listen. Decided to take myself off for a ride the other morning, came over dizzy and ended up on the ground.’ He shrugged. ‘Could have been worse, I suppose. The ankle’s only sprained. I’ll be up and about again in a few days.’

  He gestured towards the chair next to his own. ‘Er—won’t you sit down? Deborah and her mother shouldn’t be too long. They’re paying a call on a neighbour.’

  Accepting the offer, Benedict regarded the younger man in silence for a moment. ‘I understand congratulations are in order?’

  Richard appeared startled, as though he’d been locked in a world of his own. ‘Oh, you’ve obviously received Lavinia’s letter, then. We’re not announcing the betrothal officially until the autumn, when Lavinia intends to hold a party in London.’

  Benedict slanted a mocking glance. ‘A trifle sudden, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Not really.’ Richard responded, after giving the matter a moment’s consideration. ‘How long does it take to fall in love? I wouldn’t have supposed time had much to do with it.’

  ‘True,’ Benedict agreed. ‘But you, my dear sir, appear to make a habit of doing so.’

  Subjecting Benedict to a searching glance, Richard wasn’t slow to detect the flicker of amusement in those striking eyes, and relaxed visibly. ‘I know you don’t mean that. You must have guessed the truth by now…else why are you here? You have paid a visit to your sister, I assume?’

  ‘No, but she called to see me,’ Benedict enlightened him, before he detected the faint squeal of delight, and turned to see Deborah hurrying across the grass towards him, and her mother following at a more sedate pace.

  ‘Oh, sir. You have come at last!’

  Rising to his feet, Benedict captured the outstretched little hands, holding them for a moment in his own. ‘Yes, my dear. I wished to offer you my heartfelt congratulations in person.’

  ‘But, surely…?’ Crestfallen, Deborah stared up at him, for all the world like a child who had just been deprived of its favourite toy. ‘Didn’t you come to see Emma?’

  ‘Of course he’s come to see her,’ Richard put in, before Lavinia joined them, and sent her daughter’s hopes plummeting again, when she said, ‘You are missing the point, my children. It’s whether she will agree to see Benedict.’ Lavinia turned to the gentleman in question, holding out her hand in greeting. ‘How are you, sir? You evidently received my letter.’

  He nodded as he released her hand. ‘It was my sister’s visit yesterday which made me realise the truth at last. Your letter, which I read shortly after she had left, merely confirmed my suspicions.’

  ‘Oh, I could shake Agnes!’ Lavinia sounded as though she truly meant it too. ‘Why must she interfere?’

  ‘I rather suspect she’ll think twice before doing so again, at least in my affairs.’ The crooked half-smile faded from his lips as he gazed at Lavinia rather thoughtfully. ‘Why do you suppose Emma will refuse to see me?’

  ‘Because she can be as stubborn as a mule when the mood takes her,’ Deborah answered, sounding cross. ‘She made us all promise never to tell you the truth about what happened that day. It was only after Richard and I decided that we should like to marry that I managed to persuade Mama to write to you.’

  ‘And even then I felt obliged not to divulge too much,’ Lavinia admitted. ‘Yet we’ve all been so wo
rried. Both Samuel and Martha are so very concerned about her, and I felt certain that such an intelligent man as yourself couldn’t fail to realise at once that something was very wrong.’

  ‘You give me too much credit, Lavinia. My common sense deserted me completely during these past weeks, otherwise I might have guessed the truth long since.’ His lips twitched very slightly. ‘Though I must add in my defence that our young friend here gave a very convincing performance of the ardent lover.’

  ‘Dash it all!’ Richard protested. ‘That isn’t fair! She took me completely by surprise. She’d always behaved with the utmost propriety before.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Deborah put in, whilst casting her betrothed a decidedly disapproving look. ‘But you did not appear to be making the least attempt to resist her advances.’

  Richard moved uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Now, Debbie, you and I had not come to an understanding then… And Emma’s a dashed pretty female…and I’m only human… And I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I’m very fond of her.’

  Lavinia decided to come to her future son-in-law’s rescue, before he could dig himself into a deeper hole. ‘Stop teasing him, Deborah,’ she scolded, and then turned to Benedict. ‘Emma might agree to see you, sir. But whether or not you will manage to convince her that what Agnes told her was all nonsense is a different matter.’

  Richard, however, did not agree. ‘She’s bound to listen to reason eventually. She might be stubborn, but she isn’t stupid.’ He gave a start as an idea suddenly occurred to him. ‘I have it! Why not abduct her? Throw her over your saddle, and ride off with her.’

  Deborah clapped her hands in approval. ‘How excessively romantic!’

  ‘Excessively uncomfortable, I should say,’ Benedict countered, thereby igniting a mild look of reproach in brown, pansy eyes.

  ‘But, sir, Emma would be forced to listen to reason if you threatened not to return her to the inn until she’d heard what you had to say,’ Deborah felt obliged to point out, and had the satisfaction of seeing a thoughtful expression flit over his ruggedly masculine features.

  He regarded her in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Do you suppose you could go to the inn now, Deborah, and manage to have a quiet word with Samuel and Martha without Emma knowing? Ask them to come here.’

  Richard watched her disappear round the corner of the house, before returning his attention to Benedict. ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘With a slight variation to your original suggestion, I fully intend to take your advice, young man,’ was the surprising response.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taking down the large bowl from the shelf, Emma automatically began her daily bake of meat pies. The kitchen was oppressive, but she didn’t allow this to trouble her to any great extent. But then, she reflected, nothing seemed to worry her these days. It was almost as if she were becoming daily more desensitised, hardly aware of the sights and sounds around her. Why, it was only a moment or two ago, she silently reminded herself, that she had realised that both Samuel and Martha had at some point left her to her own devices.

  She shook her head, wondering at herself for being so unobservant. Things could not continue this way; that much was certain. She was determined to emerge from this almost zombie-like existence into which she had foolishly allowed herself to plummet in a vain attempt to lessen the pain. Needless to say it had not worked. The heartache never left her, and she had to face the fact that perhaps it never would. Striving to distance herself from those around her, however, was no answer. In fact, she was swiftly coming to the conclusion that the opposite action might turn out to be more beneficial. Keeping herself occupied, while at the same time not shunning the company of others, was perhaps the best way to prevent herself from relapsing into those frequent moods of utter despair.

  She could not prevent a tiny sigh escaping. Unfortunately at this time of year trade was slack, so keeping busy was not going to be very easy. Most of those privileged enough to enjoy the London Season had already returned to their homes in the country, or were now enjoying a stay in one of the more popular coastal towns, and until the Little Season began in the autumn there would not be too many travellers putting up at the Ashworth Arms.

  It was not all doom and gloom, she reminded herself, determined not to succumb to a further bout of despondency. There was a ray of hope beginning to glimmer on her life’s horizon. Lavinia’s invitation to live with her in Bath, repeated just the other day, was perhaps the best solution. Lavinia was determined not to remain in Ashworth Magna after Deborah was married, and was set on making a new life for herself in that once fashionable watering-place.

  Yes, a new environment was what she desperately needed too. Emma was firmly convinced of that now, for there was one thing of which she was daily becoming more convinced—she could not possibly continue to live here at the inn. The place was just too full of bittersweet memories.

  ‘Emma! Emma!’ Martha’s frantic shouts and sudden eruption into the kitchen put an end to the reverie. ‘Samuel has put his back out again, badly this time, and we’re completely out of liniment. Do be a dear and go to the apothecary in Salisbury. I shall finish the pies.’

  Emma automatically took off her apron, and was in the process of hanging it on the hook on the back of the door, when something occurred to her. ‘But should I not summon Dr Fielding first?’

  ‘No need to trouble the good doctor, dear. There isn’t much he can do. You know it’s just the liniment that manages to ease Sam a little.’

  Had Emma been more herself, she might have noticed that Martha appeared to be having the greatest difficulty in meeting her gaze. ‘Where is Samuel now?’

  ‘Er—with Farmer Potts. Do you not recall that, when he failed to find a suitable animal at the Andover Fair, he was seriously considering buying Potts’s mare? He was taking another look at her earlier when it—er—happened. Mr Potts is bringing Sam back in the cart. So you just pop upstairs and fetch your bonnet.’

  Emma didn’t hesitate to do as bidden, and returned to the kitchen a few minutes later to find it deserted. This didn’t occur to her as odd, for she naturally assumed that Martha was awaiting Sam’s arrival at the front of the inn in order to assist him up to their bedchamber, and swiftly decided that her time would be better spent in helping Josh to harness Peg to the gig.

  When the boy failed to appear in response to her calling, she walked across the yard and into the large barn where Peg was always stabled. She clearly heard the friendly gelding’s soft whinny of welcome, and then detected a further sound from somewhere off to her left. Before she could turn to investigate, her arms were grasped from behind, and a sack was ruthlessly pulled over her head, dislodging her bonnet and sending it toppling to the floor.

  Lethargy was definitely a thing of the past. Each of her senses was fully alert, frighteningly so, as she struggled in vain to prevent a gag from being slipped beneath the sack and fastened over her mouth, and her wrists from being secured behind her back. Only her legs remained unfettered, and she didn’t hesitate to put one to good use by kicking out with one well-shod foot. The satisfaction she gained from the muffled oath which swiftly followed her successfully making contact with one muscular calf was unfortunately short-lived, for a moment later she found herself giving vent to a stifled squeal, as she received a humiliating slap on the seat of her skirt, the force of which sent her toppling forward on to a pile of hay, where her ankles were deftly secured before her feet could inflict further injury.

  It might have been purely imagination, but Emma thought she could detect what sounded suspiciously like feminine chuckles, quickly suppressed, before she heard what was unmistakably a vehicle drawing to a halt in the cobbled yard. Fear gave way to puzzlement, and then indignation, as she was hauled back to her feet, thrown over one well-muscled shoulder and carried from the barn.

  The faint glimmer of hope that it just might have been Mr Potts bringing Sam back in his wagon was quickly dashed when she was bundled
on to a well-padded seat, left half-lying and propped in one corner. A whispered exchange quickly followed, the carriage rocked slightly as someone clambered inside, the door was slammed shut, and moments later the carriage rocked gently as it bowled at a cracking pace along the open road.

  Although her abductor never attempted to speak, she felt the grasp of strong fingers on her shoulder, steadying her, whenever they reached a sharp bend in the road. Emma considered this evident regard for her safety a little incongruous in the circumstances. Her bewilderment rapidly increased. Why should the villain who had abducted her be concerned that she did not tumble off the seat on to the floor? And why in heaven’s name had she been abducted in the first place?

  No logical explanation immediately sprang to mind. She was certainly not wealthy, so financial gain could hardly be the motive. She did not believe she had any enemies, so a thirst for revenge was unlikely to be the reason. Only one thing was clear—whoever her silent travelling companion was, he had certainly not carried out his outrageous kidnapping single-handedly. There had definitely been two men in that barn, she felt certain of that, and possibly a female as well… But who?

  Emma abandoned her puzzling reflections as the driver of the vehicle checked his speed. Had her captor reached his destination? she wondered, experiencing a resurgence of alarm when she detected the sound of the blinds being pulled down. A few moments later the vehicle turned and came to a stop, and her fears were quickly vanquished by the sounds of raised voices, the clatter of hooves and the jangle of harnesses. They had stopped merely to effect a change of horses. This was accomplished swiftly, and they were soon once again bowling along the open road.

  Presumably her abductor had some distance to travel, and was intent on reaching his journey’s end as quickly as possible. The speed at which they were moving suggested very strongly that a team of four horses was being used to pull the carriage, a carriage that was remarkably comfortable and well-sprung. No poor man could possibly afford such a turnout. Beneath the sack her brows met above the bridge of her nose. Now, who did she know wealthy enough to transport his captive in such fine style?