Reckless Angel

by Jane Feather

  Henrietta had been to London but once before, at the very beginning of this adventure when she had left home in the carrier’s wagon and joined Will at his lodgings close by Gray’s Inn. She had found the city frenzy exciting then, and not even the foul stench of horse dung, rotting offal and vegetables, and all the rest of the filth steaming in the kennels, could detract from her pleasure. She gazed around at the jostling crowds, her ears deafened by the shouts, the ringing bells of street vendors as they cried their wares, screams and yells emanating from dark alleys. It was evening, and the night flashed with torches and lanterns carried through the press. The horses were obliged to keep to a slow walk because of the crowds; small children dodged between hoofs and under bellies, scrabbling in the cobbles in search of scraps and the abandoned treasures of the gutter.

  Sir Daniel seemed to know where he was going, a fact that impressed Henrietta mightily since she could not imagine ever being familiar with this bewildering maze and hubbub. They rode through one of London’s seven gates with its two square towers on either side, entering the borough of Aldersgate. Daniel turned his horse down a narrow cobbled alley and reigned in outside a pretty thatched inn with whitewashed walls.

  The sign of the Red Lion creaked in the evening breeze. An ostler ran out to take their horses. “Come, Meg Bolt,” Daniel said with a smile, helping her to dismount, “if y’are as sharp set as I am, ye’ll be glad of your supper.”

  “How long are we to stay here?” Henrietta asked, looking up at the inn. There was a tremor in her voice as she asked the question that implicitly carried another. What was to happen to her now?

  If Daniel heard the tremor, he gave no sign. “Until we have decided what to do next,” he responded matter-of-factly. “There’s none who’ll question us while we stay here. ’Tis only on the road that danger lies, so we may reassume our accustomed identities, I think.”

  “But must you not go home to see how your children are faring?” Henrietta asked, unaware that her hands were curled into tight fists and only her gloves prevented her nails from digging into her palms.

  There was a strange look in the eyes he bent upon her, as if he found it necessary to weigh his response. “Aye,” he said slowly. “I must, as I must discover what penalties Parliament will decide to impose upon me as a Malignant.”

  “If ’tis not known ye fought at Preston, then perchance they will not sequester your lands,” Will broke in.

  Daniel seemed to shake himself free of a reverie at this interruption. Slowly, his gaze left Henrietta’s upturned face. “I live in hope, Will. Let us go in. Tom will see that the horses are cared for.”

  Mine host, with much bowing and scraping, was pleased to provide two bedchambers for his guests, the men sharing one as they had been accustomed to do throughout their journey. Sir Daniel’s niece, Mistress Ashby, was shown a small chamber across the hall with the assurance that, unless the inn filled unexpectedly with guests, she would have no bedfellow.

  “If ye’d wish for a privy parlor, sir, I’ve a nice, airy room along the passage,” the landlord said, beaming. “My good woman will be pleased to provide a tasty supper for ye, and I’ve a fine burgundy.”

  “Aye, that will do nicely,” Daniel said. “We will sup in half an hour.”

  “Shall I send a wench to help the young lady with ’er tiring, sir?”

  Daniel glanced at Henrietta, who was unusually silent, her face set. “Yes, do so by all means,” he said. “I would have a privy word with Mistress Ashby first.” Taking her elbow, he eased her into the chamber allotted her. The door clicked shut behind them.

  “Harry,” he said quietly, “I would have your promise that you will not leave this place without telling me first.”

  She studied a knot of wood in the broad oak boards at her feet. “But I believe we have come to the parting of our ways, Sir Daniel.”

  “Aye, I rather thought your mind was running upon those lines,” he said a little grimly. “Well, it will not do, my child. Ye cannot coerce poor Will into taking responsibility for you. He is barely able to take responsibility for himself. You have no monies of your own—”

  “But I am strong. I can work,” she declared, raising her eyes to meet his directly. “If Will refuses to wed me and I cannot find employment as a governess, then I will be a servant.”

  “Sleeping on straw in some kitchen, I suppose. Do not be foolish.”

  “I will not go home,” she said fiercely. “There is nothing ye can say or do to make me.”

  Daniel tapped his chin thoughtfully with a long forefinger, wondering whether now was the time to tell her that when they passed through Reading the previous day he had dispatched a letter to Sir Gerald Ashby of Thame, telling him that he would find his daughter, safe and unmolested, at the sign of the Red Lion in the borough of Aldersgate. He had agonized long and hard over the decision, eventually deciding that an honorable man, the father of daughters himself, had no choice. He still intended to keep his promise that he would permit no hurt to come to her, but her future must be decided in proper fashion in consultation with her father. He had a suggestion for her future, but how he presented it would depend upon his assessment of Sir Gerald. He had no reason to believe that the man was more than a very severe parent, but he could not know until he met him. Perhaps now was not the moment to enter such a discussion with Henrietta.

  “Trust me,” he said instead. “Give me your word that there will be no further flights.”

  Henrietta walked to the small mullioned window, which looked out onto a garden of hollyhocks and delphiniums, a mulberry tree in the middle. What choice did she have but to trust him for the moment? What reason did she have to mistrust him? If the truth were told, finding herself without resources was quite terrifying. She felt as if she had an empty space inside her, a hollow void, where before she had been filled with energy and plans, never at a loss, smoothly adapting to circumstances. But matters had taken a turn that she had not envisaged when she set off so blithely in the back of the carrier’s wagon all those weeks ago. She had been so certain that Will would require only a little forceful persuasion to elope, but he was proving most amazingly intransigent. Mayhap, now that they were back in London and the war was over, she could work upon him a little more.

  “I cannot remain a charge upon your purse for much longer, Sir Daniel,” she said gruffly. “You have been kindness itself, but—”

  “Oh, Harry, such nonsense!” he exclaimed. “If it had not been for you, I would probably have been languishing in a Roundhead prison by now. On that score we are even.”

  Color crept into her cheeks and she smiled at him. “’Tis kind in ye to say so, sir.”

  “’Tis but the truth.” He took a step toward her, touching her cheek with his finger. “Come now, give me your word.”

  His caressing finger, the warmth in his black eyes, the gentle amusement in the depths of his voice, had the strangest effect. She felt as if she had nothing in the world to fear. “I promise,” she said.

  “That’s my elf.” He brushed her forehead with his lips—the lightest touch, yet it seemed to sear her skin like the flame of a candle. “Wash the dust of the road from your face and hands and come for your supper.”

  The door closed on his departure and Henrietta remained standing at the window. He had spoken to her in the manner of guardian to ward, but he had touched her in another manner altogether, and his eyes said something quite unfathomable. It was a great puzzle, almost as great as the curious stirrings, the restless confusion that assailed her when she tried to work out the puzzle.

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a red-cheeked wench with a copper jug of water and cheerful chatter that sent mysteries and fancies scuttling. It was a washed, brushed, and composed Mistress Ashby who presented herself in the parlor, where awaited a dish of salmon with fresh boiled peas in butter, a salad of artichoke hearts, and a plate of cheese tartlets.

  “Ah, there y’are,” Will said thankfully. “We have been wa
iting this age for ye. We’re all like to starve.”

  Daniel gestured to a stool at the oak table. “Take your place, child. Will does not exaggerate.” He poured burgundy into a pewter cup for her before sitting at the head of the table.

  “Where’s Tom?” She sipped the wine gratefully, then helped herself to salmon.

  “He said he would feel easier in the taproom,” Daniel told her. “Private parlors are for gentle folk.”

  “If Harry is to become a servant to earn her bread, she’ll have need to accustom herself to the taproom. Why d’ye not ask mine host if he has need of a serving wench, Harry?” Will chuckled as if he had made some witticism.

  Henrietta flushed angrily. Will was behaving as if her situation was in some sort a jest. “Y’are no gentleman, Will Osbert,” she accused. “To promise marriage and then renege is the act of a scoundrel!”

  “I never made such a promise!” A scarlet tide mounted to the roots of his bright red hair. “’Tis you who decided these matters and—”

  “Peace!” Daniel thundered. “I am not prepared to have my supper curdle in my belly with the acid wranglings of a pair of hot-tempered children. I have endured enough of it these last weeks.”

  “I beg your pardon, Sir Daniel,” Will said, stiff with wounded pride. “I will be leaving you in the morning. I realize I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough, but I will apply to my father for the funds to repay you.”

  Henrietta giggled with lamentable lack of tact. “You do sound ridiculous, Will. All starchy and stiff-necked like a turkey cock.”

  Will began to gobble like the bird in question and Daniel fixed Henrietta with a stern eye, inquiring gently, “Do you prefer to eat your supper in your chamber?”

  Henrietta shook her head vigorously, although her eyes were still dancing. She returned her attention to her platter, but after a few minutes her gaze skimmed across the table toward Will. He looked up and his lip quivered responsively.

  “Y’are not in the least like a turkey cock,” Henrietta said. “But y’are not really leaving in the morning, are you?”

  Will shuffled uncomfortably on his stool. “I must go home, Harry. My family will not know whether I lived through the battle. You know how my mother is. She will be beside herself.”

  “Aye.” The laughter had left her now. “’Tis not right that she should be allowed to worry. Could ye not send a message, though?”

  There was an awkward silence. Daniel continued with his supper, withdrawing from a conversation that he suspected was about to make explicit a fact that Henrietta and her reluctant swain had tried to avoid.

  “But there’s nothing to keep me here.” Will managed to get the words of truth out eventually. “If ye will return with me, Harry, I will enlist my parents to speak for you. My mother does not hold with the way Lady Mary has treated you, and she is not in favor of your marriage to Sir Reginald. She will be your advocate.”

  Henrietta said nothing. Tears blinded her for a minute and she kept her eyes on her platter until she was sure she had overcome them. “Your mother has always been kind to me, Will, but I fear I have need of a more powerful advocate in this instance.” She raised her eyes and smiled. It was a brave effort that deceived neither of her companions. “I did not mean to plague ye, Will. If ye truly do not wish to wed with me, then there’s no more to be said. I had thought ’twas just our parents that stood in the way. But I will shift for myself now.”

  Instinctively, Will looked at Sir Daniel, who moved one finger in a near-imperceptible movement that nevertheless made clear to the young man that he need take no more upon his shoulders.

  “More wine, Henrietta?” Daniel refilled her glass. “If you care to, we will visit the lions at the Exchange tomorrow.”

  “I think I should like that.” She sipped her wine. “But I should like of all things to lie abed in the morning. ’Twill be such slothful luxury. No journeying to make, no duties to perform.”

  “I had not thought ye a slugabed,” said Daniel, laughing. “But if you wish it, then it shall be so. I’ve some commissions to execute in the city in the forenoon. I will return for dinner, and then we shall go out upon the town.”

  “A pleasing plan, sir. When will you leave, Will?” Her voice was quite steady, her expression composed. They could guess, but only Henrietta could know the wasteland as she faced the loss of the last tenuous strand of hope. Will was to have been her salvation. It was not to be, so she must rely upon herself. With the knowledge came a renewal of strength. False hopes drained one of strength, she decided, helping herself to a cheese tartlet. They diverted the attention. From now on, she would deal with reality.

  “Mayhap I will visit the Exchange with ye,” Will said, boyishly eager once more. “I’ve not seen the lions and ’tis said they’re a marvel to behold. Brought all the way from the Africas. I could leave for Oxfordshire the following day.”

  “Then you may bear Henrietta company in the morning,” Daniel said easily. “Once she has decided to smile upon the day.”

  “I shall frown until at least ten of the clock,” declared Henrietta, entering the spirit of the discussion.

  “To ensure that it is no later, I suggest you stand not upon the order of your retiring.” Daniel rose and lit a small candle waiting on the oak sideboard. “Y’are weary, child. Sleep well.”

  She took the candle, waited for a second for a salute that seemed appropriate, but when it did not come and she received only a smile, she bade them both good night and left the parlor.

  The damned animal wasn’t up to his weight, Sir Gerald Ashby reflected for the tenth time in the last hour. He should never have bought from Wetherby. The man was no judge of horseflesh. Sir Gerald’s spurs dug cruelly into his mount’s lathered, heaving flanks and saliva frothed around the curb bit as the horse struggled to respond.

  Sir Gerald cast his choleric eye around the London streets. He couldn’t abide the city. Oxford was bad enough, but the capital was a foul-smelling den of thieves. And who the devil was this Daniel Drummond, Baronet, who had the disgraced Henrietta in charge? The letter had been civil enough, well penned, but uninformative as to the circumstances. If Sir Gerald had had his way, he would have consigned his whore of a daughter to outer darkness. But Lady Mary would have it that the girl could be corrected, and if she did not breed a bastard in nine months’ time, mayhap Sir Reginald could be persuaded of her innocence. A tale could be told of a visit to relatives, and if the little harlot could be brought to a dutiful manner, all need not be lost. A spoiled maidenhead could be disguised on the wedding night…as long as there was no bastard. The Osberts would have it that Will had no part in Henrietta’s disappearance, but Sir Gerald and Lady Mary knew better. Henrietta had been set on wedding with the lad these last two years and neither words nor whipping had had the least effect on her resolve. But if they’d been fools enough to elope, that could be easily dealt with. No court in the land would uphold a marriage between two minors against the wishes of the parents. Nay, ’twas only a bastard they need worry about.

  A small boy ran into the lane in front of him and his horse shied, abruptly shattering these reflections. Sir Gerald cursed vilely and lashed the animal’s underbelly with his whip. The horse screamed, reared, and one hoof caught the lad on the arm. The child went down to the cobbles amidst a great sound and fury as passersby surrounded him, yelling abuse at the rider who was too busy trying to control his now frantic mount to take any notice.

  Laying about him with his heavy whip, Sir Gerald Ashby managed to extricate himself from the tumult and set his horse to the gallop over the uneven cobbles. The wretched animal stumbled but by some miracle managed to keep his footing as they passed through Alder’s Gate.

  “Hey, you…you!” Sir Gerald bellowed at a woman standing in a doorway, a child in her arms, two others clinging to her skirts. “Where lies the Red Lion in these parts?”

  “My lad’ll show ye, sir,” the woman said, pushing one of the children, a mite no more
than four years old. “Sam ’ere’ll show ye, yer honor.”

  The child ventured forth into the lane, then scampered ahead of the horse, turning down a narrow alley, coming to a halt outside the thatched inn. He pointed but said not a word. As Sir Gerald dismounted, the lad mutely held out his hand, his eyes dull in the dirty face. Sir Gerald cursed him, but tossed a farthing to the mired cobbles before striding into the inn, leaving his horse to the attentions of an ostler, who muttered in disgust at the animal’s condition and the bloody weal on its belly.

  Henrietta was in the privy parlor with Will, playing backgammon while they waited for Sir Daniel’s return. They both heard the unmistakable tones bellowing from the hall. The board fell to the floor, the draughtsmen scattered, as Henrietta leaped to her feet. Her face was gray as she turned to face the door, one hand to her mouth. How could he have discovered her? Only one person could have betrayed her, and it was the knowledge of that betrayal as much as fear of her father that brought black spots dancing before her eyes and set her heart to pounding so violently she thought she would swoon.

  The door crashed back against the wall. Sir Gerald Ashby filled the doorway, every corpulent inch of him expressive of a venomous rage that the two within both knew he would make no attempt to control. “Whore!” The one word blistered in the sun-filled chamber. The door shivered on its hinges as he kicked it shut. “And your whoreson lover! Ye pair of fornicators.”