She’d sown the rest of her unexpected good fortune into the bandage that bound her breasts. The hard coins chafed a bit, but it was a good feeling. It reminded her that she wasn’t entirely destitute. That she hadchoices. And the first one had been to get as far away from her foster parents as possible. She didn’t have a particular destination in mind, although she guessed she’d be more likely to find work if she headed to another town and the nearest one to Exeter was Plymouth. She’d heard lots of stories about the bustling port, and as it was the only other place she’d ever heard of, she reasoned she could do worse. At any rate, even if the Grimms came looking for her, they were unlikely to be successful in such a large town. Not that she thought they’d bother.
The swaying of the carriage lulled her into a light doze. Hoping to save coin, she’d opted for a seat on the top of the carriage. It wasn’t cold, especially as she was squashed right in the middle. Faced with the choice of a mealy-mouthed stick of a woman and a large gentleman smelling of mothballs, George allowed her head to loll towards a large gentleman reasoning he was more likely to prevent her falling off. The stink of mothballs went up her nose, and she guessed the coat he was wearing didn’t come out of the wardrobe very often. As she drifted into slumber, she wondered what it would be like to have her ownwardrobe. Or even anywhere at all to hang her clothes. Not that she’d ever owned any until now…
A sudden jolt caused her to wake with a start. Drool was tracing a path from the corner of her mouth, and she eyed her neighbour’s coat with alarm, breathing a sigh of relief that there was only the slightest bit of dribble on his shoulder. Furtively wiping at her chin with her arm she suddenly realised that the carriage stopped. Along with the other travellers she leaned towards the edge to see why.
She watched as the coach driver climbed down off his box and went to throw open the door. ‘Ye’d better all be gettin’ off,’ he advised in a gruff voice. ‘We ain’t goin nowhere further tonight, and I reckon there be an inn of sorts three miles down the road.’ He pointed to a narrow lane winding its way down a steep hill. George’s heart sank.
‘What’s happened? Why can we not continue today?’ asked the mothball man.
‘Wheel comin’ loose. Road’s ‘illy ‘ereabouts, and if we’re not careful the ‘ole bloody lot o’ yer’ll end up in a ditch. Not best any time, but when you can’t see ‘and in front o’ yer…’ He shook his head and spat into the dirt. ‘Like I said, there be an ‘ostelry just over the next ‘ill. Wi a bit o’ luck ye’ll reach it afore it gets too dark.’
‘You can’t simply abandon us in the middle of nowhere,’ a small, birdlike woman declared, her voice on the verge of panic.
‘I ain’t abandonin’ no one,’ the coach driver retorted. ‘I’ll be spendin’ the night fixin this ‘ere wheel an’ as long as you’re back ‘ere by eight in the mornin, you’ll be back on the road.’ He gave a ribald wink towards the frightened woman. ‘Course you be welcome to keep me company Mrs. if you’ve a mind to.’ The woman coloured up, tutting to herself, but said no more.
Unlike most of the passengers, Georgiana had only a small pack to carry, but could ill afford to spend what coin she had on an overnight stay at a hostelry. She was no stranger to sleeping rough though, and as she watched the carriage’s occupants start the long walk towards a bed, she decided she’d follow until she spotted a sheltered place to get her head down. The weather was still mild, and she had her new jacket to ward off any chill. She’d have stayed with the coach but didn’t fancy a whole night at the mercy of the coach driver, even if he was under the impression she was a boy. And using her small knife to defend her honour wouldn’t get her to Plymouth any quicker.
∞∞∞
Anthony stared at the bag of bones collapsed in front of him and swore. The dog was covered in sores and shivered uncontrollably despite the clement weather. Indeed, he’d had to carry the mongrel up the vicarage drive.
Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, the dishes piled high next to the sink ready for Maisie next morning. Opening the door into the hall a crack, he could hear the sound of voices. After a second he recognised Percy’s. Clearly the curate and his wife were visiting for supper, And thankfully, it appeared Flossy was with them. Probably clearing Percy’s plate of bread-and-butter pudding. Anthony gave a small chuckle and shut the door. The last thing he wanted to do was to explain another dog to his father. And anyway, the hound would be going with him when he left for Bovey Manor which he hoped would be within the next month. He wanted to take advantage of the fine weather to repair any leaks in the roof.
Quickly rummaging in the larder, he brought out what was left of a beef tongue. Ignoring the knowledge that he’d have to explain its absence when Mrs. Tomlinson arrived in the morning, he quickly cut it up into small pieces and placed them in front of the shaking dog, careful not to give him too much. By the time the mutt had finished, he’d stopped shivering, and his tail was beginning to wag uncertainly.
‘Well, I’m certainly not going to bathe you tonight,’ Anthony muttered, ‘but smelling like you do, I can’t leave you in the deuced kitchen. Let’s have a look at that missing leg and put some salve on those sores. Then I’ll make you a nice comfortable bed in the stable.’
Picking the animal back up, he made his way out into the twilight, heading towards the stable round the back. A soft whickering sound greeted him as he pushed open the stable door with his back. His father had finally seen fit to replace Lucifer after the bad-tempered nag’s memorable trip to London before the King’s coronation.
Kicking some straw into a pile, Anthony laid the dog gently down and lifted what was left of his right front paw. The wound didn’t look putrid and was obviously old. ‘Where the devil did you lose this, lad?’ he questioned softly, laying it back down and going to work on the animal’s more recent wounds. ‘So what should I call you, he murmured, stroking the dog’s head to stop him licking the salve off.
‘How about Nelson? He lost his right arm too, and you deserve to be called after a hero. Will that suit, do you think?’ He gave a low chuckle, adding, ‘And I’m sure Nicholas would entirely approve.’ He turned his head towards the mare who was watching them curiously. ‘What say you, Delilah?’ The horse blew through her nose. ‘Think I’m being shockingly loose in the haft, eh?’ Anthony grinned. ‘Well, I think it’s perfect.’ He sat back on his heels as the dog finally curled up with a sigh. ‘Nelson,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing and no one will hurt you ever again.’ Climbing to his feet, he went to fetch some water and laid it by the sleeping dog. ‘Look after him, Del,’ he whispered, stroking the horse’s nose and feeding her a little hay. The mare tossed her head and whickered again as he left the stable, making sure to shut the door behind him.
The sun was going down in a blaze of orange and gold as he stepped outside. If he made haste he’d have time for a tankard of ale and one of Mary’s famous mutton pies in the Red Lion. Whistling softly, he pushed open the gate and started down the lane.
Chapter Three
As she crested the hill, George finally spotted a cluster of houses in the distance. If that was the village the coach driver spoke of, then she suspected some of the less fortunate passengers would be taking shelter in a barn. Standing still, she shaded her eyes from the lowering sun and admired the rolling south Devonshire landscape. To the left of the village, in a shallow valley, she could see a large country house. No doubt some gentry cove’scountry seat. She muttered the last two words out loud in what she considered was a passable nob’s accent, then she grinned to herself. ‘Why my lord,’ she declared haughtily, tapping an imaginary fan on an imaginary wrist. ‘Pray keep your wandering hands to yourself. I am no trollop to allow such liberties. Indeed, I am to marry…’ she paused and creased her brow. ‘I am to marry Edward Moneybags, Viscount Flush in the Pockets.’ She drew herself up in imagined outrage and turned her back with a swish of her non-existent skirts. Unfortunately, having never actually worn a skirt, she misjudged the swishing and nearly ended up in the bushes at the side of the road. ‘You’ll never be a bloody lady, George. That’s fer sure,’ she muttered to herself, starting down the hill.
She’d deliberately allowed her companion travellers to get well ahead of her, and in the deepening twilight she was the only person on the road. As she came to the bottom of the hill, she began looking for somewhere to spend the night. She didn’t want to get too close to the village in case she was seen and forcibly moved on but wanted to be close enough in the event she needed to run for help. Squinting, she spotted a small copse of trees about twenty yards off the road. That would do nicely. As she got closer, she frowned. It was a bit closer to civilisation than she’d hoped, but then there was little likelihood of anyone passing this way during the night.
Carefully, she made her way into the small group of trees, choosing a mossy clearing in the middle. She put down her pack and sat down experimentally. She’d definitely slept on worse. Fortunately, the ground was dry.
Rummaging around in her pack, she drew out the small loaf and hunk of cheese she’d purchased for the journey. Breaking both in half, she put one half back into her pack and quickly devoured the other. Then, seeing little point in simply sitting there, she pulled out her knife, tucking it inside her jacket, curled up on her side and closed her eyes. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that she needed to be up bright and early on the morrow if she didn’t want to be left behind.
∞∞∞
Anthony was just finishing his second tankard of ale when there was a sudden influx of strangers into the pub. Listening to their conversation, he gathered their stagecoach had developed a loose wheel on the Plymouth road. The coach driver had sent them to the nearest hostelry. Unfortunately, most of them would be out of luck. As far as he was aware, the Red Lion only had two bedchambers and one of them was taken up by the landlord Harry and his … well, no one actually had the temerity to ask whether he and Percy’s mother Mary were actually leg shackled.
Leaning back against his chair, he watched with amusement as the bidding war started for the sole bedchamber, wincing at the final price Mary shook on. The large gentleman who’d won the room would find the satisfied smile wiped off his face once he saw it. Anthony had had the odd occasion to bed down there when he was too tap hackled to find his way back to the vicarage and even drunk as a wheelbarrow, the chamber left a lot to be desired.
The other passengers grumbled as they handed over their coins for the barn round the side of the inn, then most of them opted to try one of Mary’s mutton pies since it was the only thing on the menu.
Grinning, Anthony finished his pint and pushed his chair back to leave.
‘Leavin’ so soon, Tony?’ He turned his head at the coquettish voice he hadn’t heard in nearly three months.
‘Nancy?’ he exclaimed, the delight in his voice unfeigned. ‘I thought you’d gone to live with your husband?’
