The obvious course was to cut the reins, and she had her small sewing kit in her pocket. The needlework scissors would do the job, though slowly. However, itwas likely that the inn had replacements, so it would only mean a delay. The spokes of the two large wheels were thin, for everything about a curricle was designed to reduce weight. Even so, how could she break one, especially undetected?
Perhaps it wouldn’t matter if she was detected. Kynaston would be furious, but if he turned against her forever, she’d be in no worse state. He wouldn’t be able to summon a new wheel in an instant. Even if a wheelwright was willing to work this late, it could take hours.
Yes, she must do that.
She worked her way around to the back of the curricle, where she’d be even less likely to be observed, looking around for some means of breaking a spoke. A hammer would do, or even a large stone. She found neither, but she did see a long metal rod propped in a corner. She grasped it, and only then realized what it was.
It was the curricle bar. Once the horses were in their harnesses, it would be slid into place through rings on the top of each horse’s harness and fixed in place in order to keep the horses the correct distance apart. Without it, the horses could bump into the pole or each other, risking injury and chaos.
It would be insane to try to travel without the bar.
It was quite heavy and as tall as her shoulder, but she could hold it against her body, inside her cloak. With her prize, she worked her way toward the arch into the street. She’d discard it out there and it wouldn’t be found until morning.
Then, with a blast of a horn, a laden stagecoach began to turn into the innyard.
Ariana backed out of the way, encumbered by thepole. As the ostlers poured out of their room and servants hurried out of the inn, she awkwardly edged toward the stairs and climbed back up to her room-of-ease.
At the door, she looked down over the gallery railing and saw that the coach had come to rest directly beneath her. The horses were being unharnessed and new ones made ready. The passengers were pouring into the inn in search of food and warmth, but they wouldn’t be given long. The poor passengers who’d been traveling on top had probably been the first in, for there was no one up there now. A great many bags and boxes were tied at the back of the huge vehicle. No one seemed to be watching. She extricated the bar and moved it over the railing, and then she dropped it vertically into a space between two wooden chests. It fell with a clunk, but no one raised an alarm.
Content with her work, she hurried back into the room, used the chamber pot, and left to return to the public room and Kynaston. He would be fuming at the time she’d taken, but he could hardly berate her for such an intimate matter.
It turned out to be exactly so. As soon as he saw her, he rose, ready to pay their bill, but he couldn’t grab the attention of any of the inn servants, who were all busy with the new arrivals. “Just a moment, sir, if you please!”
They were all attending to the urgent needs of the coach passengers, who now filled both sides of the long table. Some servants carried huge trays of bowls of steaming soup, while others put cut loaves down along the table, accompanied by dishes of butter and cheeses and ham slices. Hungry hands grabbed, and some slurped their soup too quickly, then cursed the burn. The soup smelled delicious and Ariana was thinking that if theyhad to wait, they could eat, but then a slurred voice said, “Well, well, well. What have we here?”
She turned to find her uncle Paul Boxstall leaning in the doorway, as if further progress was beyond him. He was clearly deep in drink.
She had to say something, especially as a few of the coach passengers were paying attention. “On a journey, Uncle?”
“Repairing lease to Derbyshire. Damned cold.”
“It is, yes.” She’d rather have him flat drunk than saying something to embarrass them, so she added, “The punch in that bowl is still warm. Have some.”
He collapsed into the seat she’d vacated and scooped some into her tankard. After a long drink, he snorted. “Ant’s piss. Needs more brandy. More brandy!” he yelled to the innkeeper.
Kynaston put an arm around Ariana to urge her out of the room. “Leave him be. We need to be off.”
“Oh-oh!” Paul cried. “What have we here? An elopement?” Now he had the attention of the whole room.
“Of course not,” Ariana said. Hastily, she invented, “We’re on our way to a deathbed.”
“Whose?”
“Great-aunt Maud.”
“The old bag’s finally shuffling off? Wonder if there’s any money in it.”
“Very unlikely. I must be on my way.”
“With Kynaston? Almost as wretched as me, and merely over a woman.”
Kynaston’s arm went rigid. “Let him be,” he muttered. “We need to leave.”
“Aye, go, go! I’ll not stand in the way of a wicked bedding!” Someone sniggered, and he took encouragement. “Note, my friends, that noble birth doesn’t leadto noble behavior. The most noble Earl of Kynaston and my niece. Perhaps all those salty rumors were true after all!”
Ariana would have launched into a defense, but Kynaston forced her out of the room. “Anything you say will only fix the matter in their minds.”
Once out of sight, she protested, “But some will remember and spread the word. It’ll all start up again, and now with more cause. This is my fault. I insisted on coming.”
