“The dear one is in the coach with the maid. It’s so cold. If you could…” Mrs. Dash brought gloved hands out of her muff to clasp them in prayer. “I’m to meet my husband at the Lion and Unicorn in Hockham. He will take charge of everything, I assure you. I will not mind waiting here if only my poor infant is safe and warm.”
There could be no question now. “Of course, Mrs. Dash. Please, I’m sure we will be glad to help.”
Mrs. Dash hurried over to the tilted carriage and shouted at someone inside. A bundle was tossed out, then another passed with care. The baby.
Then, Mrs. Dash’s coachman virtually hoisted out a bulky maid. The mother thrust her baby back into the maid’s arms and urged her over toward Genova. It took some urging. The maid’s round face expressed sullen anxiety.
The poor creature was probably freezing. She wore a hooded cloak, but it wasn’t fur-lined, and Genova doubted that Mrs. Dash’s coach was kept as warm as the Marquess of Ashart’s, which had regularly refreshed hot bricks. The baby, at least, was so bundled up it was scarcely visible.
“Go with this lady!” Mrs. Dash yelled, pointing, then added in a normal voice, “She doesn’t speak much English.”
“Then what does she speak?”
“Irish. What they call Gaelic. Please, Miss Smith, get my poor baby into shelter!”
Genova stiffened at the shrill command, but the woman was right. That was the most important thing. Genova picked up the bundle and steered the maid toward the gilded coach. It was easy as dragging an ox, almost as if the woman didn’t want to go.
She must be afraid. She was in a strange country among people who didn’t speak her language. She’d been tossed around in an accident, possibly hurt, and now was being handed off to strangers.
Genova began to explain to her in a gentle, soothing voice. She herself had spent most of her life traveling with her mother and her naval-captain father, often in places where she didn’t know the language. She’d learned that even when people didn’t understand words, they could often understand tone.
Perhaps it worked. The maid turned her round freckled face up to Genova, then quickened her steps.
Another outrider had dismounted and stood readyto open the door. Genova passed him the maid’s bundle, which gave off a sour smell. “I don’t suppose anyone here speaks Gaelic, do they?”
“Not that I know, Miss Smith.”
“Pity. Ask anyway.”
He opened the door and Genova hefted the maid into the warmth, then scrambled after so the door could be shut again.
Thalia stirred, then her eyes opened brightly. “What have we here, then?”
Despite her years, Lady Thalia Trayce could be called pretty, with her fluffy white hair and big blue eyes. It was unfortunate that she insisted on dressing in a very youthful style, but she was invariably kind. She and Genova had become good friends, which was why Genova was on this journey.
“A traveler requiring succor,” Genova said, realizing that not all the smell had been from the maid’s bundle. “Or two, really. Maid and baby. Maid only speaks Gaelic.”
“My, my!” Despite the stale, cheesy smell, Thalia looked as if she’d been given a treat. With the tedium of traveling, that was probably true.
The coach jerked into movement, and Genova looked out at Mrs. Dash, intending to wave or give some gesture that all would be well. She should have said that they would send help. It was obvious, but she should have said it.
However, the woman’s expression stilled her.
The bright smile could be relief that her child was in good hands, but it did not look like that at all. It almost looked gleeful.
Was that because Mrs. Dash now thought that she had the entrée to the grand Trayce family? Geneva’s instincts said no—that it was something else, and that she might regret this act of charity.
Three hours later, she knew her instincts, as usual, had been correct.
Chapter Two
It had not taken long to reach the Lion and Unicorn Inn at Hockham, but there’d been no sign of Mr. Dash.
It was a simple establishment, not at all like the grand ones carefully planned on their itinerary, but the early winter dark had been settling as they arrived, and the temperature plunging, and the place had rooms. Thalia had insisted that they stop for the night.
“I know you,” Genova said. “You want to see the end of this story.”
“Well, why not, dear? Oh, brandied tea. How very nice!”
