“Yes, please. If she is suitable for me.”
“Lady’s horse. Bound to be suitable. Come at ten. I’ll take you out.”
That was promising! “Thank you, cousin. I shall be there.”
Myercroft was a fine Tudor house in excellent condition. Ulric had been born there, and had his mother not remarried, they would both have lived there still. But along had come Jack Harfield with his handsome face and roguish twinkle in his eye, and swept the widow into matrimony. She had been incensed to discover after the event that she had lost not only her generous jointure, but also any right to live at Myercroft. Ulric had been only six at the time, and his trustees had closed ranks and remained firm. She could take Ulric to live with her at her new marital home, for she was his guardian and they would not separate a child from his mother, but his estate was to be preserved for Ulric’s use only, when he was old enough. Nor had they ever wavered from that position. Myercroft and itstwo thousand pounds a year were for Ulric’s benefit alone, and she now existed on the very modest jointure from her second marriage, and a small stipend from Myercroft to cover Ulric’s board at Holly Cottage.
Tess set the children their lessons for the day, told them sternly that she would test them on all they had learnt when she returned, and went to don her riding habit, before setting out on the half-mile walk to Myercroft. She was not an enthusiastic rider, far preferring the comfort of a carriage, but if she was to have any success with Ulric, it would be necessary to ride. If, however, Brandysnap turned out to be as highly strung as Ulric’s hunters, then she would just have to hang around the stables as often as possible.
Ulric was not a man to shilly-shally around. When Tess arrived, Brandysnap was already saddled. Within moments, Tess was tossed up as if she weighed nothing and Ulric had mounted his own horse and was leading the way out of the yard. There was no time to assess her mount or grow accustomed to her gait, for almost as soon as they left the stables behind, Ulric set off at a smart canter.
Fortunately, Brandysnap was exactly as Tess had hoped, a steady lady’s mount with no sign of incipient temperament. She was willing, however, and although she could not match the long legs of Ulric’s mount, she gamely followed behind at a steady pace. Although she would have liked a slower start, Tess soon realised she was not about to be terrified by an excessive burst of speed, or tipped unceremoniously into a bush. For an hour, therefore, she followed behind Ulric, who occasionally remembered she was there and waited for her, before she declared herself ready to turn for home.
“Already?” Ulric said. “We’ve barely got going.”
“I am not as used to riding as you, cousin. Perhaps with a little practice I shall be able to go further afield.”
“Good inn just over the next hill,” he said. “Strong ale. Take you there tomorrow.”
The ale was not much of an inducement, but an hour at an inn to rest the horses would be a good opportunity to talk to Ulric. She was not sure that talking to him was going to advance her cause very much, but if she could persuade him to call her Tess instead of cousin, she would be satisfied with that. So they turned back towards Myercroft, made an arrangement for the following day and she trudged wearily back to Holly Cottage, her legs aching.
When they reached it the next day, the inn was obviously often frequented by Ulric, for he was greeted as an old friend, a large tankard of ale and an enormous meat pie brought to him at once.
“Well, now, yer’ve got yerself a lady friend, Mr Frith,” the innkeeper said with a knowing smile at Tess.
“Cousin,” Ulric said.
“I am Miss Nicholson,” Tess said. “From Corland Castle. Lady Tarvin’s sister, Lady Rennington, is my aunt.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Nicholson? Not… notthatNicholson? That poor man what was done in wi’ an axe?”
“He was my father,” she said calmly, unsurprised to find that such a juicy piece of news had penetrated even to County Durham. It must be all over the country by now, and even the lowest classes would have heard about it.
“Well!” he said, and then, “Well!” again, clearly unsure quite what to say. What could one say to the daughter of a murdered man? “Will you take a glass of something, milady? Something to eat?”
“A glass of wine. Nothing to eat, thank you.”
“Aye. At once.”
He came back quickly with the wine, followed by a little round dumpling of a woman, probably his wife, bearing a plate of sweet cakes with a spicy aroma.
“You poor dear,” she said, patting Tess’s hand. “Try one o’ my teacakes, still hot, they are.”
Dutifully, Tess sipped the wine and nibbled a teacake, as Ulric downed two tankards of ale and chomped his way through the pie. There were several other men in the inn’s common room, mostly farmers refreshing themselves between bouts of… whatever farmers did. Tess was vague on the details. The farmers, too, greeted Ulric as an old friend, said how pleased they were to see him again and wished him good fortune with the birds when the shooting season should begin.
The shooting season! Tess froze for a moment. Only another week, and Ulric would be off with his guns and she would not see him. No time to be lost, then.
But as the farmers headed for the door, their ale finished, one or two looked at Tess and winked at Ulric.
“Yer a dark ’orse, Mr Frith, and no mistake,” one said.
“Be an announcement soon, will there?” said another, with an even broader wink.
“Pretty lady,” said a third, bolder than the rest.
Ulric was not clever enough to understand the other allusions, but he knew when Tess was referred to.
“Cousin,” he said, in his flat voice.
