Raoul intervened before she could become lost in reminiscence. “Let me go and investigate this tavern. It does not look to me like a suitable place for you, but we shall see.” He prepared to alight, but Miss Temple grasped his arm. Raoul paused, looking a question.
“Can you ask after Mrs Kimble?”
“I shall do so, of course, but if there is no proper accommodation here, we may have to go on to Marlborough.”
Her grip did not relax. “It makes no matter to me. Anything will do. I would like to stay here.”
She sounded tense. Raoul found himself melting. He laid a hand over hers and squeezed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Then he released himself and descended from the curricle, heading directly for the Plough. Entering an unprepossessing hall, he followed a smoky trail to a large but rather dingy taproom. Was this the general meeting place for the village males?
A couple of elderly fellows were ensconced by an inglenook, smoking long clay pipes, tankards at their elbows. Three yokels were seated around a table near the window, and a beefy man of middle years, coatless and with an apron over his waistcoat, stood behind the bar, engaged in wiping down its surface. One glance served to inform Raoul this was no place for Miss Temple.
In the way of country people, every eye became trained upon the stranger and held. Well used to such stares, he paid no heed but moved to accost the landlord.
“A word, if I may?”
The fellow dropped his cloth and straightened, becoming servile. “How may I serve yer honour?”
“I am seeking accommodation for the night for myself and a lady.”
The fellow looked dubious. “A leddy? Well, I’d be right happy and my rib’d be glad to serve a leddy. I’ve only the one room free, yer honour, and it ain’t my best. Got two travellers already. Artists they call theirselves, off paintin’ landscapes and the like.”
“Thank you, but one room won’t do. Where else may we find rooms? Is this the only inn here in Middenhall?”
The man sucked his teeth. “Properly speaking it is. Leastways, there’s the Cat and Fiddle up the lane. Small place it is, and Mrs Dadford don’t cater much these days. Getting on, she is.”
One of the elderly men by the fire spoke up. “Don’t talk daft, Jem. Ain’t got no more years in her dish than I do, Mrs Dadford. Don’t you pay no mind, yer honour. Much better place for the likes of you is the Cat. ’Cepting if it’s a coach you come in, she don’t have no place fer it.”
Raoul thanked him, and turned back to the man Jem. “If I send my fellow Broome back here with my team, can you stable them and give him a bed for the night?”
The landlord brightened. “Four of ’em, is it, yer honour? Aye, we can do that all right. Stables ain’t big, but we’ve only the old cob in there now ’sides the gig.”
“I hope there is room for my curricle, then?”
Jem rubbed his hands, evidently pleased that at least a share of what promised to be lucrative custom was coming his way. “Aye, yer honour. There’s the barn at need and it’s weathertight and all.”
This solution did not recommend itself to Raoul, but he could trust Broome to see all right. “Good. I’ll send my man back when we’ve settled our accommodation.” He nodded to the rest of the company and was about to withdraw when he remembered Miss Temple’s request. He turned back. “One thing more. Do you know a Mrs Kimble hereabouts?” He once more found himself the recipient of a battery of stares. Jem’s brows lowered.
“If you was wishful of taking a lodging with her, yer honour, she don’t do it no more.”
Raoul ignored this. “Then she is still living here?”
“Aye, just about.”
“What do you mean, just about?”
“A widder she is, yer honour, and all but crippled now with the arthritics.”
But she was alive. Quick interest kindled. “Give me her direction, if you will.”
Armed with the necessary information, he left the inn and walked swiftly back to the curricle, looking up into Miss Temple’s anxious features. “Mrs Kimble is still here. She lives up the lane, at some little distance beyond the church, I am told.”
Miss Temple’s gaze flicked to what was visible of the church, and both face and tone were eager. “May we go there now?” He hesitated, beset with unwillingness to dampen her enthusiasm. Her gaze came back to him, brows drawing together. “What is it, sir?”
He shook off the odd feeling, climbed into the vehicle and stepped across her to his place, gathering up the reins. “We won’t go there now. We must first see if this Mrs Dadford up the road can put us up. Let them go, Broome.” As he urged the horses to a walk, he became aware of Miss Temple’s frowning gaze fixed upon him. He glanced round.
“You are keeping something from me.”
