Lucy abandoned her breakfast and went upstairs. She was surprised to find Aunt Mary and Maisie in a flurry of activity, sorting through her gowns, bonnets, and Spencers. It was the first time since Anabel had run away with her lover that her aunt had smiled. “There you are, Lucy. I have the most pleasant news. Mr. Rattray has sent a note this morning. He has to visit his country house and has invited us to accompany him. Are we not fortunate?” She examined the hem of the plum velvet evening gown she held for tears. “I cannot leave you in London unchaperoned. Maisie will help you pack enough clothes for three days. An evening gown too, of course. I am sure we will dress for dinner. The carriage is to call for us at five o’clock.”
Lucy’s heart sank. “I’ll go and do it now, Aunt Mary.”
“Good. Take your night things in a separate bag, as Mr. Rattray plans to spend a night at an inn on the way.”
Surely, this meant Mr. Rattray was about to ask her aunt to marry him. While Lucy was pleased to see her aunt happy, she wished it was another gentleman and not one whom she simply could not like. Lucy suspected lies tripped smoothly from Mr. Rattray’s lips, seemingly of long practice. She was unsure of his motive but doubted it was passion for her aunt. If only she could have made her aunt aware of it, but the chance to trip him upin a lie seemed to have gone. And her aunt was so vulnerable now after Anabel’s elopement that she grasped at the chance for happiness.
Nearing five o’clock, William, groaning in a manner Lucy thought unnecessary as her portmanteau wasn’t very heavy, carried it down the stairs to add to her aunt’s luggage at the front door.
Precisely on the hour, a carriage pulled up outside. “Here is Mr. Rattray.” Aunt Mary hurried down, fiddling with the lace collar on her best traveling gown. “Smile, Lucy, and make yourself agreeable to the gentleman.”
William opened the door to Mr. Rattray. He entered the hall, rubbing his hands, his servant following. There was a gleam in Mr. Rattray’s usually opaque gray eyes. He kissed her aunt’s hand then hovered over Lucy’s, the smell of pomade from his red hair pervading the air. “It will be quite cool this evening. I hope you are rugged up well, ladies. We have quite a distance to travel before we can put up for the night.”
“We are looking forward to this delightful excursion, Mr. Rattray,” Aunt Mary said, fluttering her eyelashes girlishly. “It is so kind of you to invite us.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Grayswood.” He went over to Lucy, who was donning her pelisse. “May I be of assistance, Miss Kershaw?”
“No, thank you, sir.” She pulled it on hastily, not wanting his hands on her.
“Good, then we’ll be off, shall we?” He motioned sharply to “his man,” as he referred to his servant, to pick up their luggage. He was a rough-looking fellow with shabby clothes and greasy hair. Lucy felt uneasy, but her aunt was so keen to leave, there was nothing she could say.
Outside, his carriage waited. The coachman sat hunched on the box, his hat pulled low over his face. Lucy thought the vehicle quite shabby for that of a well-to-do gentleman. But perhaps ithad become splashed with mud on the journey here. When she was helped inside, the stale smell from the squabs made her catch her breath.
Aunt Mary was gayly laughing at something Mr. Rattray said and didn’t seem to notice. She settled a bandbox with her best bonnet into a corner and sat next to Lucy, smoothing her gloves. Mr. Rattray followed them inside and took the seat opposite with his back to the horses. He thumped the roof with his cane, and the coachman’s whip cracked as he cried, “Walk on.”
Lucy looked upon this trip as something to be endured. But she would try not to spoil it for her aunt, who looked forward to it so eagerly.
As the carriage set off down the road, it was still light. The sun would not set until close to eight o’clock. “Where are we to spend the night?” Lucy asked, wondering how long she had to breathe in the stale air tinged with Mr. Rattray’s pomade. She had opened a window but closed it again when her aunt had put a hand to her bonnet and complained it was too breezy.
“A quaint inn, just outside St. Albans. You’ll find it both comfortable and charming, Miss Kershaw,” he said in jocular tones. “As we travel farther, we will pass through Cambridge, a wonderful historic town I’m sure you’ll enjoy exploring.”
“Indeed we will,” Aunt Mary said firmly, raising her eyebrows at Lucy.
“It sounds delightful.” Lucy tried to sound convincing, although it was hardly the truth, while Mr. Rattray fussed over her aunt, covering her knees with a rug.
An hour later, Aunt Mary’s head began to nod. Lucy was sure her aunt had not slept well since the dreadful news about Anabel had reached them. In the stuffy air and with the rocking motion, she grew a little sleepy too, but for some reason she couldn’t quite define, she needed to be alert. Fortunately, Mr. Rattrayfolded his arms and sank into a silent stupor, not appearing to require any conversation from her. The miles passed by.
Nearing eight o’clock, the sun sank behind the horizon and night fell. Beyond the window, the sky was a vast, black arch overhead where a crescent-shaped moon hung suspended. The coach lanterns had been lit, sending a feeble glow over the dark road.
Lucy wondered again why Lord Dorchester had come to see her the other day, and if he had discovered anything about Anabel’s whereabouts that would give her poor aunt some relief.
Sometime later, the carriage pulled into the forecourt of an ancient brick inn, surrounded by woodland. The building appeared alarmingly ramshackle, at least from the outside. Her aunt woke with a loud snort. “Are we here already? My, that took no time at all.”
Mr. Rattray helped her aunt down, then Lucy followed quickly unaided. They were escorted into the inn and greeted by the innkeeper, as if they had entered the Prince Regent’s Carlton House. The inn proved as dismal inside as it did out, the furniture in need of a dust and cobwebs dangling in the draft. If her aunt was disappointed, she gave no indication of it. They were shown into a small parlor and served a late supper of bread and butter and cauliflower soup. Mr. Rattray flourished a bottle of wine he had brought with him for the occasion, which he declared was an excellent vintage. He poured her aunt a glass, but despite him seeming offended by her refusal, Lucy still declined it.
“I expect you have yet to develop a taste for good wine,” Mr. Rattray said, his mouth pulled down.
After they ate the small meal served by a surly, silent servant, she and her aunt were shown up to their bedchamber, which her aunt insisted she share for propriety’s sake. Lucy was glad of the company.
Aunt Mary still appeared exhausted, her movements heavy and slow as they washed, brushed their hair, and changed into nightgowns. They climbed into the lumpy, double bed and her aunt blew out the candle.
In the dark, Aunt Mary tittered. “I hope there are no bed bugs. Even the best inns have them. I usually bring my own sheets, but it was such a rush.”
Lucy feared it too, but as soon as they’d settled down, her aunt began to snore, and Lucy resigned herself to a sleepless night. But after only a short time, Lucy’s eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into sleep.
Waking suddenly, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep as she stared into the dark. Had she heard a noise? Lying still, she listened. Aunt Mary was still deeply asleep, and Lucy didn’t like to disturb her by lighting a candle. When she’d convinced herself there was nothing to concern her and was settling down again, the door opened and someone entered, holding a lantern. Mr. Rattray’s face appeared in the light above it looking ghoulish.
Fear tightened her chest and she gasped. “Is something wrong?” Lucy prodded her aunt, but she didn’t stir.
