A quartet of young men drifted into the pergola from the opposite path. They paused when they saw the wooden trellis and heavy vine but quickly fanned out, marveling at the leafy canopy climbing above their heads.
One man looped an arm around a vine-choked pillar, leaned with outswept hand, and began to sing. His friends joined in immediately, shouting more than singing, and one man chanted “for crown and country!” between stanzas.
The four of them laughed and sang and trudged with the staggering shuffle of men deep in their cups. They were young, Tessa thought, not older than her own twenty-three years, and dressed more or less like gentlemen.
Taken individually, they represented almost no threat. They were lads, cheerfully drunk, out for a ramble. But they had not come upon her individually. There was a scrum of them, and she was alone in the darkness.
Tessa shrank back, her mind racing for some comment that might calmly alert them to her presence. Silence made her feel like a fox hiding in a hole.
Without warning, the man who’d begun the song leaned his shoulder against the pillar and hung his head. After a pause, he let out a slow, loud belch. His companions burst into laughter. One man made a show of kicking him in the arse.
Harmless,Tessa told herself, but her eyes returned again and again to the trail, willing someone else to come along. No one came. Three minutes turned to five minutes. With each passing second, Tessa’s unease grew. She sat very still, so still she thought she might snap in two. She waited, counting the beats of her drumming heart. After what felt like a quarter hour (but was likely far less), she decided a better course of action was to flee—to shove up and dart from the square, disappearing down the opposite path. She wouldn’t speak, she wouldn’t even look. They were preoccupied with their whistles and jibes. In theory, she could simply slip away.
Drawing a silent breath, she gathered her hat, her reticule, her skirts. The heavy silk rustled and Tessa cringed but kept moving. She darted right and—
“Ho there!” shouted one of the men. Four sets of bored, bleary eyes turned to the bench.
Now Tessa was the cornered fox. Vein by vein, fear spread through her body. She willed herself to animate, to look less like stricken and terrified. She released her skirts and grabbed hold of the bench. Her hat fell and she let it go.
She tried to affect the expression of inconsequence, of not being worth the hassle, but they advanced on her, winding their way through the pillars from four directions. They reminded her of boys descending on a fallen grouse.
Their faces became clearer with proximity, and she watched them take in her shape and dress and braids. Their talking and jests fell silent.
“Well, hello,” boomed the first man, coming to a stop before her. He had ginger hair and freckles. His voice was too loud for the small space.
“Deafen her, Francis, while you’re at it,” joked the next man. He wore a tall hat pulled low over his eyes.
“Don’t dignify them with a response, love,” called a third man, the one who’d belched.
“Sage advice, coming from you, Nevil,” said the ginger-headed one.
They formed a loose half circle around her bench and stared down. Tessa could smell their collective aroma of brandy and tobacco and hair tonic.
Harmless young men,she chanted in her head. She thought of the Old Tessa, the confident girl who had handily dispatched intoxicated males with a roll of her eyes and a wave. She thought of the girl raised with four brothers and their myriad of rowdy friends.
But this was not the same. She was isolated; she did not know these men. Worst of all, she was glaringly conspicuous in her vibrant dress with her head bare. The fabric of her indigo gown seemed to radiate in the lantern light. The yellow loops of her braids were heavy on her shoulders. She wanted her pelisse, her bonnet—she wanted to gather up her skirts and run. Fear rose in her chest like icy water in the hull of a sinking ship.
“What’s your name, love?” called the ginger-headed man.
“My husband has just stepped away,” Tessa answered. Her voice was breathy and high, fearful. She swore in her head and glanced to the right and left. Could she run without colliding with one of them? Could she squeeze through the thick branches of the hedge behind her?
“Husband?” cried the third man, the belcher. “Oh, you break my heart.”
“As if she’d consider the likes of you,” said the man in the tall hat. They laughed.
They were so close, their bodies cast long shadows like the bars of a jail. Their voices were slurred, and they spokeatTessa more than to her.
Harmless,she repeated in her head.Drunk, harmless boys.
She edged up from the bench. “I implore you, please allow me to pass. I... I mean to locate my friends.”
“Oh, thank God,” one of them said, “there arefriends. But, are your friends also married, love?” He studied her like an old man considers a flight of stairs.
“But let us escort you to these friends,” said another. “Not Francis, of course, but a real gentleman, like myself.”
This was met with hoots of laughter. Knee slapping and shoulder leaning ensued. The belcher staggered forward and Tessa shrank back. Her skirts hit the bench and she lost her balance. She caught herself with one hand.
“Careful,”laughed the ginger-headed man, reaching to pull her upright. He made the simple gesture of reaching out to steady her—an open palm and long fingers wrapped around her wrist—but something about the tight, clamminess of his hand caused panic to set in. Tessa bit back a scream and breathed,“No.”
