Chapter 10
Elizabeth felt numb again. She knew that there was no use in objecting to the arrangements that had been made. They had been turned away from two other inns already and it was perfectly obvious that the whole town would be the same. She allowed Hetherington to lift her to the ground and take her bag from the back of the curricle.
"You will take my arm and stay close beside me," he commanded. And because the inn yard was bustling with horses and ostlers and guests, she obeyed.
She pressed even closer to his side when they entered the inn and stepped straight into the public taproom. It was crowded and noisy. Men sat and stood and jostled one another in every inch of space, it seemed. Elizabeth lowered her eyes and allowed herself to be guided across the room to the staircase. Hetherington was not a tall or a broad man. But he had a certain presence and a charming smile that did not falter in such situations. A path opened for him as if by magic.
Hetherington led the way up the staircase and into a small, dark room that was wholly dominated by a large bed. A washstand, a table, and a chair filled most of the remaining space. Elizabeth felt herself flush with embarrassment. Although the noise from the taproom sounded almost as loud upstairs, they seemed very much alone together in the room. He set her bag down beside the washstand.
"This is quite intolerable," Elizabeth said in a strangled voice.
He looked at her. "I could not agree more, ma'am," he said coldly. "But if you expect me to play the gentleman and offer to stay downstairs tonight, you will be sadly disappointed. I must have a few hours of sleep if I am tl drive you home tomorrow."
Elizabeth walked to the low window opposite the fool of the bed and stared blindly out.
"If you can spare a blanket and a pillow," he continued. "I shall sleep quite comfortably on the floor."
She said nothing.
"I shall go downstairs now," he said. "Lock the door. You must on no account open it to anyone. There are too many revelers around tonight who are in their cups. I shall have the key to let myself in later. Go to bed, Elizabeth, and get some sleep. You have been under much strain today, and tomorrow will not be easy for you. You may rest easy. You have nothing to fear from me."
Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the windowpane and continued to stare out into the darkness. There was silence for a while and then she heard him leave the room and lock the door behind him. She closed her eyes. Robert, Robert, what happened to us? she wondered. But she would not stop to think. She had exhausted herself with memories that afternoon. She must prepare for bed now and climb beneath the covers before he returned. She could not risk being caught in the act of disrobing. In fact, she did not wish to face him in any guise that night.
She wasted several agonized minutes deciding whether to undress or not. Her clothing seemed to offer some measure of defense. Yet her gray cotton dress would be hopelessly creased if she slept in it. And if she removed it to sleep in her chemise, she might as well change into the one nightgown she had brought with her. She undressed hastily, waiting until she was in the relative safety of the nightgown before washing herself at the washbasin.
Then she dithered over another problem. Should she leave her hair as it was, in its tight knot at her neck, or should she brush it out as she usually did at night? There was only one sensible choice, of course. The heavy knot would be uncomfortable to lie on and would look silly too, she supposed. She quickly removed the pins and brushed her thick chestnut hair until it crackled.
Finally she pulled one of the two blankets from the bed and one of the pillows. She tossed them onto the floor and climbed into the bed in panic. He might be back at any moment. But she soon forced herself back onto the floor. The candle was out of reach on the washstand. She did not want that to be burning when Hetherington returned. And if he was to move in the darkness, it would be unkind to leave his bedding in a heap on the floor. He would be dreadfully uncomfortable.
She looked around her and then removed her gray cloak from the hook on the door. She spread it on the floor with his own greatcoat on top of it. She laid the blanket on top and turned down one corner. She plumped up the lumpy pillow as best she could and put it in place. Kneeling back on her heels to view the overall effect, Elizabeth suddenly had a mental picture of Hetherington lying there, and the image sent her scurrying to blow out the candle and climb back into the bed and beneath the covers. She pulled the single blanket up around her ears even though the room was not cold.
Falling asleep was another matter altogether. She found herself constantly listening for footsteps in the passageway outside. There was much traffic to and fro, but the footsteps always passed the door. And the noise from below was incessant. She might as well have taken her bedding into the middle of the taproom and tried to sleep there, Elizabeth thought wryly as she tried to ignore shouts and singing and cups banging over the loud hum of masculine voices.
Then she started to think about Jeremy. She had seen the child only once, at his christening, but she felt as if she knew him very well. John's letters were always full of descriptions of the youngster and bulletins of his progress. She could almost picture the child with his sturdy build and the blond curls that he had inherited from Louise. Both parents obviously doted on their son. John would be devastated if anything happened to him, and goodnes* only knew what the shock might do to Louise in her condition. Elizabeth prayed that the child would recover She prayed that whatever happened she would have the strength to offer both her brother and his wife the help they needed. Her own problems paled in comparison to what they might be facing.
She stiffened suddenly. She had hardly heard that set of footsteps approach and they had stopped outside her door. As she held her breath, she heard the key turn in the lock and then she was aware of light through her closed eyelids.
Hetherington stood there for a while before blowing out his candle, coming inside the room, and closing the door softly. Elizabeth lay rigid, almost afraid to breathe, listening to him set down the candlestick and remove some of his ciothing. Then she heard him lie down and move around until he was comfortable.
There was total silence in the room. Elizabeth found that every nerve in her body was tense. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe even, in case he would know that she was awake. His own stillness made her wonder if he too lay awake or if the fatigue of the day had sent him instantly to sleep. She resigned herself to a sleepless night, tried to calculate how long it would be before the dawn would come.
---
"No," she was saying. "No, it cannot be true. I shan't believe it."
"I am sorry, Lizzie," her father said, his voice unusually sympathetic. "It is over. You will have to face the fact. The man is a scoundrel."
"No," she wailed, rocking herself back and forth in her chair. "No, please. I must go to him. I have to see him."
"He will not see you," her father said. "He has refused. You cannot keep on clinging to hope, Lizzie. He does not want you any longer."
"No," she moaned. "I won't believe it. I can't. I have to see him. I have to. Oh, please, please."
John was kneeling in front of her, his hands warmly covering hers over her face.
"Hush, Elizabeth," he was saying, "it will be all right."
"No, it will not," she wailed. "It will never be all right."
"Hush, darling, hush," he whispered. "Oh, don't cry. All will be well. I shall be with you."
"No," she said. "No."
He drew her to him and held her head against his shoulder. His fingers stroked through her hair.