The moon hesitated between clouds, a slim crescent, its reflection wavering in the muddy puddles underhoof. A silvery vapour shifted through the trees ahead, threatening rain.
“If it rains,” Sysabel called back to Emeline, “we must find a hostelry for the night.”
“We’ll find one anyway,” Emeline replied, raising her voice. “The nights can be dangerous on the highways. Bill will find us a respectable inn.”
“Bill,” muttered Avice, “wouldn’t know an inn from a ditch, and doesn’t know what the word respectable means.”
“Then we’ll stay in a slum,” sighed Emeline, “which will all be part of the adventure.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The earl chewed his next mouthful of cold beef, dripped the juices onto his fine red silk doublet, and nodded to the page to refill his cup from the jug of claret. “Pretty. Black hair, nice wide hips. The boys, well they took after me with their blue eyes. But Alice, hers were deep brown. I liked that.”
“How terribly sad, the manner in which she died, my lord.”
“Certainly was for me. Coming home to shadows, empty corners, young Nick crying night after night.”
The baroness stared. “Did Peter – not – cry?”
His lordship sighed. “A brave lad, my Peter. And of course Nick suffered the most, having been with them all. A six years child with his Maman cradled in his arms, watching her cough and spit her way to delirium. She was buried before I got back home, so I never saw. Nick arranged it with the priest. Affected the lad of course. And the little ones too. Philippa, my little girl, three years old, and loved her big brothers. And the baby John, who bare knew life before he knew death. Nick carried each one out to the graveyard, insisted, the priest said, but couldn’t carry his mother. She was too big for him. Cried, he did afterwards, telling me he’d laid the little ones in their coffins but couldn’t carry his Maman. Could only lean over and kiss her cold face.”
“My lord, it must haunt him still.”
“So there’s an excuse,” the earl sniffed, reaching quickly for his cup, “when the boy runs from trouble and won’t face what might hurt him. But it’s twenty years gone since that time, and he must grow up and have children of his own. She’s fine young woman, your daughter, and must make her husband accept his responsibilities.”
After a snug night and a bright glossy morning of clear summer skies, fresh bread rolls still warm from the oven and butter golden from the churning, it was some time before her ladyship learned that the morning was not an auspicious one after all. She was informed by Martha.
Immediately the baroness ordered her riding clothes laid out, her horse saddled, a small baggage trunk packed, the litter rolled out and made ready for Martha and the luggage, five outriders prepared, armed and waiting, and Petronella warned that she must accompany her mistress.
“Petronella has gone already, my lady. She went with the other party.”
“Damnation,” said the baroness for the first time in her life. “Then drag young Bess downstairs, tell the wretched girl to wash behind her ears and then push her into the litter with Martha.”
She then marched back into the hall and interrupted the earl’s morning snooze. “Do whatever you wish, madam,” said the earl, elbowing himself upright in the chair. “It’s madness, one after the other, is all I can say. I’ve no interest in riding off into the rain after madmen and even madder females.”
“It is not raining, my lord. The sun is shining. I trust the day will stay bright, and I shall catch up with my daughters by evening.” The baroness paused. “I do not ask for your company, sir. But are you unconcerned for your niece?”
“The girl’s a fool. I’ve been saying it for years. Go ask that feeble sister of mine if she wants to go galloping off into the wilds after her charge. She’s the chaperone, since young Adrian is another who’s conveniently left the stable door open on his responsibilities.”
“I cannot imagine the Lady Elizabeth galloping off anyway, my lord. But she should be informed.”
“Used to like a good gallop when she was younger,” remembered the earl with a wistful glance at his widened midriff. “Never married.” He sighed. “Affianced once, but the treacherous bugger was attainted and m’father put a stop to the wedding. Lizzy sulked for years.”
The baroness set off to the Lady Elizabeth’s chamber. She did not stay long, returned to her own bedchamber to change her clothes, then descended to the stables. “There will be a delay,” she sighed, “for the Lady Elizabeth intends to accompany us in the litter.” She nodded to Martha, saying quietly, “She will not be an easy companion, I imagine, and will slow our pace. But the poor dear decided anything was preferable than being abandoned alone with her brother.”
“His lordship does not intend returning to court, my lady?”
“I have an idea he’s out of favour there. He blames Nicholas and the scandal of James’s violent death, but I doubt it’s that. It’s far more likely that his highness saw the earl drunk once too often, and has simply stopped offering him commissions. I doubt there will ever be another seat on the Royal Council.”
“I shall attempt to keep her ladyship entertained as we travel, my lady,” said Martha with little conviction.
“She’ll be bringing her own maid.” The baroness shaded her eyes, looking over the cobbles to where the leather hooded litter was being hitched to the sumpter. “Joan, I believe, and fat as that barnyard cat we called Joan back in Wrotham.”
“Then at least should her ladyship feel crushed and faint, I can help revive her.”
The baroness turned away. “I shall personally murder both my daughters when we catch up to them,” she said. “And you need not bother to try and revive them.”
By nightfall, Emeline and her small party was already heading into southern England. It was the solitary outride, Alan Venter, who had forced the pace. Avice, Sysabel and their maids were quickly wearied. Old Bill had objected. Emeline had not.
“I was tired when I left home,” moaned Avice. “Now I am exhausted.”
Emeline said, “The journey is a nightmare. Arrival is the only goal, after all.”
“That new man Alan is the one who keeps making us hurry. But he’s no friend of Bill’s. They quarrel all the time.”
The small wayside tavern was their second stop, and they had managed a reasonable supper. The bedchamber contained one large palliasse which they would share, and pallets for the maids. “The roads are full of holes and the drizzle has soaked through to my bones,” Sysabel mumbled, pulling down her stockings and shaking the drops from their toes, proving her case. “I hate your Alan and silly old Bill both.”
“These pillows are flat,” Avice pointed out. “The mattress is lumpy. There’s no garderobe and the chamber pot isn’t even clean.”
“What complainers.” Emeline stood by the little window, looking out on the stable block below. “Wasn’t it originally you two who wanted this so called adventure? I only agreed to come because of Nicholas, and now I’m the only one not complaining.”
“That’s because you’ve got Nicholas to look forwards to. Sissy only has her brother, and me – no one.”
Petronella was collecting hot bricks from the kitchen to bring up and warm the bed. Hilda was helping her mistress to undress. Emeline already in her bedrobe, remained by the window. She said softly, “I wonder what he’s doing now. Where he’s sleeping. If he’s thinking of me.”
The baroness’s party was falling behind. Their pace became tedious as the litter lumbered through potholes and stuck in the mud. There was the necessity of stopping for dinner, then supper, and finding hostelries of superior quality for food and finally for bed. One of the outriders caught a bad cold and had to be sent home. Bess spilled hot spiced hippocras on the baroness’s riding gown, and the bright sunny morning had turned to torrential rain once they passed Reading.