The innkeeper looked up, startled, as the heavy oaken door was pushed
open. The blizzard which had raged all day had left drifts, impassable
and dangerously deep, around the village and the inn was full of
travellers who had chosen to extend their stay at a hostelry known for
its fine wines (smuggled from France, as all knew and no one mentioned)
and excellent cuisine (again owed to the demmed Frogs as the cook was
an émigré, whose affection for sharp knives had not
extended to the guillotine which awaited him for his Royalist
sympathies.) The innkeeper thought of his own hearty supper, likely
going cold, and sighed but put on his best smile and prepared to
welcome the new arrivals.
His smile froze on his lips with shock as the three figures were
silhouetted for a moment against a background of inky night and
whirling flakes. The two at the front were slender and lithe, great
coats swathed around their forms, keen eyes sweeping the parlour. Rudge
stepped back uneasily. He’d seen eyes like that before in his brief
stint in the Army as a youth; mercenaries eyes, hard and flat. The two
men, one fair, one dark, swept off their snow-encrusted hats and fanned
out, allowing the third member of their party to step forward into the
comforting warmth created by a fire in a hearth large enough to roast a
pig in the olden days, before Mistress Rudge had bullied and scolded
her man into installing a closed stove in the kitchen. “And bless me,
but the steps I save, not traipsing back ‘n forth will stretch from
here to Paddleswick Green in a week, I shouldn’t wonder!” she had
exclaimed, roundly bussing him when he finally gave in.
The last man...tall, and dark as a fallen angel, bare-headed, his
shoulder length hair powdered with snow, so that he looked for the
world like a dandy on his way to milady’s ball. Broad shoulders tapered
to a trim waist and his coat flared open to show lean, powerful legs,
shod in boots that, crusted with ice and snow as they were, still
gleamed with a sheen imparted by blacking mixed with champagne.
The fair haired man steeped forward and smiled at Rudge, blue eyes
glittering like icicles. “A room, brandy, food. In that order, if you’d
be so kind. Oh; and a hot bath would not go amiss. I am chilled to the
bone, as are we all.”
The innkeeper swallowed. The man’s voice was cultured and his words
polite but there was a lingering air of danger about all three of them
and he was minded to turn them from his door, were it not for the fact
that it might prove fatal. No swords hung by their sides, no pistols
spoiled the line of the clothes they wore, revealed as the heavy coats
were discarded, yet he still felt that were it to come to a fight,
these three would have no problems dispatching young Jem and Saul, the
hulking ploughboys who acted as peacekeepers when the bar got rowdy, in
return for a steady supply of home brewed.
“I - the inn is mighty full, sir. Fine gentlemen like yourselves,
travelling - ” He paused, forehead wrinkling in a frown. He had heard
no coach.
“We took our horses around to the stable,” he was told. “We travel
light and in some haste. This storm has overset our plans but no
matter. Now; it grows late; my master is weary and we -”
The tall gentleman spoke for the first time. “Your master is impatient.
Pray, what seems to be the delay?”
The third man turned from his scrutiny of a series of hunting scenes on
the wall, smoke-dimmed and yellowed and smiled charmingly. “Why, my
lord, I am persuaded there is none! Friends of Lord Harris must always
be welcome here, is that not so?”
Rudge’s brow cleared. “Oh, if it’s his lordship you’ve come to visit!
Aye; his manor lies some twelve miles from here; a good friend to -
ahhrump!” Recollecting that Lord Harris’ tolerance for smuggling might
not be a fit subject to discuss with strangers, he contented himself
with coming around to greet the three properly, pouring them glasses of
his best brandy while he directed Polly, the maid to make ready the
best room in the inn.
“If I’d known you were coming...but I spoke truth; we’m be overflowing
with guests. Only the one room, unless I shift someone to the stables
and I don’t like to do that. It has a fine feather mattress though and
a bed fit for a King. I can bring in some trestle beds too -”
“One room will seem like luxury for men accustomed to a tent with the
sound of cannons to lull us to sleep,” said the blond man merrily.
“Ah! Army men, be ye? I served myself in the days when I was - oh,
right ye are, Polly! All sorted? Show -” He paused and looked at them
in patent curiosity.
The blond, who seemed to be the spokesman for the group, smiled slowly.
“I am Captain Williams, that is Major Pryce and this is -”
“I am the Duke of Liamstone.”
Rudge gasped and paled. “Milord! Forgive me! I had no notion! I’ll
clear the rooms at once. Here, Polly. Roust out that long-nosed
apothecary and the fellow with the shifty eyes in the west rooms. They
can -”
“No need for that, Polly,” said Major Pryce, smiling down at her in a
way that set her heart fluttering beneath her serviceable print gown.
“Really; one room will more than suffice. But do, please arrange for
some hot water. I would like to feel my toes again before I sleep and
at the moment they are decidedly chilly.”
She bustled away, squeaking faintly as the captain sped her on her way
with a slap to her pert rump. Rudge took a deep breath. “Please to
follow me,” he said importantly.
They fell in behind him, with Captain Williams appropriating the bottle
of brandy with a dexterous sweep of his hand, and were shown into a
large room, clean and furnished plainly but comfortably. The bed
dominated it; a vast billow of fresh linen, four posted and weighty
with ornate carvings incised into the dark wood.
“’Tis said this bed is over three hundred years old,” confided Rudge.
“It has been in my family these dunnamany years. The story goes that my
grandfather three times removed was given it as a reward by a lord who
used to live in these parts, in gratitude for him saving the lord’s son
from drowning one winter when the little lad went through the ice on
Todger’s Pond. A strange gentleman, and they do say he had some odd
ways, but the bed brings pleasant dreams I’m told.”
“Really?” Major Pryce commented. “Fascinating...”
“Not as much as a hot meal would be,” said the Duke with some asperity.
“Your name, innkeeper?”
“Rudge, sir; Josiah Rudge, at your service.”
“Bring up our saddlebags from the stable. I’ll be wanting to change for
dinner.” He smiled for the first time, the curl of his lips
transforming his face magically. “I’m devilishly hungry.”
Go to Chapter Two
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Eleven
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Twelve
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Thirteen
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Fourteen
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Fifteen
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Sixteen
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Seventeen
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Eighteen
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Nineteen
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