Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gwen took a few deep breaths as she folded the carriage blanket into a neat square. That ridiculous comment about swallows was exactly the sort of thing Gran would say, out of nowhere. It made her homesick, and anxious, and filled with gratitude to the captain for offering her space in his travel chaise. Without him, she’d still be stranded in Ipswich, hungry and nearly penniless.

She was still nearly penniless, but she was several miles nearer Gran, thanks to Captain Fitzhugh. Even if she had to spend her remaining coins here, he’d done her a tremendous favor. “Let’s go, Reggie,” she told the cat, who was mewing restively in his basket. “And behave yourself! I fear you are making the captain sneeze, which is very rude when he’s been so kind to us.”

She climbed down and noted that the horses had already been unhitched and taken away. The snow was no longer fluffy flakes but had turned to wet globs of slush. The postilion, moving stiffly, was shaking snow from his coat and hat. She thanked him, and asked a passing groom if she could release Reggie in the stables. He shrugged and nodded, leading away a snow-dusted horse, so Gwen took her wriggling basket into an empty aisle and opened the lid.

“Behave, Sir Reginald,” she whispered as he leapt out and darted behind a water pail, to glare out at her with aggrieved eyes. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I’ll try to bring you something tasty.”

She hurried toward the inn, tucking down her chin against the icy sleet. By the time she reached the door, her face was numb and wet and she all but flung herself through the door. Then she ran right into Captain Fitzhugh’s back, as he stood only a foot inside the door. He turned to steady her with a hand under her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, catching sight of his grim expression.

His dark eyes swept the taproom to their left. “It appears my memory of this place is outdated.”

Gwen looked. It was crowded and close, smelling of old ale and wet wool and the suffocating odor of sweat. A dingy lantern hung above their heads, the glass yellow from dirt and smoke. The smell of tallow candles pervaded the atmosphere, and more than one fellow appeared to be well into his cups. It was loud and raucous, and instinctively she moved a little closer to Captain Fitzhugh.

“The innkeeper says there are no rooms to be had,” he said, stooping to put his mouth near her ear. Some men in the bar were singing what sounded like a navy ballad, very off-tune. They appeared quite drunk.

“Oh.” Gwen flinched at a burst of laughter. Someone has spilled a tankard of ale, and there was some pushing and cursing.

A harried woman strode past, plates piled in her hands. She stopped short when she spotted Gwen. “Didn’t say you’d got a wife with you,” she accused the captain.

In an instant the captain slid his arm around Gwen’s shoulders and tugged her closer. “You didn’t ask. Surely you’ve got something suitable for a lady. Anything at all would be greatly appreciated.”

Gwen, startled, said nothing.

“I told you already, the storm caught everyone off guard,” the woman retorted. She was more frazzled than angry, and she looked exhausted. “We’re packed to the rafters.”

A man staggered from the taproom, jostling the landlady and fumbling at his trouser buttons as he went. He seized a pot from beneath a chair, hunched over, and Gwen heard the unmistakable sound of the fellow relieving himself.

The captain gave the landlady a speaking look. “Anything at all?”

She shifted her weight. One of the plates balanced on her arm was tilting, and a trickle of gravy ran over her wrist, making her jump. “Let me think a moment,” she snapped, and ducked into the taproom.

Gwen dared peek up at the captain. His gaze was fixed on the landlady, moving through the taproom as she thumped plates down on tables. His arm was still around her, holding her snugly against him. She supposed she ought to mind that, but she really didn’t. Not only was he big enough to deter any man who might bother her, he was warm and solid and he smelled far better than this inn. If she turned her head slightly to the right, she could catch a whiff of sandalwood clinging to his coat, which helped blot out the reek of sour ale and now urine.

The man behind them let out a moan. The stream had slowed to a splatter, then he thumped the pot back down and presumably did up his breeches. He brushed past them, and gave her a second, interested, look. “Evening, lovely,” he slurred.

“Good evening,” said the captain evenly, his arm firm around Gwen. The man glanced at him and nodded before lurching back through the taproom doorway.

“We can’t stay here,” said the captain under his breath.

Gwen agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment, but didn’t see many alternatives. “Do you propose to sleep in the stable?” she whispered. “Is there another inn in town?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then what choice is there?”

He hesitated, and the landlady bustled out of the taproom. She checked at the sight of them, then jerked her head. “This way.”

She left them standing in a cramped corridor near the kitchen. It smelled somewhat better here, although the heat was oppressive. Gwen glanced up at the captain again. “What do you hope for?”

He ducked his head. “Perhaps a sympathetic vicar with some spare rooms? Or an elderly widowed lady happy to make a few shillings for the night.”

She nodded, but with a sense of foreboding. It was clear the captain had more ready funds than she did, and even if he offered to pay for her, she hated to take more charity from him.

However, the uproar in the taproom had not subsided, and the thought of sitting in there all night was not appealing, especially if the captain left for a warm bed in an elderly widow’s spare bedchamber.

The captain pulled out his watch, and Gwen caught a glimpse of the face. It was barely four o’clock, for all that it felt like days since they’d departed Ipswich. Of course, Gwen had risen at five in the morning to catch the mail coach, and yesterday had also been a long day of travel from Salisbury.

The landlady returned. “There’s a few folk about who sometimes take in a lodger or two. I can’t swear any of them have got room, but it’s your best hope this side of Bury St. Edmunds. I can send the lad around to inquire once he’s done with his chores.”

“Of course.” The captain shifted, angling closer to the landlady, and Gwen, sensing what he was doing, looked away awkwardly. She heard the murmur of his voice and the clink of coins, and then the landlady was nodding and smiling. Someone shouted, and she ducked back into the kitchen.

“I did my best to chivvy her along, but it may be some time before the boy has any news,” the captain said. “Shall we sit down? You must want a cup of tea.”

Gwen mustered a smile. “Yes.” This time, she resolved, she would pay for his tea and hers.

He hung up their cloaks and led the way into the taproom, shouldering his way through the mass of men around the long trestle table by the fire. He found a vacant seat on a bench in the corner below the windows and glared at the two men sitting nearby until they grudgingly shifted over. Captain Fitzhugh ushered Gwen into the corner and placed himself between her and the rest of the room. He raised one hand and the landlady nodded in acknowledgment.

Gwen untied her bonnet and took it off. She’d had a bad feeling, which was confirmed as she studied it. The buckram had got wet, and the brim had begun to sag.

“It appears to have suffered some harm,” remarked the captain.

“A serious one,” she agreed, turning the poor bonnet around. “Alas. Perhaps Gran has got me a new one for a Christmas gift.”

“Ah,” he said in surprise. “I’d forgotten about Christmas.”

“It’s still over a week away,” she told him. “Plenty of time.”

“Not much,” he said ruefully. “I shan’t have gifts for anyone.”

“I’m certain your presence will be more than enough gift for your family,” she protested.

He made a face. “A fleeting pleasure, compared to a new bonnet one might wear for a year or more!”

“Oh, no!” She twisted and gripped his hand, almost fiercely. “You’ve been away at war. Having you return home safely after that will be better than a hundred new bonnets!”

He looked a little surprised at her outburst, but then his fingers squeezed hers before slipping away. “Perhaps. I hope it will be—though a hundred bonnets is aiming far too high. I understand bonnets to be very important, and I wouldn’t want to overreach.”

“Better than twenty of the most fashionable bonnets in England,” she answered fervently.

The captain laughed, and Gwen smiled, irrationally pleased by that.

The landlady wound her way through the crowded room to them and plunked down a small teapot and cup, a foaming tankard, and a glass of wine. Gwen poured her cup and clasped it close to her face, breathing in the steam greedily. She drank her tea while the captain downed his beer.

“Are you hungry?” he leaned down to ask.

She hesitated, but the soup in Ipswich had been a long time ago. She nodded. Again he signaled the landlady, and by the time Gwen had finished her pot of tea, two bowls of rabbit stew had been delivered to their table. It wasn’t as good as the soup had been, but it was hot and filling. By the time she pushed back her bowl with a contented sigh, the captain had already finished his. He leaned back in the hard wooden seat, his head against the windowsill behind him, his eyes closed.

The poor man. He’d been fighting a war, sleeping in the mountains of Spain, before rushing home to see his ill grandfather. He had obviously intended to travel swiftly and comfortably, in his own travel chaise with hot bricks and a blanket. Instead, he was stuck with her—and with Reggie, who made him sneeze—at this smelly, crowded inn, without a bed to sleep in. And he hadn’t lost his good humor or his manners.

She eased out of her seat; he didn’t stir. She collected the empty dishes from their table and carried them to the kitchen, then slipped out to the necessary. When she came back, he’d stretched out his legs under the table, but otherwise hadn’t moved. Gwen found the landlady and asked for a blanket, which the woman handed over more willingly than expected. “I’ve sent young Bobby around to ask about rooms,” she added. “Tell your husband.”

Gwen didn’t bother to correct her, since the captain hadn’t done so earlier. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to the captain.

He slept on, his head fallen heavily to one side. Gently Gwen rolled up the edge of the thick brown scarf he still wore and tucked it under his cheek. Aside from a frown twitching across his brow, he didn’t react. Something protective unfurled in her chest. This man had been so kind to her and offered her his protection. The least she could do in turn was make him more comfortable as he slept.

It wasn’t as stifling here in this corner, where the wind found every gap around the windowpanes and made the lantern above them flicker. But the bracing air was fresh, and when Gwen draped the blanket over the captain, he sighed as if in contentment.

She resumed her seat in the corner. Tucked between him and the wall, with cool air on her face, the long day began to catch up with her as well. Despite the landlady’s words, no young man had appeared in the taproom, and the landlady herself was still running to and fro, serving and cleaning and shaking her head at patrons. Gwen’s eyelids felt heavy, and she braced her shoulder against the corner wall.

Just a few minutes’ doze, she thought, and that was the last thing she remembered.