Chapter Four
The trouble began largely because Lily was so excited to see the sea that Tabitha instructed the coachman to follow the coast roads as far as possible.
After all, this whole expedition was for Lily’s benefit.
Tabitha, beyond the pleasure of reunion with Louisa Hawthorn and one or two other old friends, was infinitely bored with the same-ness of country house parties.
And in this case, she would have to be on her best behaviour to chaperone Lily properly.
Perhaps it would be more amusing seeing everything through Lily’s innocent eyes.
Like seeing the world through Mr. De’Ath’s almost child-like eagerness, with his enjoyment of bricklayers’ jokes and Romany weddings, and even robbery on the king’s highway. But there was no point in thinking of him.
Unfortunately, changing the direct route known to the coachman meant that by evening, when they were all hungry, they were lost. Struggling inland again in the presumed direction of Hawthorn Court, they found the roads in a shocking state and almost impassible, alternately water-logged into mud, or so dry and rutted that even the excellently-sprung travelling coach bounced painfully over them.
Worse, there were no signposts. The odd local encountered on the road merely gaped and shrugged when James the coachman inquired for the Firkin Inn, where Tabitha had reserved rooms and meals. In this way, she had planned to arrive at Hawthorn Court at a civilized time the following day.
Even before darkness fell into damp blackness beneath the lowering clouds, Tabitha was convinced they were going in circles.
She stuck her head out of the window. “Do you see anything, James?”
“There’s a few lights ’way to the left there,” James said grimly. “But they seem to be moving.”
He was right. She could make out a ragged little row of them, pale and indistinct as if very far away in the direction she imagined to be the sea.
“Head towards them,” Tabitha ordered. “They must be going somewhere!”
“I’ll try,” James said grimly.
For the next half hour, the carriage bumped and slogged over even worse tracks, some of which were barely wide enough, as James tried to intercept the lights.
The tracks did not always co-operate, running too straight or bending in the wrong direction and neither did the lights which frequently vanished from view altogether.
“Perhaps they are lights on fishing boats,” Lily said, “and we are just driving back to the coast.”
It had crossed Tabitha’s mind as well, especially since the clouded skies deprived James of his normally excellent sense of direction.
“I told Ralph and Portia you needed amusement,” she said.
Lily laughed. “I think I need supper more.”
“Think of the poor horses... Oh, look, a signpost!”
The coach’s lanterns had indeed lit up a sign for a place called Garth, pointing along a wider track to the right. The horses came to a halt, and again Tabitha stuck her head out of the window.
“Promising!” she called hopefully to James.
“Maybe. But the lights are to the left and much closer than they were. Which way do you want me to go? No guarantees there’ll be an inn at this Garth place which I’ve never heard of. It might even just be a farm. On the other hand, at least it’s somewhere definite.”
Lily was peering out of the other window. “It says it’s only one mile to Garth.”
Tabitha, watching the lights with growing curiosity, rubbed one finger across her lips. She dropped her hand into her lap. “Then let’s turn left and follow the lights. If they lead nowhere, we at least know where Garth is.”
James shrugged and urged the horses forward and to the left.
“What a very odd decision,” Lily said. “You just want to know what the lights are.”
“Well, they have come quite a long way, and I don’t believe whoever is carrying them has been using any roads.
But I won’t drag us far. If they lead nowhere, we’ll return to Garth.
” Of course, whether or not they could turn the carriage was another matter.
Perhaps she had let curiosity lead her into the poorest of decisions. Again.
However, they had not gone very far at all along the left-hand track when yet another light glimmered through the trees. The track bent toward it and beneath the light which hung over a stone arch, an extremely dirty sign proclaimed—or at least murmured indistinctly—The Headless Horseman Inn.
“Tabitha, you are a genius,” Lily said in delight. “How on earth did you know?”
“Of course I didn’t. I was following my nose.”
James guided the tired horses under the stone arch into a somewhat unwelcoming yard.
No one ran to greet them. The house was a decent size, though apart from one downstairs light, it appeared to be in darkness.
One side of the yard seemed to be a stable block, judging by the equine snorts and stamps within.
The opposite side consisted of indistinct outbuildings.
“House!” James roared and climbed down from his box.
The door of the main house opened abruptly. A skinny lad peered out. “Billy?”
“No,” James growled, opening the coach door and letting down the steps. “But we’ll be requiring accommodation for two ladies, myself, and four horses. Jump to it, boy—the horses are dead on their hooves!”
Abruptly, the skinny boy was shoved aside and a huge barrel of a man with long, curling side whiskers strode out with a lantern. His gaze swept over the new arrivals and, as James deliberately closed the carriage door, the muddied Sark crest.
He did not look pleased. In fact, for a moment, his scowl denoted extreme irritation, but he bowed all the same. “Welcome to the Headless Horseman. I’m Rains, your host. Come in, come in, and my wife will look after you, ladies. Shift yourself, Harry, and let’s see to these horses...”
The innkeeper’s sudden hurry was a relief to Tabitha, who was more than happy to step into the house. There, a plump woman was busy lighting candles in wall sconces around a big, open room which smelled of tallow, tobacco, and stale beer.
“So sorry, ma’am, we wasn’t expecting guests of quality,” the woman babbled. “I’ll take you up directly and Harry will bring your bags. I hope you don’t mind sharing a bedchamber, only with no notice...”
“That will be acceptable,” Tabitha said, looking about her. “Though we would appreciate a private parlour.”
“Alas, ma’am, I cannot help you there! But it is a lovely big bedchamber, and I’ll be more than happy to serve you there myself. A nice bit of mutton stew before you retire?”
“Thank you,” Tabitha said graciously, although the meal did not sound terribly appetizing.
The woman, presumably Mrs. Rains, began to lead them toward the stairs, just as Harry brought in the bags.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she demanded, stopping in her tracks.
Tabitha raised her eyebrows. “It is adequate for tonight. We shan’t be staying longer.”
“The rest of our baggage went ahead to Hawthorn Court,” Lily added, as though made suddenly nervous by the woman’s disapproval, though it did not appear to stem from an excess of respectability.
Tabitha suspected the woman had been hoping for large gratuities or even, more worryingly, thieving opportunities.
“We got lost going too far along the coast,” Lily explained. “We were so pleased to come upon your house.”
Mrs. Rains sniffed, swiped up the bags from the floor, since Harry had rushed outside again, and led the way up the dusty staircase.
“Do you have many guests?” Tabitha asked, as they passed several closed doors along a dark passage and around the corner to another, past a half-glass door that seemed to give onto an outside staircase.
Mrs. Rains did not light any of the sconces as she went, relying on her own single candle which cast eerie, flickering shadows up the bare stone walls. Tabitha and Lily stayed close to each other and to their guide’s light.
“It varies,” Mrs. Rains replied vaguely. “And of course we’re refurbishing the old place...”
“Not so as you’d notice,” Lily murmured in Tabitha’s ear, eyeing the cobwebs.
Mrs. Rains threw open the door at the very end of the third passage and beamed with triumph. “There, you see, our most superior bedchamber!” She dropped their bags on the floor at her feet while they followed her inside.
As she moved across the room, lighting the lamp on the table and two wax candles on the walls, they saw that the room was indeed large, containing two huge and ancient four-poster beds, a marble-topped chest of drawers with a washing bowl, and, built into the wall, a large cupboard for hanging clothes which Mrs. Rains showed them with some pride.
There was also a table and two upright chairs.
Compared with the rest of the house, the chamber was surprisingly sweet-smelling and airy, which was due no doubt to the wide-open window which Mrs. Rains shut with a slam before closing the curtains.
“Best keep the cold and the rain out. Will you have the fire lit? It might smoke a bit.”
“No, I believe we will be warm enough,” Tabitha said hastily. “This will do very well.”
“Then I’ll go and see about your supper, Mrs...?” She waited hopefully.
“Lady Sark,” Lily supplied. “And I am Lady Lily Lisle.”
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Rains with genuine awe. “We don’t normally have guests of such quality. We’re too out of the way, see? Well, you make yourselves comfortable, my ladies...” She waddled off, closing the door carefully behind her.
“What a strange inn,” Lily remarked. “It looks as if it’s on its last legs.” She sank down on the bed. “As am I.”
A small, slightly grubby girl brought a jug of warm washing water, which she left on top of the chest before effacing herself. Both women almost pounced on the water and were still drying their hands when Mrs. Rains appeared with a laden tray.
Their meal smelled surprisingly good, and it came with a jug of rather excellent wine.