Chapter 3
Joy and Wren had arrived fairly late the day before, and after the rigors of travel, the arrival of the coachman (if not the coach), and a full meal, Joy couldn’t keep her eyes open.
Both women collapsed into the bed of their gifted room and slept soundlessly until the next morning.
Cullen was given a place with the inn’s stableboys, probably just as cosy a spot as any a woodland creature might find in the forest.
After waking on Thursday morning, the full significance of her situation fell upon Joy. She was stranded at an out-of-the-way inn, with her carriage stuck on the road a mile back, and oh yes, the man who passed her over ten years ago was also under the same roof.
Well, they wouldn’t be stuck here for long. Joy simply had to avoid Douglas for a day, and then they’d all leave this place, intent on holiday plans.
Slowly, she became aware of many sounds echoing up from both the courtyard outside, which the room overlooked, and from the ground floor of the inn itself.
Hopeful that this meant the road had been cleared, and people were now free to travel, she dressed and asked Wren to find them a quick breakfast so that they might not lose any time.
Wren dutifully went in search of food, but did not return by the time Joy’s stomach was growling, so she went downstairs herself in search of sustenance.
The innkeeper greeted her with a benevolent smile, and indeed it seemed as though all of the foyer and the common room were filled with men dressed for the out of doors.
“Does this mean that the way is clear?” Joy asked, hoping that he did not interpret her enthusiasm as a commentary on the inn itself.
The innkeeper still smiled, but shook his head.
“Alas, not yet, ma’am. The lads from the village are doing what they can, and one of them has stopped by to ask any able-bodied man for assistance.
There have been several volunteers, for it seems that any form of exercise is preferable to sitting and waiting. ”
Just then, Joy saw Douglas and the ex-soldier with whom he was sharing his room. Both men were dressed in greatcoats.
Douglas caught her staring before she could look away. He said, “I’m joining the war effort against the blizzard.”
“I imagine you’re motivated to return home.” She gave him a stiff nod, unable to ignore just how handsome he looked with his clean-shaven face and his sparkling eyes. She added, “Everyone will be grateful to continue their journey when the road is clear.”
“Especially you. You can’t stand being under the same roof as me.” But he gave her a smile as he said it, and her stomach lurched in response.
She was just hungry, that was all. She was too old for her body to be reacting like a debutante’s just because a man smiled at her. Especially when that man was Douglas.
Joy and Wren spent most of the day in the common room. Wren knitted away, Joy read a book. The snow continued to drift down.
In the late afternoon, the troupe of men returned to the inn, bearing the news that they had made some progress, but that the massive drifts across the road and the extraordinary wetness of the snow had hindered their efforts.
They were all confined to the inn for another night.
The good news was that a side road to the village had been cleared, which meant that supplies (strained by the sudden influx of guests) could be replenished.
Douglas found Joy in the foyer, and informed her that the village road was open. “If you like, you and your maid could probably find hospitality with a local family tomorrow.”
“I hope to be long gone by then,” she said. “Surely the road will be clear by tomorrow?”
“So eager to be rid of me, aren’t you, Joy?”
“You overestimate your significance in my mind, sir.”
He took a step backward, laying his hand over his chest in a mock stagger. “You wound me, Joy. If you do not think of me fondly, at least tell me you think of me with fury. The one thing I could not stand would be if you did not think of me at all.”
For all his theatrics, she sensed a thread of truth underneath the words. And a hint of vulnerability. Did Douglas think of her? Had he thought of her at all in the past ten years?
Joy retreated from Douglas, though she went to the common room rather than the bedchamber upstairs—mostly so it wouldn’t look like she was retreating.
Clara was there, singing as she worked to tidy up the fireplace and stock more wood for the coming evening.
Joy heard cheerful carols in the tavern room, but Clara seemed more inclined to the melancholy songs of winter, the ones in the plaintive minor key that a person kept hearing in their heart even after the song was over. She sang,
The north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow,
and what will the robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll hide in a barn, and keep himself warm
and tuck his head under his wing, poor thing.
Joy thought that she was not unlike the poor little robin in the song, hiding here in the inn, tucking her head under her metaphorical wing, and just hoping for the storm to pass. Both the real storm and the emotional storm brought on by seeing Douglas once again.
She fell to musing, staring into the fire without really seeing it. She was too consumed with memories.
“Ma’am?”
Joy started, suddenly aware she’d been half-asleep. The clock said it was an hour later. Clara near stood near Joy, bearing a tray filled with little cakes, each dusted with sugar that glinted like snow.
“A soul cake, ma’am? It is solstice night and we made dozens. But I fear that the guisers will not make it to the inn this year. Too bad, since it’s a full moon. They’d easily find their way even without a torch.”
“You still have guisers in this part of the country? Like mummers?” The ancient tradition of guising, or mumming, referred to those who went door to door during the season, often wearing masks and promising terrible pranks for those owners who did not invite them in and offer sweets and something to drink.
The practice had long faded away in London, and indeed from most of the more populated parts of the country.
“Of course, ma’am! Why should we not?” the girl replied.
For a part of the world where the old traditions had not ceased, it would seem quite absurd to suggest that they could possibly ever cease.
In a way, it was heartening to know there were places that continued on their tradition unbroken, even a tradition like guising, which held a tiny note of menace, despite the fact that it was really just another way of calling on one’s neighbors.
There was something both thrilling and a little scary about not knowing who it was who was knocking on your door, and then being told that you must provide wine or some sweetmeat in order to avoid the masked guisers’ pranks.
Lost in these thoughts, Joy accepted one of the tiny cakes from the tray.
“Take more,” the girl encouraged. And then she began to sing, “One for Peter, one for Paul. One for Him who saved us all…”
Joy obediently took two more, the tiny cakes hardly filling her hand. The girl smiled and turned, still humming the song, as she went in pursuit of the next un-caked guest.
Joy bit into the first cake and found it moist and sweet, tasting of warm spices and succulent dried fruits.
The taste woke her hunger, and then a cold draft suddenly whooshed through the room as someone shut the massive front door in the foyer.
She decided to go up to find a wrap before the evening meal. Her stomach grumbled at the thought.
At the doorway, she bumped into Douglas, who reached out and steadied her before suddenly letting go, as if she might burn him.
They stared at each other for far too long a moment.
“Er, did you have a soul cake?” Douglas asked, awkwardly.
“Yes,” she replied, just as awkwardly. “More than one.”
“Good.” He nodded, then suddenly smiled. Lord, his eyes still crinkled at the corners. Lord. Then he said in a rush, “Actually, I had five. Tasty little things.”
“Made tastier still by the servers, I’m sure.” For he couldn’t have missed the beauty of the innkeeper’s daughters.
“They are a credit to the establishment,” he agreed, but without a hint of lasciviousness or offense.
She announced, “Though we must share space, don’t expect me to be polite or charming, Mr. Sterling. As if I might magically forget what has transpired between us in the past.”
“I have never forgotten, and I wish that we had talked again before now. I moved away from London about a year and a half after I last saw you.”
“After you jilted me,” she amended. It was not technically correct, for they had not been formally engaged. But in spirit, it was the truth, and the way his expression changed, he knew it very well.
“I would prefer to say it was September, but yes.”
“Your other courtship must have been persuasive, for all its brevity. She was most sought after that season, and I know that yours was not the only proposal she received.”
“Another way of saying that you are surprised she accepted. I was surprised too, to be honest. She could have held out for a more august title, or a man with a more impressive income.”
“She had income enough herself, if I recall,” Joy said. “You must’ve found that quite reassuring. I myself had very little other than my face. Fortunately, my face was what my husband chiefly prized.”
“If that’s the case, he did not dig deep enough. Your beauty is the least of your qualities.”
“It was my only quality. And now I don’t even have that. My bloom is quite gone, I’ve been told.”
“By who? You are as lovely now as you were ten years ago. More so, in fact.”
“Compared to the fresh-faced beauty of our soul cake purveyor? Don’t mock me.”