Chapter 6
The moon rose as Charlotte trotted away on Scarlett, leaving Joshua Robertson’s disapproving gaze and gloomy warnings behind her.
She needed to focus on what lay ahead. Mrs. Norris’s.
A meal. A bed. All afternoon she’d ignored the numbness in her toes, but now that rest was at hand, she longed for the welcoming warmth of the inn.
The faint outline of a building came into view.
Scarlett saw it, too, and tossed her head, no doubt wanting rest and supper as much as Charlotte did.
As they approached, so did Charlotte’s misgivings, for the rough log cabin leaning against the side of the road looked like no inn she’d ever seen.
It was small and squat, with a tiny window through which she could make out none of the light and bustle of a posting inn.
She pulled Scarlett to a stop, uncertain. Perhaps Mrs. Norris was farther up the road. She brushed aside a fleeting regret that she hadn’t questioned Joshua Robertson more closely. Too late now. She dismounted, tied Scarlett to the hitching post, and headed to the plank door.
There was no response to her first tentative knock, so she tried again, rapping until her knuckles ached and she heard a grumpy voice exhorting her to have a little patience. A moment later, the door opened, and a woman stuck her head out, cap tied tightly under her chin.
“You be wanting a bed?” she asked.
The tension in Charlotte’s shoulders settled. This must be the inn. “Yes, I’d like—”
“Well, come in. It’s cold.”
Charlotte stepped into a large room, illuminated only by a low fire in an enormous stone fireplace that did little to take away the chill.
The air was thick with the smell of onions, damp wool, and unwashed bodies.
All around the hearth were long, dark lumps.
It took her a moment to realize they were people, patrons presumably.
Her stomach lurched. “I need a private room, please,” she added hastily.
She cast her eyes around the space and found no indication of a separate dining room. “I’ll take supper on a tray.”
The woman snorted. “That’s not the way things are done here, lad.”
Charlotte’s gaze snapped back to the woman in front of her. Her gown and voluminous apron were made from rough brown homespun. A cap covered her hair and shadowed her face, leaving Charlotte guessing as to the woman’s age.
“I have coin.” Charlotte jiggled her jacket, and the sack of money made an unmistakable clink in the inner pocket. The woman’s eyes widened. Coins were scarce in the bush, where most traded goods and services.
“Sit down, then.” The woman gestured behind her to the table. “I’ll see what can be arranged. I’m Mrs. Norris.”
Charlotte’s shoulders caved in relief at the familiar name. “I must tend to my horse first.”
“There’s a stable boy. He’ll help you.” The woman reached for the lantern burning low on the table. “Take this. I’ll heat a bowl of stew for you.” She lowered her voice. “Awful late for you to be on the road.”
Charlotte had planned what she would say to explain her journey. “My father is ill and sent me to fetch my brother home from Nassagaweya.”
The woman cocked her head, as though Charlotte puzzled her. Charlotte retreated before she could ask any questions.
She led Scarlett to the barn, her step lighter than it had been all day. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Despite the obstacles she’d encountered, she’d ended up in the right place. Safe.
Charlotte slid open the heavy door and a boy soon scampered to her side. She eyed him in surprise. He was young. Too young to be in a cold barn alone at this time of night.
“No need to trouble yourself,” Charlotte said. “I can tend her myself.”
The boy looked crestfallen.
“I could use your help to find the hay, though. Perhaps you could help me brush her, too.”
The boy nodded eagerly. “Aye, sir.” He returned with an armful of hay and eyed Scarlett appreciatively. “Mighty fine mount you’ve got. What’s her name?”
“Scarlett.”
The boy tossed Charlotte a currycomb, examining the mare’s dun coat doubtfully. “Don’t look red to me.”
“She’s named after Will Scarlett.” The boy didn’t seem to recognize the name. “One of Robin Hood’s merry men.”
“The fellow who stole from the rich folks?”
“The very one.” She smiled. “My brother and I thought Robin Hood must be the bravest, best man who ever lived.”
“If he helped the poor, then I reckon he was. There’s not many who care what happens to us.” The boy lingered, his eyes straying to her pockets. Of course.
“Thank you for your help.” Charlotte fished in her rapidly depleting purse and handed him the promised coin, hoping he wouldn’t expect another in the morning.
He snatched it from her grasp and Charlotte wondered how poor he was to be so excited about a ha’penny.
“Do you sleep out here?” She looked around the stable in dismay. There was no fireplace.
“Nah. I’m allowed to come in when chores are done.”
“You must work hard, helping your mother with the inn.”
“Her’s not my mum,” he said, as though the idea insulted him. “I work here is all.”
“But what about your family?” She took in his threadbare clothes and regretted her hasty question. For all she knew, he might be an orphan.
The boy shrugged philosophically. “There’s too many of us. I goes home sometimes.”
Charlotte swallowed and followed him back to the cabin. Perhaps she could spare another ha’penny after all.
The snores of sleeping patrons greeted her as she slipped inside. A bowl of stew waited at the long table. She thought about asking for a tray, but hunger outruled delicacy and she sat down to eat. It was delicious.
“Thank you.” She returned her bowl and plate to the dry sink with a smile in Mrs. Norris’s direction. The woman nodded briefly and went back to her knitting. Charlotte cleared her throat. “My room?”
“Anywheres you find a spot. You be needing a bedroll?” the woman asked as Charlotte continued to hesitate. “It’s two shillings extra.”
“I requested a private room.” Charlotte waved her hand to indicate the ladder leading to a second level.
“There ain’t no private rooms,” the woman said, irritation lacing her words. “Who do you think you are?”
Charlotte was so tired, she could probably sleep leaning against the wall, if it came to that. But the thought of bedding down in a room of strange men had her throat thickening with tears. “Is there another room? For ladies?” she added in a whisper.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Knew there was something off about you.” Charlotte waited, breath bated, until Mrs. Norris sighed, relenting. “Up there, then.” She pointed at a ladder in the corner that led to the loft. “You can have my bed for tonight.”
Charlotte looked up with a flood of relief. Though the loft was open to the lower level, the bed was out of sight, and she’d have some measure of privacy. “Thank you.”
“Won’t be the first night I spent in my chair,” the woman grumbled. “And it’ll cost you extra.”
Charlotte hesitated, but exhaustion outweighed the desire to hang on to her small sack of coins. Besides, tomorrow she’d find Simon, and all this would be behind her.
Joshua unhitched Bess in the yard and headed straight for the stable.
He’d bunk there, as he’d done all the years he worked here.
His stomach protested the lack of Mrs. Norris’s fine supper, but the cabin was dark, and he wouldn’t disturb her.
The arrival of one poorly disguised girl was upheaval enough for one night.
He lit a lantern and peered down the hall of the stable, looking for the nearest empty stall.
He passed a showy gray gelding he recognized.
Mr. Ogden was here again. He smiled, thinking of Mrs. Norris’s longtime admirer.
The older man certainly had a lot of business on the north road.
A heavy black draft horse whinnied a greeting to Bess.
Miss Fulton’s elegant dun mare was next, he noted with relief. She’d arrived.
Joshua paused, lifting his lantern for a closer look and taking in her long legs and the graceful line of her neck. “Well, hello there, beauty,” he murmured. She shook her head, and he obliged her with a scratch behind her ears. “How did your mistress fare?”
What did Miss Fulton think of Mrs. Norris’s? It must surely be the roughest inn she’d ever encountered. He pushed back a flicker of worry. Mrs. Norris was a fair woman who would observe the proprieties. Miss Fulton wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least she’d be safe.
Joshua settled Bess, then took his bedroll up to the loft, his mind whirling with questions.
Who was she? Where was she going? Perhaps she joined her family.
Perhaps she joined a husband. Inexplicably, that last thought left a sour taste in his mouth, and he rolled over, punching the hay underneath him into a more comfortable pile. He had to put this woman from his mind.
“Here now, who’s up there?”
An outraged voice woke him while it was still mostly dark. Joshua sat up, nearly hitting his head on a low beam. A boy glared at him from the top of the ladder, his hair sticking out wildly from under a knit cap.
“Thought you’d sneak away without paying for your horse’s keep, did you?” Disgust filled the boy’s voice and Joshua bit back a smile. Here was a young man who took his job seriously.
“No, no, I intend to pay. I arrived late is all.”
“Humph.” The boy studied him with wise eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Mrs. Norris don’t take kindly to them that tries to cheat her.”
Joshua did smile at this. “I know that all too well.” He shook out his blanket and rolled it up. “I’ve known her for years.” He climbed down the ladder, forcing the boy to retreat ahead of him. “In fact, I did the same job you’re doing now.”
This caught the boy’s attention. “You did?” A smile transformed his sharp features, and Joshua glimpsed the child beneath the hard shell. Even younger than Joshua was when he started.
“I’m Joshua Robertson, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Pete.”
Joshua stuck out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Pete. Don’t remember seeing you the last time I came through.”
“I’m new.” A wave of sadness passed over the boy’s face and Joshua’s heart constricted.
The boy was alone, adjusting to a world that valued only what he produced.
It had been months before Joshua had stopped crying himself to sleep every night, thinking about Henry and Mam, longing for the tiny, airless room they’d shared, and wondering why he’d been sent away.
Years later he’d come to understand Mam had no choice. She saved him from his stepfather’s drunken rages and a life on the streets. At the time he’d only felt the sting of rejection and loneliness.
He’d promised himself Henry would never know that pain. And he’d failed.
Shaking off the dark thoughts, Joshua lifted a nearby bucket and headed for the pump in the yard, his steps purposeful. If he could find this fellow on Line 5 and get the information he needed, he’d be five pounds closer to freeing Henry.
“Hey, what are you doing?” The hard suspicion returned to the boy’s voice.
Joshua didn’t pause. “Just giving you a hand.”
Pete hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether to trust this offer of help. A feeling Joshua understood. The world was unfriendly to a poor boy that nobody had much use for.
By the time the chores were done, Joshua knew the color and characteristics of every horse that had come through the stable in the past week, and he’d been treated to a monologue on the merits of the beautiful dun mare and her mysterious owner.
“Seemed awful young to have a mare like that.” Pete lowered his voice.
“Spoke real fine and kind of . . . different. Reminded me of my sister.” Pete looked at him as though he guessed the questions swirling in Joshua’s mind.
“Kind of makes you wonder, though, don’t it?
What a fellow like that is doing here, all alone? ”