Chapter 5
A Very Improper Escort
Angel and Milly hurried down the stairs as the church bells rang seven.
“I can’t believe we slept so late,” Angel said as they headed for the noise and bustle of the public dining room.
“You was done in, miss, and I was none too sprightly myself. It did us good, I reckon.”
Angel could not disagree. She felt remarkably light-hearted this morning, though she had the lowering suspicion that this had more to do with their new travelling companion than the success of their mission.
“Well, we must eat quickly and be on our way.”
“There’s Toby and Mr Cleaver,” Milly said, nodding across the busy room where serving girls hurried about with laden trays.
Mr Cleaver lifted a hand in greeting and rose to his feet, and Angel tried to smother the little flutter of excitement in her belly upon seeing him. Yet he was an imposing sight, and she noted more than one lady turn in his direction, a wistful glint in their eyes.
“Miss Baxter, Miss Milly, good morning to you. I trust you slept well?” he asked politely, pulling out chairs for them.
“Like the dead,” Milly said, and then blushed at her temerity in speaking to the gentleman at all.
Angel laughed, setting her bonnet aside as she nodded ruefully. “I am afraid we are horribly late, but it’s all too true.”
“Not in the least. Though you’d best order quickly before young Toby here eats all the bacon.”
Toby glanced up from his plate, half a rasher hanging from his mouth. Milly tsked at him and pulled a face, and he shoved the other half in with his finger. “Sorry,” he mumbled, chewing with enthusiasm.
Angel could not fault the efficiency of the place, as a fresh pot of tea was set before them a moment later.
Angel and Milly refused the eggs and bacon that Mr Cleaver and Toby were devouring with such enthusiasm and instead helped themselves to fresh bread and butter topped with a thick smear of golden honey.
Outside in the yard came the sound of horses' hooves on the cobbles and the scrape of wheels as the ostlers got travellers back on the road.
Pushing aside his empty plate, Mr Cleaver drained his tankard of ale and looked at Toby. “Right, young shaver. If you’re done, we’ll see to the horses. Finish your tea, ladies, I’ll send the lad in when we’re ready.”
Angel nodded, elbowing Milly as she turned in her seat to watch Mr Cleaver walk away.
Milly turned back, shaking her head. “I could get used to this.”
Hart paid the bill for the rooms, knowing Miss Baxter would be horrified at his audacity, but he worried she might not have funds enough for whatever it was she was up to.
Back out in the yard, he watched approvingly as Toby tacked up their pony himself.
He was a cheerful, willing lad and seemed to be a natural around horses.
As he walked across to the stall where his own mount was stabled, movement caught Hart’s eye.
In a shadowy corner stood a woman. She turned as he looked her way, her face lost behind a rather gaudy bonnet.
It was an odd thing, but he’d felt certain she’d been watching Toby.
Shaking off the uneasy feeling the woman had given him, he set about seeing to his own horse.
Like Toby, it was a job he preferred to do himself when possible. When all was ready, he sent Toby in to fetch the ladies, only to discover they’d disappeared. Mildly alarmed, he was relieved when they appeared in the yard a few minutes later, laden down with armfuls of provisions.
“As you would not allow us to pay our bill, we have taken the liberty of providing nuncheon,” Miss Baxter told him briskly, giving him a stern look that suggested she had discovered his perfidy and was having none of it.
Toby ran towards them, helping to stow the spoils of their shopping expedition in the box behind the gig.
Hart grinned and thanked her, offering her his hand to climb up and take her place in the gig. She did so, but he noticed her touch did not linger, and she released his hand as if it had burned her.
Not long after seven thirty, Hart followed the gig out of the inn’s yard and onto the road. The pony, well fed and rested, pricked up its ears, trotting along at a smart clip as they left Cranbrook behind.
He hoped to get the ladies at least as far as Tonbridge by late afternoon, and for once all went to plan.
Though the skies threatened rain on and off, it amounted to no more than a few spots.
They stopped around midday and ate a simple meal in a quiet spot by the River Teise at Horsmonden.
It was a pretty spot, and perfect for a picnic.
Marsh marigolds lined the water’s edge, their buttercup-like faces bobbing in the breeze.
Hart found he could not take his eyes from Miss Baxter.
She sat upon a thick wool rug, surrounded by cowslips and sweet violets.
She offered him a slice of the fruitcake she’d brought, cutting it with a wicked-looking dagger that caught his eye.
Hart reached for the cake, deliberately allowing their fingers to brush as he took it.
He thought her breath caught, and she turned hurriedly to speak to Milly.
He felt a surge of triumph and then wondered at himself.
What was he playing at? He was not the kind to toy with a young lady’s affections.
She was no lightskirt to tumble into bed with either, at least he didn’t think she was.
He brightened as he wondered if she could be a courtesan, or some man’s mistress—yet no.
She might be a little bold, but he felt certain she was an innocent.
He found he could not stop his eyes from wandering back and finding hers, though, and a smile curved over his lips, satisfaction lancing through him as she tentatively returned the expression before looking away.
Hart turned his attention to the river, the water flowing too fast and too high after so much wet weather.
It surged on, heedless of how close it came to breaking over the lush green banks, snatching twigs and debris as it went.
He ate the cake, considering everything he knew about the beautiful woman opposite him. It didn’t amount to much.
“You look very sombre, Mr Cleaver.”
Hart looked up as Miss Baxter addressed him. He smiled, tugging at a long stem of grass and turning it in his hands. “I was only thinking that the river is in an almighty rush to get where it’s going—it reminded me of you. What is it that takes you to Eynsford in such a hurry?”
“Am I in such a hurry?” she asked, avoiding his gaze and busying herself with packing up the leftover food.
“Aye. Reckon you are, and I think a fellow has a right to know what you are about. I’m your guard dog, like I promised, but I’d like to know if there’s anything in particular I’m guarding you against.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “I did not invite you to come along, Mr Cleaver, you invited yourself, sticking like a burr to my skirts. I do not owe you a blessed thing. If reaching Tonbridge today seems too great a task, you are quite at liberty to remain at your ease and let us go on alone.”
Hart’s eyebrows went up. “Miss Baxter, I should probably explain something about myself. I’ve never been accused of being an intellectual, but I enjoy a puzzle, and I especially delight in mischief and mayhem.
You, my dear, are a puzzle, and I have the strong premonition that those other two commodities will be along shortly.
This is manna from heaven as far as I’m concerned, so if you want rid of me, I should be a deal less mysterious. ”
“I am not in the least bit mysterious,” she said impatiently, getting to her feet and shaking crumbs from her skirts. “Am I, Milly?”
“No, miss,” Milly replied, not meeting her mistress's eye.
“I dunno,” Toby murmured, regarding her with a thoughtful expression.
Miss Baxter glared him into silence. Now, that was interesting. Hart made a mental note to have a quiet word with Toby this evening, once the ladies had retired. He suspected the lad might be a deal more forthcoming about what they were up to.
Milly and Toby gathered up the lunch things, stowing them in the box behind the gig as Miss Baxter shook out the blanket. Hart caught the other side of it, helping her to fold it neatly.
“Tell me this, at least. Are you running from something, or to something?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.
“Neither,” she said, tugging the blanket from his grasp.
“Are you safe, Miss Baxter?”
His words seemed to startle her, for she returned a quizzical look. “Safe? Why, yes. Why would you believe otherwise? There are the usual perils on the road for a female, but no more than for any other woman.”
Hart nodded, deciding he’d best be satisfied with that.
Yet it did not satisfy him. The shadowy figure of the woman watching Toby this morning skittered into his mind, and he did his best to dismiss it, but found he could not quite do so.
Though he was, as Miss Baxter had so eloquently put it, sticking to her like a burr for reasons of his own, the desire to protect her pushed before all else.
Whatever she was looking for in Eynsford, he’d ensure she found it safely, and then… they’d see.
Tonbridge, Kent, 7th April 1816
Angel shivered as Tonbridge came into view. It had been a long day in chill, grey weather and she longed for the comfort of a hot meal and a fire to sit beside. A bath would have been divine, but they had not coin enough to indulge in such an expense.