Chapter 10 #2
“So, this is where your grandfather’s Jenny Preston was born,” he said, turning to address Miss Baxter, who was regarding the bucolic scene with interest. He wondered what she was thinking, what it was that had made her come on this reckless journey.
Not the desire to put roses upon the grave of her grandfather’s beloved, he’d wager. At least, not only that.
Miss Baxter was a mystery, and one he was itching to uncover in more ways than one.
Yet despite his dishonourable but hard to refute desire to get her into his bed, he could not deny that it was more than that.
She fascinated him, with a strange mixture of boldness and innocence that called to something inside him.
He longed to protect her, yet judging from the way she had neatly shot the fellow who had been trying to stab him—and in the arm, no less—it wasn’t she who needed protecting.
How had she learned to handle a pistol, and why? And what the devil else could she do? The thought made him go hot and cold and he didn’t dare ponder the question in any detail.
Eynsford, it appeared, was a small place, the kind where everyone knew everybody’s business, and Hart felt eyes upon them as they made their way into the inn’s yard. He wondered if Jenny had been well liked, or if they were about to resurrect unwelcome ghosts.
Having handed the pony and his mount into the hands of the ostlers, they made their way inside.
The innkeeper, a wiry fellow with white hair that puffed about his balding pate like the seeds of a dandelion, greeted them with lively interest. His blue eyes lit upon seeing Hart, whom he correctly pegged as quality.
His gaze wandered then to Miss Baxter and her maid, with Toby lagging behind, and Hart marked the speculation there.
The inn was silent where before they had entered, he had noticed the convivial chatter. They were outsiders, not unwelcome, but subjects of curiosity.
“Good day to you. A private parlour for my sister and her maid, if one be available,” Hart said, placing a small stack of coins on the well-worn counter as the fellow relaxed and nodded.
“At once, sir. And might I offer you and your companions a bite to eat? My missus is a fine cook, a wonderful light hand with pastry. There’s a chicken and ham pie, some cold roast beef, bread and cheese and pickles. Good, honest grub. Our ale is the best around, too, I reckon.”
“That sounds perfect,” Hart agreed at once. “Bring small beer for the ladies, and a glass of milk for the lad. I’ll have an ale.”
The fellow nodded his approval, grinning and turning to speak to the young woman who had been cleaning down the counter with more vigour than it required and listening in.
“Ruth, take the gentleman and his companions through, lass, while I see to the order.”
Ruth, a ruddy-cheeked, sturdy girl of perhaps two and twenty, hurried forward, eyeing Hart with interest. She bobbed a curtsey that made her ample breasts bounce and shot him a smile from under her lashes. “This way, if it pleases you, sir.”
“I imagine it does,” Miss Baxter murmured under her breath, catching the direction in which Hart’s admiring gaze had followed.
He shrugged, returning a rueful smile. “They were right there,” he protested.
With an amused snort, she followed the girl with Milly at her heels. Hart turned to look at Toby and ruffled the lad’s hair.
“Hungry, brat?”
“Starved,” he agreed, and followed the ladies through to their private room.
The Plough, Eynsford, Kent ,9th April 1816
“What on earth is taking so long? He’s been gone for hours,” Angel grumbled.
She got up from the settle, rubbing her backside. She was spending far too long sitting on her behind. What with the gig jolting over every cobble and into every pothole, she didn’t doubt her bottom would be black and blue before this adventure was over.
“I’m going to the bar myself,” she said, tired of sitting about waiting. She strode to the door but Milly, who had been dozing with her feet on the fender, looked up, her bleary gaze focusing on Angel.
“Hold your horses, miss. You know very well that you can’t go into a public bar, and you don’t need me to remind you of that.
We’re strangers here, remember. People ain’t likely to chatter about folk to strangers at the drop of a hat.
He’ll have to buy drinks, make himself agreeable,” Milly said, an explanation which was entirely reasonable but did not ease Angel’s sense of aggravation.
This was her adventure, this was her treasure, she was the one who was supposed to find Jenny Preston. Why must she sit here and twiddle her thumbs whilst the menfolk did the work?
Even Toby, who had been given leave to play with the children by the stream, was free to ask questions. Walking to the window, Angel leaned on the sill and peered out, seething with frustration.
The door to the small parlour opened, and Angel turned, surprised to see Ruth.
“I brought you a jug of orgeat, miss,” the girl said cheerfully. “And there’s some stewed apples and cream. Your brother is enjoying himself in the bar and has likely forgot all about you, so I thought you might be bored.”
Angel smiled at the girl but could not help but wonder if Ruth’s lush charms were partly to blame for Mr Cleaver’s prolonged absence. Still, it was kind of the young woman to have considered her and Milly’s comfort.
“That’s very good of you,” Angel said with a smile. “I’m afraid my brother is excellent company and quickly makes friends. He’ll have all the local gossip and know everybody’s business and be invited to dinner by half the inhabitants before too long if they do not have a care.”
Ruth laughed, nodding at this observation which Angel hoped might allay any concerns about Mr Cleaver’s probing questions—assuming he had remembered to pose any.
“Aye, he’s got a nose for scandal. Mind, everyone in these parts knows about Jenny Preston.”
Angel’s heart stuttered at the unlooked-for introduction to the subject she was dying to know more about. Exchanging a silent glance with Milly, she tried for nonchalance. “Jenny who?”
“Jenny Preston,” Ruth replied, as she set out the dishes of stewed apple and cream.
“She was born here and became a notorious highwaywoman, if you can credit it. My grandma used to love telling me tales about Jenny, for they was friends when they were girls. Granny told me Jenny was beautiful and wicked and clever, and they had the devil’s own job trying to catch her.
Led the men a merry dance, she did, but they caught her in the end. Hanged she was.”
“H-Hanged?” Angel repeated faintly, knowing Ruth would take delight in her shock. As expected, the girl shot her a grin, her eyes sparkling.
“Oh, aye. Over Maidstone way. Though it were years ago, way before my time. But that’s where they used to hang those on the high toby, the gallows on the heath.
She made the mistake of holding up a government official, some bigwig.
Well, after that there was a reward, and nowhere to hide.
Someone peached on her, I reckon. They caught her on Shooter’s Hill. ”
Though she’d been dead for years before Angel had even been born, she felt a sudden sense of loss for the woman. “How sad,” she said quietly.
Ruth poured out two glasses of the orgeat and nodded. “Aye. I always thought so. Granny mourned her loss, I know.”
“Did… Did she never marry?” Angel asked, her heart beating too hard, too fast.
“Marry? Lord, no. She weren’t the marrying kind,” Ruth said with a laugh as she picked up the empty tray.
She held it against herself, her expression thoughtful as she considered.
“Though I remember she had a sweetheart. Granny told me she saw him once and said he was as wicked as she was, and handsome as sin. A pirate, she said.”
Angel’s breath caught, and she smiled. Pops, you scoundrel. “Do you think…? Would your grandmother talk to me about… about Jenny? I should love to hear more about her. I’ve never heard of a lady highwayman before.”
Ruth’s expression fell, her eyes growing sorrowful. “Ah, miss. Granny would have loved to tell you all about Jenny, for she never tired of telling such tales, but she passed away, oh, must be three years ago now.”
“Oh.” Angel’s hopes plummeted back to earth, but she had learned more than she had expected.
“If you’ll excuse me, miss. Those fellows will get up to I don’t know what if I’m not there to keep them in line.”
“Of course, and thank you. It was most kind of you to think of us.”
Ruth bobbed a curtsey, which even Angel had to admit showed her charms to full advantage, and hurried out.
It was another half hour before Mr Cleaver returned, humming to himself.
He came in and swept a rather haphazard bow. “The prodigal returns,” he announced, beaming at them.
Angel folded her arms and regarded him dubiously. “How much did you have to drink?”
Leo lifted his hand, estimating a small amount between his fingers and thumb.
Milly snorted. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’ll order some coffee, miss.”
Angel nodded her approval and hurried to Mr Cleaver, who was smiling at her beatifically. “Damned good ale here,” he said, swaying a little.
“Apparently so. Strong too,” Angel observed, taking his arm and steering him back to the sturdy oak chair he’d sat in during their meal. “Sit down before you fall down,” she said sternly, giving him a little push.
He did as she told him, sitting heavily, but reaching for her as he went.
Angel gave a little squeal as he pulled her onto his lap, his arms snaking about her waist. “Let me go, you big ox!” she complained as he nuzzled her hair, his warm lips pressing against her neck.
She wriggled in his lap, telling herself she was cross with him, and opened her mouth to give him a scold.
“You smell delicious,” he said, sighing, as his warm breath gusted over the back of her neck. “I want to eat you up.”