Chapter Two
Two
His home.
Whoever had built the house had liked light, Callie thought; the front of the house was almost all windows. As they rounded the side, heading for the stables, she saw a huge octagonal bay window rising almost the entire height of the wall. It would no doubt flood with sunshine during the day.
Now, the house was dark and still, except for a single lantern left burning around the back. Through the icy drizzle, the golden glimmer of light looked homey and welcoming, but they made straight for the arched entrance of the stables.
Her insides were hollow with apprehension. He’d brought them to his home. Why? All sorts of possibilities clamored in her brain. She couldn’t think straight.
It was so difficult, deciding who she could trust and who she couldn’t. Knowing her son’s life depended on the judgments and choices she made. Her record so far of judging a man was woeful.
Once inside Gabriel Renfrew eased the horse to a halt. “Nicky, give me your hand and I’ll swing you down.”
Nicky dismounted and skittered away from the horse as quickly as he could, stumbling in his haste.
“He won’t hurt you, I promise.” He turned to Callie. “I’ll dismount first and then I’ll help you—”
She jumped down, and like her son, shot to a safe distance. Gabe began to unsaddle his horse.
“You’re doing that yourself?” she exclaimed.
“There’s nobody else to do it at the moment. Barrow, my groom, is spending a few days in Poole with Mrs. Barrow. I won’t be a moment.”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Gabe,” a voice said from behind. He turned. A middle-aged man hurried toward them, dressed in a nightshirt stuffed into a pair of trousers and a loosely laced pair of boots. His sparse hair stuck up around a red flannel nightcap.
“Barrow! I thought you were staying in Poole until the end of the week.”
Barrow shook his head. “Changed me mind after a couple of days. Too much petticoat government! A man can’t breathe.
Four women in a small cottage and three of them widows!
” He gave a hunted look as he took the reins from his hands.
“Don’t look at me like that, Mr. Gabe. Until you’ve experienced it, you don’t know.
My Bess is a fine woman, but the fuss her ma and sisters make!
” He shuddered. “And every dratted bit of furniture, every chair, every table, even the sideboard, is covered with little crocheted…things!”
He shook his head. “No, we done what we went for, caught up with her ma and sisters and hired us some likely lads for the stable.” He added with a grim smile, “I should warn you, Mr. Gabe, Mrs. B. has plans for some help in the house, too, now you’re home.
I’ll be going back there come in a few days to fetch them all.
Need a wagon, I will. You shoulda been there to keep her in check. ”
He glanced over at Callie and winked. “Not that any man can keep my Bessie in check, but Mr. Gabe—”
“Mr. Gabe wouldn’t dream of attempting any such thing,” Gabe interrupted him. “I have far too much respect for her.”
Barrow chuckled. “Far too much respect for her cooking, you mean. And who do we have here? Guests is it? Nasty night to be caught out in.” He beamed at the bedraggled pair.
“Yes, this lady and her son, Nicky,” Gabe told him.
“Mrs. B. will be well pleased.” He eyed Nicky, then—amazingly—winked at Callie. “You watch out for that boy, missy. My missus dearly loves to get her hands on a boy.”
Callie put her arm protectively around Nicky. She wasn’t going to let any strange woman get her hands on Nicky and she had never been winked at by anyone, let alone a groom!
Rupert would have had the man flogged.
She was very glad Rupert wasn’t here. It made her ill when he had people flogged.
Barrow continued, “I’ll see to Trojan, Mr. Gabe, while you take these two into the warmth. She looks worn to a thread, poor little lass.”
The poor little lass closed her mouth. She was worn to a thread.
And it was having a bad effect on her temper.
She’d been ready to snap the nose of a kindly older man, only for being overly familiar.
She used to be gracious and even-tempered.
She would be gracious and even-tempered again, she resolved, as soon as she discovered who these people were and where they had taken her and her son. And as soon as she stopped shivering.
If she was behaving like a shrew, well, there had been provocation. Several provocations. Being dumped into the freezing sea, then being ridden over, kidnapped, and forced to ride a horse was not conducive to graciousness. Nor was constant fear.
“Yes, she’s exhausted,” the current provocation agreed. “She’s had a trying time of it, I fear. Wet, cold, lost her luggage, and she’s hurt herself into the bargain.”
“I didn’t hurt myself!” she said indignantly. “Your horse kicked me!”
“What, Trojan? Never!” Barrow exclaimed in amazement. “He’s as gentle as a puppy, aren’t you, my beauty?” he crooned to the horse.
“To be fair to the horse, you did fling yourself under his hooves,” Mr. Gabe said.
“Oh, yes, by all means let us be fair to the horse!” To Barrow she explained, “He just happened to be jumping that dreadful creature over my son’s head at the time. I took exception to it.”
“Mr. Gabe? Jump his horse over a child?” Barrow exclaimed in horror. “I don’t believe it.”
Mr. Gabe said nothing. A small smile hovered around his lips and his eyes rested on Callie with a lazy appreciation.
Callie pushed back her hair and avoided his gaze. The knot had come undone and her hair draggled everywhere in damp strings. She knew she looked a sight.
“Mr. Gabe…you’re smiling!” the groom exclaimed as if that was something amazing.
Callie’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. She coughed to cover the dreadful sound.
Barrow’s smile broadened. “Take your young lady inside and feed her. What did you say your name was, Miss?”
“Prin—” Callie caught herself in time. “Pr—Prynne,” she said, feeling her blush deepening and hoping they would notice nothing amiss. Her tiredness had made her forget for a moment who she was—or rather who she was pretending to be.
“I am Mrs. Prynne, and this is my son, Nicholas.”
She glanced at Nicky, who’d squatted down to pat the dog.
At her introduction he rose and gave a formal little bow.
Callie bit her lip. She should not be teaching her son to lie and pretend with such facility, but she had no choice.
They’d used several different names already in their journey.
This was the first time she’d slipped and almost said Princess. She was so tired.
And that man had distracted her. She darted a glance to see if Mr. Gabe had noticed the pause or not and found he was watching Nicky with a faint frown. Perhaps he didn’t like her son patting his dog.
“Nicky,” she said quietly and gestured for him to leave the dog. Nicky moved to her side. His limp was worse than usual; the cliff climb on top of their long journey had worn him to a thread.
“How d’ye do, ma’am,” Barrow said. “So, you’re a widow, eh?”
She blinked. The habit of common people to ask direct, personal questions still shocked her a little. It was not polite to inquire so intimately of a stranger. But she had the response to this one off by heart—she’d learned by hard experience which answer served her and Nicky best.
“No, of course not. My husband was delayed on the road and is a short way behind us.” Too late she realized she should have said he was delayed at sea. Or something. She darted another glance at Mr. Renfrew. He knew she’d come by boat. She bit her lip and tried to look indifferent.
He looked down at her, an odd look on his face. “I think, Mrs. Prynne, that you are quite at the end of your tether,” he said softly. “And so is your son. Come on, let’s get you both into the warmth.”
Nicky took two ragged steps and without hesitation, Mr. Renfrew scooped him up and carried him from the stable.
She ran after him. “What are you doing?”
“He’s hurt himself. Didn’t you see he was limping? Badly, too.” To Nicky he said, “Don’t worry, lad, we’ll see that foot seen to.”
“But—” she began, then stopped. Nicky had made no attempt to resist, which was unlike him. He must really be exhausted.
“Prynne,” Gabriel Renfrew said as they crossed the courtyard. “Interesting name. A Quaker, are you?”
“No.”
He carried Nicky into a large, open country kitchen. It was a cozy room, with copper pots gleaming in the lamplight and the smells of food and herbs. An enormous scrubbed wooden table stood in the center, with a dozen ladder-back chairs surrounding it.
A tall, plump middle-aged woman stood waiting for them, a dress thrown over her nightgown, a shawl knotted around her shoulders and an apron over them all. Mrs. Barrow, Callie presumed.
“’Tis a dreadful night!” she said. “Put the wee lad and the lady by the fire, Mr. Gabe. There’s hot water on the stove. I’ll go and make up a bed in the blue room.”
Despite the size of the room and the stone-flagged floors, it was warm inside. The fire in the big cast-iron kitchen range glowed through the grill.
“Here you go.” He set Nicky on his feet on a plaited rag rug in front of the kitchen range. “Sit down, both of you, and get yourselves warm.”
“Thank you.” She sat gratefully, soaking up the warmth, while Nicky sank onto the rug. The size, cleanliness, and homeyness of the room was reassuring. Too many people had lied to her for her to trust strangers easily, but a well-scrubbed kitchen was…different.
Villains could be clean and homey, too, she reminded herself. Probably. She might be exhausted—she could not recall when she’d last had a good night’s sleep—but she needed to stay on her guard. Her journey was far from over.
Mr. Renfrew took off his wet overcoat and hung it on a nail at the back door. He removed his damp coat and waistcoat and hung them on the back of a chair. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, opened the stove door, and stirred the glowing coals.