Chapter Six #2
She watched him stumble back to the head of his horses, fumbling for the reins with his good arm. Although she was in enough discomfort to classify as physical pain, he was in more so. They needed rest and refuge.
And he was right: under close examination, they could not pass as brother and sister.
Their colourings were entirely different, and their accents; he had been born in the south of England and she the north.
All the governesses in the world—and she’d only had two—would have been unable to banish the slight cadence to her words.
He was quite obviously a man of fashion; her dresses were many years out of date and heavily patched.
They did not look like they belonged together in any capacity. But certainly not as siblings born equal.
With clumsy fingers, she slid the ring on her third finger and returned to trudging through the snow towards the lights. They gleamed, golden and warm, between the driving snow, and it seemed to her weary eyes like a haven.
Please say this is an inn. If there were an inn, they might have the chance to hire a room, or even rooms. Perhaps hire a carriage to take them back to Dalston as soon as the snow cleared.
What would Isabella be thinking about her absence? She ought to have left a note, but she had not thought she would be gone at all. All she’d intended to do was threaten him and return to bed.
She had the oddest, overwrought temptation to weep.
Finally, they reached a small track leading off the road that widened into a courtyard.
There were what appeared to be barns to one side, and a large stone house on the other.
Not an inn—decidedly not. But it was shelter, and she would accept anything under any terms to escape the ferocity of the snow.
Ahead of her, Mr Beaumont dropped the reins of his horses and reached for her arm, dragging her close to him. “Knock,” he advised her, voice ragged with exhaustion.
She raised her fist to do just that, but the door swung open of its own accord, and a plump-faced woman stared at them both with utter astonishment.
“Mercy me,” she said, glancing between them both, and Emily felt a burst of relief that they were, at least, within the bounds of England. “What a pair of sorry-looking folk.”
“My wife and I had a carriage accident,” Oliver said, and Emily did her best not to flinch at the word ‘wife’. “Is there anywhere to shelter our horses?”
“He has a broken arm,” Emily said. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word ‘husband’.
“Oh you poor lambs. Of course, you must come in at once.” She held the door open, and the delicious scent of roasted meat filled the stone hallway.
Emily’s clothes dripped miserably across the floor.
Their host shut the door firmly behind them.
“Gregory,” she hollered. A lean man appeared in the doorway.
Like her, he appeared in his forties, his build defined by years of hard labour.
“There are four horses in the yard. Stable them, if you please. We can put the two mares in a stall to share tonight, if needs be. Now, you come this way, my dears.” She led the way down the stone hall, then right into a dining room.
Like the hallway, the floor was made up of large stone flags, and Emily found herself grateful for the lack of carpets.
Four children stared at them with wide eyes from where they were seated on a bench by the table, which groaned with food. Emily’s stomach gave a large gurgle.
“I don’t suppose you might call for a physician?” Oliver asked, his voice a little faint. “And a change of clothes. I have some money—”
“We don’t need money to help folks in need,” the lady said firmly. “Though I don’t think we’ll get a physician to you in this weather. But there our stable hand, and he knows his way around a broken bone. Seems every year, a cow or horse breaks something and he has to set it.”
Oliver’s face turned near white in the firelight, and he swayed on his feet. Emily felt a burst of pity for him.
“Do you have anything for his relief?” she asked, one eye on the children, who were looking at them avidly. “Laudanum, perhaps? Or even just some brandy?”
“We’ll have something.” The lady led them forward in a decisive swish of her skirts. “Now, you’re very fortunate that we have a spare room. Don’t often do, except my eldest recently married.” She cast a glance at them both. “I’m afraid the bed is narrow, and—”
“Quite all right,” Oliver gasped. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No you won’t. Not in your condition. I’ll sleep on the floor,” Emily told their kind hostess. “If there’s a truckle bed of some description. Or I can take another room entirely. I’m almost unhurt, so—”
“There’ll be a bed somewhere, I’m certain of it.
” Their hostess led them up a set of narrow stairs to a small, neat room with one slanted wall of the roof, and a window inserted into it, looking at the sky.
A single bed lay underneath it, and a heavy set of drawers were set against the opposite wall.
Aside from a threadbare rug and a painting of a pig beside the door, the room was empty.
“I’ll fetch you some clothes to change into,” she said.
“Clean and dry, that’s what you need. And I’ll ask my old man for a bottle of something to take the edge off.
And a tray, before the youngsters eat it all.
” She beamed with such good humour and kindness, Emily could do nothing but smile back.
“My name’s Susan Chambers, by the way, and my husband is Gregory Chambers. ”
“Mr and Mrs Oliver Beaumont,” Oliver said before Emily could speak—fortunate, for the name sounded entirely more natural on his tongue than it would have on hers.
“But please,” Emily said, with all the smiling goodwill she could muster, “call me Emily.”
“Right you are, ma’am,” Mrs Chambers said. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a duck’s tail.” She closed the door and whisked herself away, leaving them alone.