Sarah Mallory – The Highborn Housekeeper (страница 2)
The snow started at dusk. Only a few flakes at first, but soon it was falling steadily and coating the icy ground.
Nancy was warm enough, dressed in her riding habit of plum-coloured velvet with its matching curly-brimmed hat and wrapped in a voluminous cloak. Her companion, too, looked snug in a heavy wool redingote and shawl and they both had their feet resting on warm bricks and snuggled into sheepskin, but she felt some sympathy for the servants sitting up on the box.
However, when they stopped to change horses at the Crown in Tuxford and her driver suggested that she might put up there for the night, she was adamant that they should continue. William, who had come to the chaise door to issue his advice, pushed back his hat and stared at her, perplexed. His breath formed small icy clouds as he spoke with all the confidence of an old and trusted retainer.
‘I don’t like it, madam, and that’s a fact. The snow don’t show no signs of easing. We should stop here.’
‘It is but very fine snow,’ she responded. ‘There is nothing much to accumulate and no wind to cause any drifting, so we shall go on.’ She noted his frown and conceded one point. ‘You may order yourselves something hot to drink, if you wish, and have them bring coffee out for Mrs Yelland and me. And perhaps you will ask them to provide fresh hot bricks for our feet.’
‘You won’t step inside, ma’am, just for a few minutes?’ The woman sitting beside her spoke for the first time. ‘We might warm ourselves by a fire.’
‘No, Hester, we will push on.’ Nancy shook her head. It was not only the memories this place conjured for her, she dared not risk being recognised.
Her companion read the determination in Nancy’s face and sighed as she settled herself back into her corner. ‘Very well, ma’am, you know best.’
Nancy heard the disappointment in Hester Yelland’s voice, but would not change her mind. She was unusually tall for a woman and that would attract attention. Someone might recognise her. After all,
The landlord had barely changed in the twelve years since she had last seen him, save to grow a little rounder, and while Nancy felt very different
Within minutes they were travelling again. The snow had ceased, at least for the moment, and the waning crescent moon shone down intermittently between ragged clouds. However, it was noticeably colder. Nancy pulled her cloak more tightly about her and tried to sleep, but it was impossible in the lurching carriage. Very soon she became aware that they were slowing again and sat up. When they came to a complete stop she let down the window.
‘What is it?’ she called. ‘What has occurred?’
The coachman had jumped down and was now standing beside the team.
‘One of the wheelers has cast a shoe, ma’am,’ he called to her, beating his hands together to warm them. ‘We’ll have to go back now—’
‘No.’ Nancy looked out at the moonlit landscape. ‘No, it makes more sense to go forward rather than back. Let us push on to the Black Bull.’
‘But we have come barely two miles from Tuxford—’
‘Then we are closer to the Bull,’ Nancy told him. ‘It has a smithy next door.’
They continued at a much-reduced pace and Nancy breathed a sigh of relief when at last they reached the cluster of cottages that comprised the village of Little Markham. The Black Bull was a much smaller hostelry than the Crown at Tuxford and it was patronised mainly by local gentry and farmers. Nancy had passed this way frequently in her youth, but she had never stopped here before. Nevertheless, she kept her hood up, shadowing her face as the landlord escorted her and her companion into a small private parlour.
‘Thank heaven they have a good fire,’ muttered Hester, moving to the hearth. ‘I hope to goodness the smith won’t be too long about his business.’
‘I hope so, too,’ Nancy responded, drawing off her gloves. ‘But it is not so very bad. We shall take up the landlady’s offer of dinner and we can then travel through the night and make up the time. There is some moonlight, after all.’
The older woman turned to look at Nancy. ‘You wouldn’t stop at Tuxford and now you are very anxious to move on. Why would that be, madam? Do you know this area?’
‘I know it very well. I grew up near here.’
Nancy was grateful that she did not press her to say more, but she was not surprised, for they understood one another. Hester Yelland was a widow whom Nancy had hired to be her companion while she was in London. They had become firm friends and when Nancy had invited her to travel north with her, Hester had jumped at the chance.
‘After all,’ she had said, giving one of her rare smiles, ‘there’s no one here to care whether I go or stay.’
Now she merely shrugged, accepting Nancy’s reticence and saying gruffly, ‘Very well, you make yourself comfortable, madam, and I’ll go and chivvy the landlady to bring us our dinner as soon as possible!’
* * *
When they had finished their meal, the two women moved to the chairs by the fire. Hester was soon dozing, but Nancy was far too restless. She was impatient to be gone, but the coachman had not long returned from the smithy and would not yet have started his dinner. She knew she could insist that they set off immediately—after all, the men were being paid handsomely for their services—but she would not. She knew only too well what it was like to be at the beck and call of a selfish and demanding employer.
She went over to the window and looked out. The sky had cleared and the snow-blanketed fields gleamed bluish-silver in the pale moonlight. An icy frost glittered on the roof tiles of the buildings and all at once Nancy felt stifled by the little parlour. She glanced at Hester, who was snoring gently, then she quietly left the room, picking up her cloak and swinging it about her shoulders as she went.
The night air was so clear and cold it caught in her throat. Nancy paused for a moment, deciding which way to go. The majority of the cottages hugged the roadside to the south of the inn, but to the north the road wound its way through an expanse of heath, the open vista broken only by a small copse in the distance. Nancy put up her hood and set off northwards, striding out purposefully, glad to be active after so many hours cooped up in the carriage. It was very still and nothing was moving—soon even the sounds of the inn were left behind. Fleetingly, Nancy wished she had remembered her gloves, but to go back now might disturb Hester and she was loath to do that, for her companion was clearly exhausted by the journey. She might also try to dissuade Nancy from walking out alone at night, although there was nothing to fear: she had a clear view across the snowy heath and nothing was stirring. There was no sound save the crunch of her boots on the thin layer of snow that covered the iron-hard ground.
She glanced at the eastern horizon, where black clouds were massing, threatening more snow. That might well delay even further her return to Compton Parva and all her friends at Prospect House. She had been away for several months and wondered how they had managed without her to fuss and cosset them. Almost immediately she scolded herself for such conceit. No one was indispensable and she had no doubt they had coped exceedingly well. She hoped they had missed her, then was shocked to realise how little she had missed
Her only excuse was that she had been very busy and it had not been a trip of pleasure. Nancy had gone to London, masquerading as the rich widow of a tradesman, to help a good friend, but she could not deny she had enjoyed herself, wearing fine clothes and shopping in Bond Street, visiting the theatre, attending parties. Dancing. Flirting. It had all been pretence, of course. A charade, necessary for the character she was playing, but it had given her a glimpse of what her life might have been, if she had not cut herself off from the polite world. She might even be happily married by now. Perhaps with children.