Alexander Kent - In the King`s Name

The inn servant wore an apron that touched the floor and had a feather duster protruding from his pocket, like a tail. “Then sit over’ ere, and get yer blood movin’ again!”

It was a high-backed seat, almost opposite one of the fires. Young Matthew was right. And there was probably more than one “good blaze” going today. He was aware of voices coming from a larger room close by. Maybe they were waiting for a local coach, or had horses stabled here.

He realised that the man in the apron was hovering nearby and said, “Perhaps I will have a drink. Something warm …”

“Taken care of, zur. Here in a trice!”

Troubridge relaxed slowly; the heat was doing its work. He felt as if he had just ended a watch on deck. Young Matthew had thought of everything. It was brandy with a measure of hot water. He felt it sting his tongue and knew there was not much of the latter. He would have to reward him in some way, and yet not offend …

Someone said, “That was the Bolitho carriage just drove in. Homeward bound, too. Must have been up an’ about bloody early.”

“I hear Cap’n Bolitho is at sea again.” A different voice, but Troubridge was now fully alert.

“Just got wed, too. What does she do with ‘erself while ‘e’s away?”

There was a harsh laugh. “Well, you know what they say. While the cat’s away, the mice will play! I could tell you things about that lady.”

The speaker must have shaken his head. “No, but not for much longer. I’ll have her beggin’ for it!”

Two things happened at once. Troubridge was on his feet and across to the connecting doorway, his eyes blazing. “Shut your filthy mouth, you drunken bastard, or I’ll do it for you!” At the same instant a door from the kitchen opened unhurriedly and Young Matthew paused to put a covered basket on the floor by his feet.

“Ready when you are, zur.” But he was looking at the loudmouth. “Surprised to find you here, Mister Flinders. With all that work goin’ on at your estate?” He looked directly at Troubridge and stooped to pick up his hat, which had fallen when he had jumped to his feet. “Finish your drink first, zur.”

Troubridge stared at the other man. Flinders. It meant nothing. And quite suddenly he was icily calm, as if he were watching the flash of gunfire and waiting for the fall of shot. He picked up the glass and said, “I’ll share it!” and threw the contents in the other man’s face.

Then he unfastened his boatcloak and folded it over his arm, replaced his hat and tugged it down over his forehead. He could hear deep breathing, and somebody retching in another part of the inn. But still nobody uttered a word.

Outside the rain appeared to have stopped, so that the puddles in the innyard seemed to glitter like fragments of broken glass. They walked to the landau without looking back, and Troubridge said abruptly, “Thank you. I’m sorry about the drink.”

One of the horses shook its head and rattled its harness, recognition or impatience. Young Matthew patted its neck and ears as he passed and said, “Easy, Trooper, we’m goin’ home now!” Then he opened the door and looked at Troubridge with only the hint of a smile. “What drink was that, zur?”

The road seemed in better condition hereabouts, and the horses were soon trotting briskly and, Troubridge noted gratefully, avoiding the ruts. There were several people about, and they overtook two farm workers plodding in the same direction. Surely not the same two? When so much had happened, and might have happened?

They had arrived, the curved driveway and the imposing grey house exactly as he remembered them. Even the old weathervane with the silhouette of Father Time against the sky.

Young Matthew’s boots hit the ground as he jumped down from his box, and others were appearing to hold the horses and take the basket from The Spaniards, or merely out of curiosity. There was another vehicle on the driveway, coachman and groom standing beside it, obviously waiting to depart.

Troubridge breathed out slowly. For a moment … But the doors had opened and he saw Nancy, Lady Roxby, waiting to greet him, her arms outstretched as he took off his hat and bowed over her hand. She was smiling, perhaps a little emotional as he stooped to kiss the hand, and clasped him around the shoulders.

“Francis, my dear! Welcome back!” She offered her cheek, and added, “Command suits you!” He must have glanced at the other carriage, and she shrugged. “Unexpected visitor. Just leaving-at last!”

Then she took his arm and together they walked into the spacious hallway. Some features he did not remember. Most of it was like yesterday.

And Nancy you could never forget. No longer young, she was Sir Richard Bolitho’s sister, but she had a beauty that never dimmed, and a wit to match it. She would deny both, but as Troubridge had seen for himself, heads always turned when she passed.

“Come and talk to me, Francis. The lady of the house will not be much longer.” She guided him into a large room that overlooked a garden and a line of leafless trees. It was well furnished, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a gilded harp, which stood with a stool beside it. He had heard about the harp and imagined it often.

When he turned, Nancy was seated on a couch, looking up at him.

“Sit down, Francis.” She gestured to a chair. “Get the chill out of your bones. I know too well what that road is like.”

He had not noticed how discreetly she had steered him toward the fire.

She was suddenly serious, even angry, one hand clenched into a small fist. “I heard you had words with our Mr. Flinders this morning.” She did not wait for confirmation. “This is Cornwall, remember? Bad news rides a fast horse!” She pushed some hair from her forehead; the gesture made her look even younger.

“I was told that he works on the estate, ma’am?”

“Did work! He was my steward.” She smiled thinly. “I gave him his marching orders this morning. I came here to tell Lowenna, but the carriage had already gone to collect you. Otherwise …” She glanced at the windows. “Well, the gentleman is leaving. About time, too!” There was a tartness in her voice that reminded him strangely of her nephew, Adam Bolitho.

Troubridge heard the wheels on the driveway and someone calling out to the coachman.

“I shall leave you both alone-you must have so much to talk about. I shall see you again presently, I hope, Francis?” She broke off as the door swung open.

It was Lowenna. She exclaimed, “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting like this! Jenna told me you had arrived, and in all that foul weather, too! And look at me! ”

Troubridge took her hand and kissed it. She was wearing a long informal gown tied about her waist with a ribbon sash. Oddly, her feet were bare.

“He simply wouldn’t go. So many questions!” She turned her eyes from Nancy to Troubridge. “How lovely to see you, Francis. How long will you be in Falmouth?” He felt he was the only one in the room. She smiled again and touched her lips with her finger. “Ssh! I know, you’re not supposed to tell any one!”

Nancy looked at Lowenna’s robe with what Troubridge thought was disapproval. “Did he …?”

Lowenna laughed. “No, he only wanted to see my shoulders, to make a sketch or something.” She walked to the open fire and shivered. “Come into the study, Francis. There’s a proper blaze there.”

Nervous, excited, shy; he did not know her well enough to tell. You don’t know her at all .

She said, “I hated keeping you waiting.” She walked across the entrance hall, her bare feet soundless on the cold floor, and opened the library door. “That was Samuel Proctor. Sir Samuel, as he is now.”