Julia Justiss - From Waif To Gentleman's Wife

In sum, the estate books at Blenhem were completely useless. He would have to begin with the last figures Martin had compiled, then ride the property and consult with each tenant about every detail relating to the farms’ operations before he could make any useful estimates of income and expenses for the current year.

As for the mill, there were no figures whatsoever in any of the ledgers detailing what had happened to the funds Nicky had dispatched for the construction and equipping of that enterprise.

If he could have got his hands on Greville Anders and his henchman at that moment, Ned would have chained them to a plough and sent them out into the darkness to break ground on every bramble-infested field at Blenhem.

Slowly his anger fizzled into fatigue as he downed the last of the spirits. He was snuffing the candles in preparation to retire when he heard raised voices emanating from the front hall, followed by the sounds of scuffling.

He’d risen from his chair to investigate when, after a knock at the door, Myles stepped in, his countenance rigid with disapproval.

‘There is a Young Person to see you, sir. I tried to turn her away, the hour being late and her coming unannounced, but she insists she must speak to you.’

To Ned’s astonishment, the slim, slight figure of a girl pushed past Myles and tumbled into the room.

The evening was already far advanced when Joanna Merrill climbed stiffly down from the farmer’s cart in which she’d hired a ride after missing the stage-coach run to Hazelwick, the village closest to Blenhem Hill. She’d hoped to arrive there early enough to be able to send word to her brother to come and fetch her before dark, but once again, circumstances had conspired against her.

It had been a disaster of a fortnight. When she had left the Masters estate at Selbourne Abbey, she’d expected to spend no more than a few days on the road, a week at most. Her small stock of coins would stretch for coach fare and perhaps a few modest dinners, as long as she caught every stage on time and spent most of the day travelling.

Instead, during each segment of the journey some accident or disaster had brought her progress to a halt. From a horse pulling up lame on the first stage, to a broken axle on the next, to the wild driving of a drunken Corinthian who’d forced the mail coach off the road into a ditch, she’d ended up each time too late to make her connections and had been forced to spend extra nights on the road.

After splurging on accommodations the first few nights, bespeaking a chamber had become impossible, but even for a dry place under the stable roof she’d been forced to part with a few more precious pence. Her stomach rumbling at the savoury smell of stew emanating from the Hart and Hare, Hazelwick’s inn, while she doled out her last coin to the farmer who’d given her space in the back of his wagon, she tried not to recall how long it had been since she’d eaten.

Though he’d agreed with reluctance to convey her to Hazelwick, that taciturn gentleman had flatly refused to bring her to her final destination. She hoped to wheedle someone at the inn into performing that task, on promise of payment when she arrived at Blenhem Hill.

The prospects of convincing someone to do so had been fair when the trip could be completed in daylight. Now that darkness had fallen, her chances were fast diminishing.

Somehow, she must make it happen. With her purse emptied of its last coin, she could afford neither dinner nor accommodations for the night.

‘Need lodgings, miss?’ The innkeeper of the Hart and Hare walked over to greet her as she entered the taproom. ‘The missus has a right fine stew on …’ As his practised gaze took in her dusty, travel-stained apparel, single bandbox and solitary state, he stopped short and his welcoming smile faded.

No respectable gentlewoman travelled with so little luggage, unaccompanied by a maid or companion to lend her countenance. She felt her cheeks flush with chagrin at what he must be thinking of her character even as he said, ‘The Hart and Hare be an honest house. I don’t let rooms to the likes of—’

‘I don’t require a room,’ she interrupted. ‘I need transport to Blenhem Hill. I have business with the manager there.’

‘I wager you do, missy,’ the innkeeper replied, his tone scornful. ‘Well, I expect if ye’ve coin to pay, Will in the stables might be able to take you, even with night fallen, for I’d as lief not have you standing about the place.’

Though she felt her flush deepen, she tried to infuse her voice with authority. ‘I do not intend to pay in advance. Your man will reimbursed after I am safely conveyed to Blenhem Hill.’

The innkeeper shook his head impatiently. ‘I’m not sending out the boy and my gig without I get payment first. ‘Tis the way we’ve always done it, bad enough business that it is, and I ain’t about to change the arrangement now.’

Joanna worked hard to keep desperation from leaking into her voice. ‘You will be well paid, I assure you. Twice the usual rate.’

She had no idea what the innkeeper normally charged to transport items to Blenhem Hill and could only hope her brother wouldn’t be furious with her for cavalierly doubling the price. But with her strength, her funds and her spirits exhausted, she absolutely must get to Blenhem Hill tonight.

‘Double the rate! Must think pretty highly of yer charms,’ the innkeeper said snidely. ‘But the answer’s still “no”. If you’ve not got the ready, take yourself off before the wife comes in and gives you a jawing. Go on, off with you!’

The man approached, waving his arms in a shooing motion. Affronted by his insinuation that she was a woman of low repute bent on enticing her own brother, Joanna hesitated, torn between standing her ground to argue and the risk of having him drag her bodily out of his establishment.

‘I’ll see her out,’ a feminine voice said.

Joanna jerked her attention from the advancing innkeeper towards a girl who tossed her apron down on the bar.

‘Very well, Mary, but you step right back. There be paying customers to tend,’ the innkeeper said, giving Joanna one last scornful glance.

The barmaid motioned her to the door. Her momentary courage failing, her tired brain unable to reason out what she must do next, Joanna gave in and followed.

‘Not a bad man, but none too bright,’ the girl said as they stepped into the evening chill. ‘Otherwise he would have seen in a blink you’re no doxy. Have business out at Blenhem Hill, do you?’

Heartened by the first kindness she’d encountered in her long travels, Joanna said, ‘Yes. And I very much need to find transport there tonight.’

‘Can’t help you with that, but I can tell you how to get there. See the road that forks by the forge? Follow that straight on and it’ll take you to Blenhem Hill. Not above five miles or so, and there’ll be some moon tonight.’

Five miles. Tired as she was, it might as well be five hundred. But it appeared that if she meant to get to Blenhem Hill tonight, her feet would have to take her there.

‘Thank you, Mary,’ Joanna replied. ‘When I come to town next, I’ll bring you a coin for your kindness.’

The girl shrugged. ‘Hard for a woman travelling alone to keep trouble from finding her. Stay to the road and you can’t miss it, but have a care. If you hear anyone approaching by horseback or cart, you duck into the woods right quick until they go by. Best of luck to you.’

Five miles. She could keep her feet moving for five more miles. Taking a deep breath, Joanna grasped her bandbox and set off.

With the fall of night, the wind picked up, chilling her despite her travelling cloak. So desperately tired she could scarcely think, she plodded along, keeping her eye on the road ahead and concentrating only on placing one numbed foot after the other.