Janice Preston - Scandal And Miss Markham

After several more grumbles, Malky finally left her and Thea rode Star up New Street towards High Street and the Nag’s Head, her stomach twisting with nerves at what she was about to do and at the thought of Vernon’s likely reaction when he discovered she had followed him. But then she thought of Daniel. She was doing this for him. And her nerves steadied as she left Star with an ostler and approached the door of the inn. She hadn’t planned much further than simply catching up with Vernon and then tailing him, but she had faith everything would work out all right. She patted her pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of the pistol. She could take care of herself and, whatever might have happened to Daniel, she would make certain she, at least, returned home to her parents.

She followed a man in through the door and turned left, as did he, into a taproom. A sweeping glance took in the dingy walls and ring-marked tables. She watched carefully how the man she had followed in behaved. He slid on to a settle and caught the attention of a serving woman by the simple expedient of raising one finger. The girl brought him a tankard, presumably of ale or porter.

Thea took a seat in an empty corner, where she could take in the whole room and see the door at the same time. As the woman turned from the other customer, Thea raised her hand. The woman acknowledged her and soon delivered a tankard, setting it on the table with a bang that sloshed its contents over the rim. She scooped up the coins Thea had tossed on to the table with a brief grin that made Thea suspect her tip had been overly generous. Nevertheless, she breathed a little easier. The woman had barely looked at her and neither had the other customers.

She sipped her ale—wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste—and allowed her gaze to slide around the room, examining each occupant in turn. The taproom was not full, with around eight customers, including Thea and the other newcomer, and a man behind the bar whom she assumed was Perrins, the publican—she knew his name from occasional comments Daniel had made about the place. But there was no sign of Vernon.

Where is he?

On the heels of that thought, the door opened and in strolled Lord Vernon Beauchamp.

Chapter Five

There was a lull in the conversation as the men in the taproom eyed up this newcomer. There had been no such reaction when the other man and Thea had entered and she took heart that the other customers had taken her appearance at face value. One single glance confirmed the newcomer was Vernon, but his appearance, far from offering relief, wound Thea’s tension a notch tighter as she kept her head bent and her attention on her drink. In her head, as she had planned her first venture into this alien world, she had entered the taproom and Vernon was already seated. She had not reckoned on him following her in. What if he sat at her table?

From the corner of her eye, she watched as he paused inside the door and swept the room, his gaze lingering on each man in turn before moving on to the next. She clenched her teeth as he scrutinised her, wrapping her fingers tightly around her tankard as she fought the urge to check that her hair was still tucked up inside her cap. The colour, surely, would give her away in an instant. After what seemed an age, Vernon’s gaze moved on and Thea released her held breath as he sauntered deeper into the room, and selected a seat at a table with three other men. He looked every inch the gentleman he was, despite Daniel’s clothing, and Thea sensed the sudden unease of the men he had joined. Even Perrins watched Vernon with suspicion.

‘Good afternoon,’ Vernon said.

His voice, well-modulated and...well...superior, carried around the room, prompting another pause in the various conversations. Now the immediate danger of him recognising her had passed, Thea began to enjoy herself. Vernon might be a lord, and the brother of a high and mighty duke, but he was out of his depth in this world. She fully expected the three men he had joined to finish up their ale and to leave, but they did not. Vernon reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of cards, looking around the table with his brows lifted in invitation. The men exchanged glances and nodded, and Vernon dealt the cards.

Perrins called across the bar, ‘Mind you keep them stakes low, gents. I don’t want no trouble in here.’

Vernon laughed. ‘I have no choice but to keep them low, landlord. My luck has been out for too long, I fear. But I harbour hopes it is about to change.’

His smile encompassed his three companions, who appeared to perk up, exchanging eager looks.

* * *

They played cards for nigh on an hour, while Thea nursed her drink in the corner, growing steadily more indignant. She could hear their banter. Not once had Vernon mentioned Daniel. Or Henry Mannington. Instead, he fed them scraps of information about himself—none of it true, from what Thea knew of him—as he steadily lost, hand after hand. Then, he won a hand and, jubilant, he ordered a bottle of gin and four glasses. Thea could not fathom his strategy. Time was wasting. They needed clues. Why did he not just get on with it instead of throwing his money around? If he had experienced the dread of ending up in debtors’ prison, he would not be so careless of his money.

Then, with the gin bottle half-empty—the level in Vernon’s glass, she noted, had barely dropped—he said, ‘That’s it. I’m done, lads. You’ve cleaned me out. Landlord...what time do you have?’

‘Half-past four,’ Perrins called in reply.

‘Half-past four, you say!’

His words slurred a little, but Thea did not believe he was in the slightest bit foxed. Vernon swore an oath that made Thea blush, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

‘Have I the wrong place, I wonder? I made sure he said to meet here at four.’

‘Who’re you meeting, then? Anyone we know?’

‘Friend of mine. Daniel Markham. Business matter, don’t y’know?’

He tapped one long forefinger against the side of his nose and winked at his companions, who promptly vied with each other to suggest other places Vernon might conceivably have arranged to meet Daniel. Thea found herself revising her opinion of his lordship and a grudging respect crept through her. Even the customers who had not played cards proffered suggestions. It seemed they all knew Daniel, but none of them appeared aware he was missing.

‘No, no,’ Vernon said, in response to each suggestion. ‘They do not sound familiar. I’ll know the name when you say it, I am sure. Perhaps...’ He paused, staring at the table, frowning. He shook his head. Looked around at his companions. ‘Maybe it was not in Stourbridge at all? Was it somewhere near Birmingham? Or in Birmingham itself?’

‘It could well be,’ Perrins said—the first time he had ventured a suggestion. ‘He hasn’t been in here for the last few nights—I dare say we’m not grand enough for him, now he’s consorting with them nobs at the Royal Hotel.’

Royal Hotel! R.H!

Thea gripped the edge of the table to stop herself leaping from her chair, as Vernon pumped Perrins by the hand.

‘The Royal! I remember! He did speak of the Royal—that must be the place. Now, how could I have got it so wrong? But he definitely spoke of the Nag’s Head as well—I must have confused the two.’

‘He’ll be long gone by the time you get to Birmingham,’ one of the other men said. ‘You might as well play another hand. He might call in on his way home tonight—it’ll save you a long ride.’

‘No...how far is it? Ten, twelve miles?’

‘Nearer thirteen.’

‘We had plans to meet up and spend the evening together. I cannot believe he will give up on me so easily. My horse is fresh. I can cover that in less than two hours. Now, I must make haste...only, before I go, does anyone know a place called Willingdale?’