Love & Folly (34 page)

"That's right. These ladies is kin to the lad."

The ostler winked. "Prime articles, zur."

"Mind your tongue," Sims roared.

The man ducked his head, grinning, and Sims descended. His weight shook the flimsy vehicle. He
handed Jean down tenderly and Polly less tenderly, and took their cloak bags, which he gave to a florid man
who appeared at his elbow.

"Miss Carter and her maid will be wanting a bedchamber, Mr. Oates. I 'ope you ain't going to tell
me you're out of rooms."

"No, sir, Mr. Sims. We've one room left should suit... What did ye say the lady's name
was?"

"Carter." Sims said firmly. "Miss Jane Carter. Of the Lincolnshire Carters. Swells, Mr. Oates.
D'ye understand me?"

The man had disposed of the cloak bags to a slatternly maid who scurried off with them. Now he
rubbed his hands. "Any kin to your Mr. Evans?"

"First cousin," said Sims. "Come to bid 'im farewell. The ladies is famished, Mr. Oates. You may
bring meat and bread to me parlour in a quarter hour. I'll see the ladies to their room. Can't be too careful,
can we, with the riffraff as 'ang about the docks."

Hand on Jean's elbow, Sims surged into the crowded ordinary of the inn like a ship under full sail.
Polly and the host followed in his wake, the host promising culinary miracles despite the late hour and Polly
whimpering.

The room was cramped but clean and the bed looked like heaven. The chambermaid had brought
water. She pulled a truckle for Polly. Unpinning her hat, Jean washed the dust of too many miles from her
face and hands. She looked at the crumpled muslin gown the girl had laid out and decided she hadn't the
strength to change from Maggie's travel-stained habit. That would shock Owen, she supposed. She ran a
comb through her hair--it looked as if mice had been gnawing at it--and sat on the room's sole chair whilst
Polly made herself tidier.

What was she going to say to Owen? Jean's tired mind groped for the speeches she had been
rehearsing along the way, but she could think only of bed.

Sims knocked and Polly unlatched the door. Jean had forgot how fond of Sims she was. He had
once given her a looted ribband of the Legion of Honour. Well, he would be awarding no medals
tonight.

Stifling a groan at the stiffness in her limbs, she rose and followed him to the parlour. "Where's
Owen?"

"Out. 'E wanted to catch the moonlight on the tower of some big church. St. Mary's I think 'e
said. Aye, St. Mary Redcliffe. Famous place," Sims added, massively unimpressed. "'E's writing a
pome."

It was a relief not to find Owen waiting. She wanted to see him, talk to him, go with him, but not
in her present condition.

Sims carved ham and cut off slices of bread. The waiter had brought ale and fruit. Jean swallowed
a draught of ale and Sims fed her like a bird. Polly wolfed down meat and bread and drank off a tankard of
ale in no time at all.

"I want to go to bed," Jean announced. "We'll discuss...talk 'bout...g'night, Sims." Her eyes
drooped. She pushed herself to her feet. "I forgot to say thank you."

"You're welcome, I'm sure," said Sims.

Polly burped.

* * * *

Jem Fosse had insisted on driving the barouche himself. Johnny had not objected. He was no
whipster. They followed the scent as far as Coventry, then lost it in the confusing splay of streets. It was
late. Maggie drooped beside Johnny and even the iron Lisette showed signs of fatigue. He found an inn,
took bedchambers and a private parlour, and attended to his lady. There had been no sight of the Runner,
though necessity had forced Fosse to drive through Earl's Brecon to the Lincoln road.

Next morning things looked brighter. Johnny gambled that Jean would have headed for Warwick
and Gloucester, and found clear evidence of her presence in Warwick. She had pawned a string of
pearls.

"They were a gift!" Maggie's hands twisted. "How could she?"

"She had to change horses." Johnny was glad Jean had funds. He was well-inlaid with cash
himself, thanks to Lady Clanross. He would have redeemed the necklace but he didn't have the ticket. He
paid the ostler a small sum to keep the horse Jean had left until a groom from Brecon could be sent for it,
then directed Fosse to set the barouche on the road once more.

With Lisette riding guard, it was a little hard to carry on an unconstrained dialogue with Maggie,
but Johnny was pleased to see that she did not indulge in endless repining. She was anxious for her sister,
true, but she kept the "if onlys" and "what ifs" to a minimum.

Warwick was a pretty town, but there would be another time to show Maggie the castle. They
pushed south, through Stratford and the vale of Evesham. Gloucester, famous in story, gave no hint of
Jean's passage, but Johnny had gained enough confidence to press on to Bristol by moonlight. In the
outskirts, he found a pleasant hostelry, saw to the ladies, let Fosse see to the horses, and retired for a short
night's rest.

He rose at the maidservant's knock as dawn silvered the eastern sky. He had hired a horse the
night before. He meant to ride into Bristol to the inn where Sims had taken Owen and roust Sims out.
Between them they should be able to find Jean. It sounded simple, but time pressed. Under strong protest,
Maggie had agreed to wait at the suburban inn with Fosse and Lisette.

Johnny found Owen's ship moored at the floating dock, quite near the cathedral. Owen had not
yet boarded. Discretion prevented Johnny from asking whether a young red-haired lady had boarded.
Surely the mate would have commented if Jean had created a dramatic scene of reunion. It seemed that
Owen still awaited the boarding call at the Crown and Anchor in Welsh Back. Johnny decided he would
find Owen, knock his teeth down his throat, throw Jean over his shoulder, and carry her to her sister. He
was smiling as he read the inn's sign.

* * * *

Tom and Richard had spent a comfortable night at the White Hart in Bath. Richard had reached
Huntingdon as Tom was retiring the first evening. When Tom climbed down from the rafters, he decided
there was no point trying to drive all night. Next morning they cut southwest through Buckingham and
Bedford to Oxford. From Newbury, it was a straight shot on the Bath road to Bristol. Tom thought they
might as well have a snug dinner and an early night in a Bath inn. He wasn't sure when the ship would sail,
but he was too disgusted with Jean to tie his back in knots jouncing into Bristol at midnight. He and Richard
set off at daybreak and reached Sims at the Crown and Anchor as breakfast was brought into Sims's parlour.
Jean was safe. Owen had not yet been arrested. The lovers had not yet seen one another, both being asleep
in their separate rooms. Tom complimented Sims on his tactics and called for coffee.

* * * *

It was full morning before Jean woke. The slatternly maidservant knocked at the door with hot
water for Miss Carter.

Jean, muscles twinging, rose to let her in. She was about to tell the maid to go wake Miss Carter
with her blasted water when it occurred to her that she was Miss Carter. "Er, thank you."

"The gentlemen be waiting in parlour, miss."

"Tell them I'll come to them directly."

The maid bobbed a curtsey and left. Anticipation drove Jean's aches from her mind. She scrubbed
in the deliciously hot water and even washed her mouse-eaten hair, though that left little water for Polly
who stirred and groaned but did not waken Someone, surely not the slattern, had ironed Jean's sprigged
muslin. It hung, crisp and pretty, from a peg in the wall.

Jean dressed, approved the result in the tiny looking glass, and composed herself to meet her
beloved. Her haphazard curls were still damp.

Polly eyed her sleepily from the truckle. "What's the time?"

"I don't know," Jean said blithely. "Time to see Owen. We've done it, Polly. He's here, and I'll
get round Sims. Sims likes me. We sail for North America on the evening tide!"

Polly made a noncommittal noise and dragged herself from the tangled quilt.

"You'll take forever to dress, at that rate. I'm to the parlour to see Owen."

"Will there be breakfast?"

"I daresay. I shan't forget your help, Polly," Jean said generously, "and neither will Owen."
Polly's usefulness had vanished once they left Earl's Brecon behind. She had never travelled farther than
Lincoln in her life. Still, she had helped when Jean needed help.

She left Polly staring into the soapy basin and danced down the uneven floor of the hallway to the
parlour Sims had hired. The power of speech that had foresaken her the night before returned as she
walked. Her mind spun off eloquent phrases. She rapped once and grasped the door handle.

On the threshold she stopped short, "Owen" dying on her lips.

Clanross rose. "Good morning, Jean." The remains of a plate of roast beef lay before him. "I hope
you slept well."

Colonel Falk, Johnny Dyott, and Sims had also risen at her entrance. Her eyes flew to
Sims's.

"Morning, me lady," said the traitor.

Her first thought was flight, but where should she flee? There was no escape. "Where's Owen?"
she asked, numb with defeat.

"'E come in late," Sims said with no sign that he recognised his own perfidy. "Still abed. 'Ave a
chair, Lady Jean. I'll serve you."

Still numb, she sat in the chair Colonel Falk held for her.

Clanross addressed the beef and mustard. Colonel Falk drank his coffee. Sims cut bread. Johnny
glowered at her and seemed on the point of speech several times.

At last the men's silence penetrated Jean's awareness. She clenched her fists. "I shall join Owen
aboard the
North Star
this evening, Clanross. You cannot prevent me!"

Clanross laid down his cutlery and took a sip of coffee. "I could, if I chose to. Persuade me to
change my mind."

Jean blinked. "I... Owen... We love each other."

"I congratulate you, but that is not a conclusive reason for you to abandon your family and take to
the woods."

"We wish to wed!"

"Has he proposed marriage?"

Jean glowered. "He has not had the opportunity. Thanks to you and Elizabeth, we have been
constantly spied upon, constrained--"

"Tyrants that we are," Clanross murmured. "Then I daresay Owen ought to be given the
opportunity to make his feelings clear."

Jean gaped. So did Johnny, and Sims made a strangled noise he converted into a cough. Only
Colonel Falk seemed unsurprised.

Jean swallowed. "Shall you permit us to meet privately?"

"I think a meeting can be arranged. Sims--"

Sims rose, his broad face red but impassive. "Me lord."

"Summon Mr. Davies. He was not informed of her ladyship's arrival, was he?"

"Not unless one of the inn servants told 'im. 'E come in late. I was already on me couch of
ease."

"Lady Jean went to considerable pains to surprise Mr. Davies. It would be a shame to spoil the,
er, happy conjunction."

"'Appy? Look 'ere, me lord--"

Clanross raised his eyebrows. He did not smile and his grey eyes were cold.

Sims departed, grumbling.

Clanross stood up. "Gentlemen, let us retire to the ordinary and leave her ladyship to her
breakfast."

Jean could scarcely believe her ears. "Oh, Clanross, thank you..."

"Don't thank me yet." He bowed, still unsmiling, and the three men filed out.

Jean jumped to her feet and began pacing the polished boards. On the mantel a nautical clock
ticked away the minutes. Noise from the street, the kitchen, the taproom filtered through the shut door.
Her mouth was dry. She poured herself tea and swallowed the unsweetened liquid.

There was a scratch at the door. Her hand shook and the teacup rattled in the saucer.
"Come!"

It was Polly, still blinking sleepily. Everyone had forgot the maid's existence. Jean sent her,
protesting, down to the ordinary, and resumed pacing. Owen was taking a long time. He had been asleep.
Probably he had lain awake, brooding over his exile, thinking of her, until dawn.

Finally, when Jean's overstretched nerves had almost driven her to seek Sims, the valet opened
the door and announced, "Mr. Davies," and Owen entered.

He stopped in the doorway, staring.

He was so beautiful with his fair flowing hair and his wild green eyes. Jean's hands reached out of
their own volition. "Owen--"

Sims gave him a shove from behind and shut the door.

"Mag... L--Lady Jean! How the... I'm... That is, I am amazed. I had not hoped to see you here.
How do you do, my lady?"

Jean gave a tremulous smile. "Very well now I see you. I have come to you, Owen. They would
have prevented me, but I escaped them and drove at once to your side."

Emotion seemed to have deprived him of his wonted eloquence. He cleared his throat. "But I sail
this evening!"

"Oh, my dear Owen, only say the word and I shall sail with you!"

"Impossible!"

"What?"

"I mean, surely your guardian--"

"Clanross is here. He permitted us to meet alone."

"He did?" His light tenor rose almost to a squeak "He's here?"

"In the ordinary with Colonel Falk and Johnny," Jean said, suppressing impatience. "Owen, we
must make haste--"

"Were you followed, Lady Jean? That is, you say you escaped the confines of Brecon and drove to
Bristol."

"To be at your side."

"Yes, yes, but the Runner"

Jean had half forgotten the Runner "I saw no sign of him"

Owen closed his eyes "I must think. It's too much for me to take in."

Poor darling,
Jean thought tenderly
He's overwhelmed, and no wonder. Few women would
show so much enterprise.

When she thought he had had sufficient time to collect his thoughts, she went to his side.

He took a step backward "Lady Jean, you do me great honour, but you must see it's impossible A
gently bred young lady in a wilderness? No, you
shall
not come. It would be unfair."