Cynthia Bailey Pratt (22 page)

“Did he throw you?”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Fletcher said, shamed at having to admit to his poor horsemanship. The colonel came closer, his face working with excitement. Fletcher took a step back in alarm at these odd questions asked with such ferocious intensity by a man he had robbed.

“Aha!” The colonel slapped his long thigh. “Good on you, old man. Never got above half a mile, myself!”

“You mean that horse always throws people?” Jocelyn asked.

“Always, my gel. Always. Ha! My name’s Tripp, old fellow, Colonel, Jordan’s Cavalry, retired. Any time you feel like it, you come and stay at my place up the hill. Anybody’ll point it out to you. Damn me, but you can ride!” The colonel smacked Fletcher smartly on the shoulder and said, “Good evening to you. A mile! Ha!” and left.

“Why—” Mr. Fletcher began to ask and found himself talking to a closed door.

“The colonel, poor man,” said Mrs. Pierce with a click of her tongue.

Jocelyn asked anxiously, “Did you see Helena?”

“No, I rode as swiftly as I could and drew nearly even with the coach’s window before that . . . beast took off in another direction. Then I was thrown.” He rubbed at a tender spot on his anatomy. Looking up, he seemed to realize there was another person behind the two women. “Captain Hammond, sir! You’ll help me, won’t you?”

“With what?”

“With getting her back!”

“You seem to forget—” Hammond began to admonish Fletcher. Then the smile that made his face younger returned, and he said, “Well, at least she’s on her way to Oxford, which is more than we can say. You
do
remember Oxford, yes?”

“Of course, but how are we to get there? Our horses won’t make it without a change, and frankly, I’m about done.”

The landlady said, “I can’t give you horses. My last fresh pair went with His Lordship.”

Turning to her, Jocelyn asked, “Colonel Tripp—does he drive as well as ride?”

“Yes,” the landlady answered, relieved to be asked a direct question in the midst of so much confusion.

“Would he be willing to lend us the use of a carriage and horses?”

“I don’t think he’s ever refused anything to a man who can ride well.”

“I’ll go and ask him,” Mr. Fletcher said as he sprinted for the door in a way that belied both his weariness and his bruises.

“I’ll go, too,” Arnold volunteered, dashing along behind his tutor before Jocelyn could stop him.

“Go along the drive to the right,” Mrs. Pierce called after him. “It’s only half a mile.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is that’s happening, but I’ll help all I can, if only to have a quiet night once the lot of you’ve gone.”

Hammond thanked her. “Is there somewhere I can make myself more presentable?’’

“Yes, you are a sight, aren’t you?” she said, studying the interesting pattern of dirt on his lean face with the eyes of a mother. Mrs. Pierce again led the way back to her quarters. She showed Hammond to one of her son’s rooms, and as he went along, she asked Jocelyn in a whisper, “Which one of them have you decided on?”

“I beg your pardon,” Jocelyn said, unsure whether to be amused or incensed.

“Not sure yourself, are you?” Mrs. Pierce’s sharp eyes saw the girl’s mouth open as if in protest, only no words came out. “Or perhaps you do know. Now, take this water and soap along to him, and here’s something to dry on. I’m going to start a cup of tea. It’s over late for it, but I feel the need of it.”

Jocelyn went down the hall and knocked timidly on the door. “Here’s your water and a towel.”

Hammond opened his door, shielding himself behind it. “Just a moment,” he said.

When Jocelyn went in, Hammond stood with his back to the corner and held his ragged shirt in front of his half-naked body. Jocelyn saw the tear in the shirt’s tail she had made under his direction. She set the jug down on a commode, hiding her smile.

“Are you feeling quite well, Hammond? Such a strenuous evening. And it isn’t over yet, I’m afraid. Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I never made you that poultice I promised you. Please don’t blame me for forgetting. I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“May I see your wound? I’d like to see if comfrey is the right thing to use. I think it is. It’s very good for inflammation, you know.”

Hammond still held his shirt in front of his furred chest. “There’s no swelling to speak of and, well, dammit. I’ve been hurt before and gotten through it all right.”

“No swelling to speak of? Let me see.”

“Now listen, you’re not dressed as a boy now so don’t behave like one. It isn’t right.” His dark eyes traveled over her, lingering for a moment on her throat where the thin cambric of her chemise was gathered with blue ribbon above the square scoop-neck of her gown. With an effort he jerked his eyes back to her face, tinged now with a faint flush that echoed the sudden duskiness of his own skin. “I ... I think you’d better go.”

Jocelyn stood frozen, her body and mind both remembering with vivid sharpness the feel of Hammond’s lips on hers. “I quite see,” she said, her voice under less than perfect control. She paused on the threshold to say. “I shall make you that poultice regardless, but I shall send it by Mrs. Pierce.” Jocelyn felt like skipping along the hall.

Mrs. Pierce kept comfrey in plenty and was very interested in Jocelyn’s method of making the poultice. She sat at a table in the large kitchen, watching the girl while she sipped her tea from a thick mug. “Salt?” she asked. “Doesn’t that sting?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn said complacently. “It’s very good.”

While Jocelyn worked, Mr. Fletcher came back. “All’s well,” he said with a slight hiccup. “Colonel Tripp’s an excellent gentleman. He lent us a pair of bays and a coach.”

“Not the Glendening Bays!” Mrs. Pierce said in wonder.

“I suppose so.”

“Will wonders never cease? You must have impressed him.”

Mr. Fletcher looked around. “Where’s Hammond?” he asked with just a hint of suspicion.

“He’s cleaning up,” Jocelyn said. “Where’s Arnold?”

“Out with the horses, I assume. He seemed fascinated.”

“Bring him in, won’t you? And see he washes. You might take a moment to do the same.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. I can’t see Helena while looking like this,” Mr. Fletcher said, looking down at his coat, encrusted now with drying mud. He brushed at it ineffectually and then repeated his statement. “No, I don’t think she’d have much to say to me if I ask her to marry me again, looking like this.”

“So!” Mrs. Pierce exclaimed. “I’m glad to have it straight at last. You’re in love with the other girl, and the other man’s in love with this one.”

Mr. Fletcher looked at Jocelyn, placidly stirring some mess in a large pot on the stove. She didn’t look to be in love. Mr. Fletcher thought about Helena and the glorious glow in her eyes when he caught her glance in the church. No radiance filled Jocelyn’s eyes that he could see. Mr. Fletcher decided the landlady simply tried to make sense of the people in her inn, and a love intrigue or two was the best explanation for their admittedly odd behavior. Mr. Fletcher shrugged and forgot the peculiar idea.

Jocelyn, embarrassed, said, “Hammond’s in the room down there to the right.” Mr. Fletcher immediately set off to find him.

As soon as she spread the warmed, mashed roots in clean linen, she carried it, some strips of cloth, and another pitcher of water down to the men. The door was closed. It must not have been well made, for she could hear their voices.

Mr. Fletcher was saying, “I don’t agree. Nobody has a higher opinion of Miss Burnwell than myself, but we should leave her here, where she’s safe—or better yet, send her home. It’s been easy thus far. I think it is going to be dangerous in Oxford.”

Jocelyn expected Hammond to agree to leave her behind and so was surprised when he said, “No, she might be of use. I can’t see walking up to a strange young man, especially an Oxford man, and coolly demanding his coat.”

“Why not? Tom’s quite likely to give it to you without asking any questions. I know this family, you see. Haven’t I lived with them for almost a year?”

“You’re forgetting about Miss Fain. Jocelyn will certainly be necessary when you find her again. I’ve no wish to sound like a prosy old woman—”

Coldly Mr. Fletcher said, “Miss Fain is my concern.”

“And Miss Burnwell is mine. I can’t send her home alone.
I
can’t go with her, you can’t go with her, and your Miss Fain cannot go wandering over the English countryside without somebody to lend, well, countenance. If you mean to marry the girl—”

“I do!”

“Very good. You can’t, however, sprout up on your family doorstep with an unaccompanied female. Not if you want them to accept her. I’ve been out of the country a long time, but I don’t think things have changed that much.”

The weight of the pitcher grew by the moment. Jocelyn was reluctant to break in on this very interesting conversation. It was either that, however, or drop half a gallon of water in the hall. Her hands being full, she tapped tightly at the door with her toe.

Mr. Fletcher hastened to take Jocelyn’s burdens from her. Hammond, completely dressed, his coat sponged clean, thanked her solemnly for the poultice. “I’m sure it’s very useful.”

“Can’t I help you with it?”

Hammond said, “I’m sure Mr. Fletcher will be happy to help me.” He caught his colleague’s eye, and Mr. Fletcher made haste to assure Jocelyn that he would. A short silence filled the room. “Well,” Hammond said. “Don’t you want to freshen yourself? We have another four hours of driving before we reach Oxford. Once we’re there—”

“I think we should rest here,” Jocelyn said firmly. “If we leave now, we’ll get to Oxford at midnight. You won’t accomplish a thing by waking Tom up in the middle of the night.”

“What about Helena?” Mr. Fletcher asked.

“There’s nothing we can do for her now. Arriving exhausted won’t make it any easier to find her. Let’s sleep now and leave early. Before dawn if you like.”

‘The men exchanged glances. “Yes,” Hammond said. “What a reasonable idea.”

“I’m glad you agree with me.” She left them and went at once to Arnold. He was eating a large piece of cake under Mrs. Pierce’s indulgent eye. Jocelyn told her of the change in plans. The landlady bustled away to arrange a bed for her.

“Arnold, I want you to do something for me. We’re going to be spending a few hours here. Can you stay awake?”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid Hammond and Mr. Fletcher may try to leave without us.”

“They couldn’t!”

“They might. You’ve got to prevent it. You’re the only one who can. I can’t sleep in their room to watch them.”

Appealing to Arnold’s sense of adventure, and his vanity, did not fail. It must also be confessed that the notion of spying on his tutor appealed powerfully to his baser instincts. He drew himself up to his full four foot eleven and all but saluted. “I’ll sit in front of their door all night.”

“I think you’d be more useful inside the room. There’s a window.’’

“Right. I won’t sleep a wink; I took a fine rest in the wagon.” He dashed away. After a moment he returned. “Jocelyn? This isn’t about my poaching, is it?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “If only it were that simple.”

“Then what are we doing here? Who is Hammond, really?” he persisted.

That was what she wanted to know. “Everything’s very complicated, Arnold. We’re trying to ... find Helena. She ran away. The shock of her brother’s . . . death and ...”

“Oh, don’t tell me if you don’t want to. I’m on your side, though. No matter what.”

Before he could evade her, she kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you, Arnold. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Hammond and Fletcher would find it almost impossible to escape with Arnold in the room. He was notorious for waking up at the slightest noise. Even a door shutting in the hall outside his room was enough to wake him at the priory.

Chapter Fourteen

The colonel’s horses pulled their conveyance as if it and the four people in it weighed nothing at all. They seemed to enjoy the work, shaking their heads and lashing their tails as their hooves rang on the dawnlit road.

Jocelyn’s head nodded almost as soon as they waved farewell to Mrs. Pierce, who seemed glad to be rid of them. Before sleep took her, Jocelyn reflected that they had at least given the Dog’s Jug Inn a topic of conversation that would last for weeks.

When she woke up, she found Hammond’s arm about her. His hand warmed her entire body from its innocent place on her shoulder. She kept her eyes tightly closed to savor the sensation. When she opened her eyes at last, the first thing she saw was Arnold snoozing on the opposite seat. Despite this vision, she at first felt so contented that she did not wish to move. Only a glimpse of her bonnet, hastily folded and shoved between Hammond’s thigh and the side panel, brought her upright.

He smiled at her and lifted his arm from around her as she yawned and stretched. “I’m glad you had a second chance to rest. Didn’t you sleep at the inn? Arnold kept good watch, you know,” he said, laughingly. He passed her the now sadly crushed bonnet.

Jocelyn pushed at her hair. Her neck felt stiff. “I knew he would. It’s just the kind of thing he does well.” It did not take great insight to see he was laughing at her. All the same, she could not feel ashamed of her precautions. It would have been just like Hammond to leave her at the inn.

She put on her bonnet. The cool night air brushed over her skin, and she was glad of her duffle-cloth coat but wished she wore a warmer dress. “How far have we to go?” she asked.

“About an hour.”

Once awake Jocelyn noticed Hammond’s growing tension. No longer encumbered with her sleeping body, he leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. His whole attention remained riveted on the tiny forward window, half-blocked by Mr. Fletcher on the box. Hammond moved restlessly, crossing and uncrossing his arms and legs, unable to sit still. He drummed his fingers on his knee and fiddled with his cravat. He did not look at Jocelyn, and he did not smile. She began to feel even colder.

As they crested a hill, she saw the gray spires of the university city in the distance. She felt nervous at entering a city of twelve thousand. Only three or four thousand people lived in Libermore. She sometimes thought she knew them all by sight. Her nerves were calmed by remembering she had only two purposes in coming to Oxford and both could be readily accomplished. The first was to find Helena before Helena found her brother, and that Mr. Fletcher would no doubt accomplish for her.