A Rose in Winter (6 page)

His spirits much brightened by the prospect, Avery quaffed another brew to celebrate his decision, then he rose and settled his hat firmly on his broad brow. A bunch of his friends were wagering on the droves of stock that would soon be coming to market at Mawbry, whether the first would be sheep, geese, or the like. With the anticipation of Smedley Goodfield being in the family, he could now afford to lay odds on his preference.

A casual meeting ground for traveler and villager alike, the common room of the Boar's Inn at Mawbry was rarely without at least a patron or two. Huge, rough-hewn wooden columns supported the upper floors of the establishment and provided a meager semblance of privacy for those who entered the lower room. The acrid odor of strong ale and the appetizing aroma of the roasting meats pervaded even the darkest corner. Kegs of rum and ale lined one wall, and in front of these the innkeeper swabbed his well-worn planks with a damp cloth. He cast an occasional eye toward a souse who dozed in the shadows at the end of the bar, while a serving wench bustled about to slide trenchers of food and tankards of ale before a pair of men who bent their heads close together across a trestle table near the hearth.

Seated at a table in front of the window, Christopher Seton tossed several coins onto the pitted surface to pay for the fare he and Silas Chambers had shared, then leaned back in the chair to sip the remainder of his ale leisurely. The barking of dogs on the street outside announced the hasty departure of Mr. Chambers and his rather nondescript carriage. Christopher smiled in amusement as he watched through the glass panes. The man had obviously been disturbed by the argument that had ensued between the Flemings, and with another to buy him a libation, he had readily confessed that he was somewhat hesitant about taking the maid to wife. It seemed the mayor had boasted of his daughter being as meek as she was comely, and though her beauty had certainly been proven, Mr. Chambers confided that the quality of meekness was most heartily strained. The girl had displayed a bit more fire than he thought he could handle. He was a most peaceable man, painstakingly cautious, and rather set in his ways. To be able to feast on such loveliness and to think of her as his own would no doubt be joy without peer, but her display of temper sorely worried him.

Christopher was not dissatisfied with Silas Chambers' decision to leave. Indeed, he was most comfortable with it. It had not been necessary to issue dire warnings or morose insinuations in order to dissuade Silas from returning to the Fleming cottage. All it had taken was a few understanding nods, noncommittal shrugs, and a sympathetic countenance to convince the man that he should approach this matter of marriage with a great deal of caution. Silas had appeared almost eager to heed this sage advice. After all, he had rationalized aloud, he had his small fortune to protect, and one could not be too careful about choosing a wife.

Christopher felt a presence beside his table, and raising his gaze, he found the short, straggly-haired sot anxiously eyeing the half-filled tankard that Silas had left.

"Ye be a stranger 'ere, gov'na?" the drunk asked.

It was not hard to guess what had lured the man, but Christopher was curious about Mawbry and its mayor and was not unwilling to listen to the babblings of a village alehound. Christopher gave an affirmative nod, and the man smiled broadly, showing badly rotted teeth, before his gaze darted to the cup again.

"May ol' Ben join ye, gov'na?"

As an invitation Christopher indicated the chair Silas had vacated. As soon as the man flumped down into the seat, he caught up the tankard and greedily drained off the contents.

Christopher caught the eye of the serving wench and beckoned to her. "Bring my friend here another ale," he directed, "and perhaps some meat to fill his belly."

"Ye're a bleedin' saint, gov'na!" the man chortled, setting his heavy dewlaps to trembling and his fleshy red nose to jiggling ponderously. Purplish veins lined his face, and the left one of those dull blue eyes was slightly coated with a whitish film. He glanced nervously about, awaiting the fare. The woman slid the ale and a wooden trencher of meats before him, and leaning forward to take up the coins on the table, she smiled at Christopher, inviting him to view her voluptuous endowments as the blouse sagged away from her bosom. In an unexpected movement Ben slapped a gnarled hand over hers, startling both his patron and the serving maid.

"Mind ye take no more'n yer rightful due, Molly," he snarled. " Tis tenpence fer each o' them stouts and a wee tuppence more fer the meats, so count it out carefully. I'm not o' a mind ter see ye gits a tuppence or two extra. Ye been short o' charity fer ol' Ben, and I won't see ye thievin' from me gentleman friend 'ere."

While Christopher coughed to hide his humor, Molly bent a menacing glare on the salt. Still, she carefully counted out the necessary coin and departed. Satisfied, Ben lent his attention to his meal and his ale.

" 'Tis good o' ye ter look aftah ol' Ben, gov'na," he finally mumbled, dragging his ragged sleeve across his greasy mouth. He took a long pull from the tankard, then sighed deeply. "Ain't enough kind folk here about 'at'll give me the time o' day, much less a feast o' this sort. Ol' Ben's beholden ter ye."

"Have you need of employment?" Christopher queried.

The man shrugged his shabby shoulders. "Ain' a body what'll trust ol' Ben wit' a pinch o' salt, much less wit' chores ter be done. H'it ain't always been 'at way. Ol' Ben, he served in 'is Majesty's tubs fer better'n twenty years." Thoughtfully rubbing his bristly chin, he peered at the well-garbed gentleman. "I seen by yer walk ye've been on a deck yerself a time or two."

"A time or two perhaps," Christopher replied. "But I'm bound to the land now. At least for a while."

"Ye be stayin' 'ere at the inn?" At the other's nod, Ben was quick with another inquiry, "Ye be lookin' fer a place to make a home?"

"Would you have any suggestions if I were?" Christopher countered.

Ben fixed a bleary eye on Christopher and leaning back, folded his hands over his paunch. "I 'spect a gent like yerself would be wantin' a fancy 'ouse and yards. More's the pity! Lord Talbot claims most o' what's 'ere and about. 'Tain't likely he'll give ye a chance at any o' it, lest ye take a fancy ter his daughter and marry up wit' her. Course, it ain't quite 'at simple. His lordship gots ter see a man worth bein' his kin first, an' from what I hears, 'tis a wee mite hard ter please him. Not her, mind ye!" He chortled. "She'll like ye, all right. She's gots an eye fer the men."

Christopher declined with a chuckle. "I'm not really considering marriage at this time."

"Well, if'n ye were, seein's as ye're me friend an' all, I'd tell ye ter hie yerself over ter the mayor's and look over his girl. She be the only one in Mawbry what'll have a pity on ol' Ben and slip me a bite ter eat out the back door when I comes around." He snickered behind the hand that he rubbed his nose with. "O' course, the mayor'd come a cropper if'n he knowed about it."

"Should I decide to become seriously interested in acquiring a wife, I'll keep your suggestion in mind." The green eyes twinkled above the rim of his mug as Christopher sipped the brew.

"Now, mind ye, ye'd not be gettin' a dowry," Ben warned. "The mayor can't afford it. And there ain't no chance o' gettin' yerself lands like maybe ye would if'n ye set yer sights on ol' Talbot's snippet." His red-rimmed eyes took in the costly attire of the other. " 'Course, maybe ye'd not have a need for another's wealth. But even if ye could afford it, ain't no lands what's ter be 'ad around 'ere." He paused and raised a crooked finger to correct himself. " 'Ceptin' maybe 'at ol' place what burned a few years back. Saxton Hall it be, gov'na, but it be partly rubble now, not a fittin' port in any storm."

"Why is that?"

"All 'em Saxtons were murdered or run off. Some blame the Scots, some say not. More'n a score years back the ol' lord was dragged out in the middle o' night and run through with a claymore. His wife and boys managed ter escape, and nothin' was ever heard from any of 'em till... oh... long 'bout three... four years back one o' the sons come back ter claim it all. Oh, he were a proud-lookin' one, he were. Tall like yerself, with eyes what'd fix a body through when he blew hot an' mad. Then, when he barely had his feet firm on the sod o' the place, the manor caught fire, and he burned ter death. Some say 'twas the Scots again." Ben slowly shook his shabby head. "Some say not."

Christopher's curiosity was piqued. "Are you saying you think it wasn't the Scots?"

Ben's head wagged from side to side. "There be 'ems what know, gov'na, and 'ems what don't. 'Tain't safe ter be ones what do."

"But you do," Christopher pressed. "Anyone with your quick mind has got to know."

Ben leered at his companion. "Aye, ye're a sharp one there, gov'na. I gots me wits 'bout me, 'tis true, an' in better times ol' Ben has ridden wid the wildest of 'em. Most folk think ol' Ben is a witless, half-blind ol' rummy. But I tells ye, gov'na, ol' Ben, he 'as a fine eye an' ear fer seein' and hearin' what goes on." He bent closer and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "I can tell ye tales 'bout some folks what'll stiffen the hairs on yer head. Why, they'd laugh ter see a man burn, they would." He shook his head as if suddenly troubled. "I'd best not ter talk of it. 'Tain't healthy."

Christopher beckoned to Molly and threw out another coin when she brought a replacement for Ben's empty tankard. She was all warmth and smiles for him, but when she glanced at the old tar, her lip curled sneeringly, and with a toss of her head, she pranced off to serve the men who sat near the hearth.

Ben drank deeply from the new mug, then leaned back in his seat. "Ye're a true friend, gov'na. I'd swear by me mother's grave ye are."

A robust fellow, with a fiery red mop of straggly hair tied in a queue beneath a tricorn, came through the door, stomping the mud from his boots and brushing the raindrops off his coat. Close behind him, almost trotting on his heels, was a fellow of seemingly like comportment, whose left ear appeared to twitch of its own will.

Ben hunched his shoulders as if he desired to escape being noticed by the newcomers and anxiously gulped down the remainder of his drink before he sidled out of his chair. "I gots ter be goin' now, gov'na."

The newcomers crossed the room to the bar as Ben slipped through the doorway and scurried down the street with ragged coattails flying, briefly glancing over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

"Timmy Sears!" the innkeeper hailed and chortled, " 'tis been such a while since I seen ye, I was wonderin' if the earth had opened and swallowed ye up."

"It did, Jamie!" the red-haired man roared back. "But the divil spewed me out again!"

"Ah, ye're a red-haired demon yerself, Timmy me boy."

The barkeep snatched up a couple of mugs and filled them from the spigot of the ale barrel. He set the mugs upon the slick surface of the bar and with a practiced hand sent one sliding down toward the pair. The seedy, dark-haired man with the restless ear intercepted it and, gleefully licking his lips, brought it toward them, almost making contact before his arm was rudely seized by his companion.

" 'Od's blood, Haggie. Ever since ye fell from yer horse and banged yer head, ye ain't got the manners ye was born with. Ye never go takin' what was meant for me. Now that ye'll be workin' 'round here, ye remember that, ye hear?"

The man nodded readily, and with rich enjoyment, Timmy Sears sank his own lips into the head of foam. Haggie watched with puckered mouth until the second mug passed, then eagerly caught it up and joined in a like refreshment.

"What are the two o' ye doin' here on a day like this?" the innkeeper inquired.

Sears laughed as he lowered his mug and slapped the flat of his hand down on the planks. " 'Tis the only place I can escape from me harpin' wife."

Sauntering close, Molly caressed his chest and smiled into his eyes. "I thought maybe ye'd come ter see me, Timmy."

The man took the maid into a great bear hug and swung her about until she fairly squealed with delight. When he set her to her feet again, he searched inside his coat pocket for a moment, then leering, slowly withdrew a coin, which he flipped before her gleaming eyes. She laughed with excited glee, and quickly grabbing the piece, she dropped it into her blouse. She danced away from him and, looking over her shoulder, smiled seductively. The promise was in her eyes, and she had no need to speak, for when she fled up the stairs, he came after her in eager haste. Haggard Bentworth slammed down his own mug and stumbled after them, but he came up smartly against his companion's heels as the red-haired man paused on the bottom step. Sears was nearly knocked face downward against the stairs by the force of the other's impact but managed to regain his balance. He came around with fire in his eye.

"Not up here, Haggie," he barked. "Ye can't follow me here. Go have yerself another ale." He shoved the man back and hastened after the swinging hips that by now had proceeded well up the stairway.

Christopher chuckled in his ale, then once again noted a shadow beside his table. His brow raised in mute question as he glanced up. The dark-haired man from the trestle table stood with a hand poised on the back of the chair Ben had vacated. He had the bearing of a military man, although his garb did not support that supposition. Over a stocky, muscular build, he wore a sleeveless leather jerkin, a thick, soft shirt, and snug breeches tucked into tall black boots.

"May I join you for a moment, sir?" He did not wait on an answer but spun the chair about and straddled the seat, facing Christopher. The man opened his jerkin and twitched a pair of pistols to a more comfortable position in his belt, then leaned forward, his forearms braced on the back of the chair.