Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) (24 page)

Eulogy returned home in a state of anxious agitation. She stopped a link boy, gave him a shilling for his trouble and instructions to run to the livery yard and hire a lady’s hack. Meanwhile, she flew upstairs and changed into her riding habit.

In the hall, Mrs. Featherstone wrung her hands.

“Don’t go, dear, I beg yer. Tis no weather for a journey, especially for a woman alone, and not with snow in the air.”

“I must, don’t you see? It’s this, or live with regret for the rest of my life.”

Farrell appeared, bleary eyed but concerned. No amount of argument could dissuade her, and barely quarter-of-an-hour later, the red-nosed link boy returned, leading a rangy chestnut mare.

Standing on the doorstep beneath gathering storm clouds, Farrell placed a comforting arm round Mrs. Featherstone’s shoulders as she sobbed. Eulogy caught up the hack’s reins and the boy formed a cup with his hands, boosting her into the saddle. At the sight of the housekeeper’s quivering lips, she paused.

 “I shall be careful, but I have to go…you understand that?”

Mrs. Featherstone blew her nose. “Tis like watching my own go.” She sniffed. “And is such in weather.”

“Aye, but she has to follow her heart.”

 “Take care at least. Yer have money for an inn, for when the snow sets in?”

“I do.” Eulogy smiled back with more assurance than she felt. “No need to worry, don’t forget I travelled all the way from Easterhope by myself.”

“Yer know the way to the Huntley Estate?”

“Charles drew me a map. It’s quite simple, out of London and take the Great South Road.”

“There’s snow in the air.” Mrs. Featherstone sobbed. “Promise you’ll seek shelter.”

Wind eddied and swirled, scattering Mrs. Featherstone’s words. Eulogy nodded, her skirts flapped as she nudged the mare forward. As she waved goodbye, sitting tall in the saddle, she took a last lingering look and Red Lyon Square and then urged the hack forward.

They clattered away, leaving the pale faced housekeeper and concerned painter behind. Eulogy’s mask of confidence slipped. The streets seemed eerily somber and unusually dark for the hour. She glanced up at the sky. Slate grey clouds closing out the sun and the unmistakable stillness that heralded snow. Despite a redingote, fur tippet and gloves, Eulogy shivered and not just from cold. All her future happiness depended on finding Jack and quickly before the storm set in.

Chapter 19

The few travelers Eulogy passed on the road were faceless creatures huddled behind scarves and muffles. A mail coach passed and from his high perch, the driver tipped his whip at her, surprised to see a lone horsewoman abroad in such weather. His lips moved as he pointed at the sky, but his words were lost on the wind. 

Soon even this meager traffic thinned to nothing, as the scenery changed to open fields and pastureland. The mare pricked her ears, she seemed well chosen for a long journey: skittish, lively and fresh from the stable. Eulogy gave thanks that the livery yard hadn’t fobbed her off with a broken-kneed hack; it seemed Farrell’s name indeed counted for something. A bird took flight and the mare bridled sideways, Eulogy stroked her arched neck.

“Steady now, we’ve a long way to go. Best save your energy.”

Conscious of Jack’s head start she slackened the reins and allowed the mare’s energy to spill into a bouncy canter. From horseback Eulogy saw over fences and hedges. Sheep with their tails to the wind, cattle huddled in circles. The dry stone walls and lonely cottages were the only signs of life. She rode as if travelling through a hinterland between day and night studiously ignoring the darkening clouds, hoping to outride the coming storm. She guessed there were three hours of daylight left before she would be forced to stop at an inn. Grim-faced, she reined the mare back to a trot, the better to cover the distance on a long journey.

Then the snow started.

Softly at first, snowflakes fluttering from slate grey clouds, melting as they fell, dissolving before they touched the ground. A fat snowflake brushed her cheek. And another. Pleasantly cooling after the exertion of the ride, she smiled, remembering winters at Easterhope and hot cocoa after a playing in the snow.

The snowflakes fell more thickly. A lacey curtain layered over the landscape, dancing patterns in the wind. Conscious of the threatening sky Eulogy pushed forward, quietly acknowledging that Mrs. Featherstone was right.

This was no day for travelling.

How long since she left London? Two hours perhaps? Her spirits buoyed. There was bound to be an inn soon. She would be sensible and stop for the night. The thought cheered her as the snow fell more quickly.

She shivered beneath a sickly yellow sky. Snowflakes coated her eyelashes now, her lips cracked and raw where she had licked them in anxiety. Unsettled, the mare tossed her head as the snow tickled her nostrils. Eulogy buried the seeds of panic. She wouldn’t allow herself to be spooked. Keep her head and all would be fine. The snow settled on a crisp unblemished crust on the road ahead.

The countryside swathed in white, Eulogy lost track of time. It seemed she had travelled for hours, but not passed another living soul for an age. Eulogy trembled with fear. Whatever had possessed her? Really it wasn’t like her at all. Then the memory of Jack’s note banished doubt. What was a little discomfort against the rest of her life?

Hedgerows, verges and road were uniformly covered now, merged together under blanketing white. The wind got up, whistling between bare branches. Even the rooks and crows disappeared.

The blizzard swept in.

Blinded by the squalling flurries, the mare slowed to a walk. Eulogy, barely able to see the horse’s ears, prayed they stayed on the track. The shrieking, screeching wind filled her ears, making her deaf as well as blind. She would have cried had it not been for fear of tears freezing on her cheeks. Her gloved hands had long since lost any feeling. Transferring the reins into one hand, she clamped the other under her armpit to warm it. Her ears burnt with the cold, an intense ringing pain as if they would shatter.

The mare shivered from nose to tail, almost unseating her rider with vigorous shaking. Eulogy reached forward, petting the terrified animal’s neck as the snow swarmed like bees, a blinding frenzy in their eyes. Every step an effort now, with the snow crunching above the horse’s fetlocks. The mare stumbled, pitching Eulogy forward. She grabbed the mare’s mane and pushed herself back into the saddle. Fear grew into panic. They must find shelter soon or they wouldn’t survive much longer in the open. Anything would do, farm, byre…a stable, anything.

Struggling blindly through the blizzard, the mare led on, plodding beside meaningless drifts, on what Eulogy hoped was the road. When the mare flagged and faltered, Eulogy rallied and drove her on. Her mind started to drift. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, she speculated, to drift into unconsciousness, no pain as such. She started to dream, her thoughts idly wandering hither and thither, to happier times—to Jack’s warm laugh, his eyes glowing with love.

The pain of his rejection jerked her awake.

Then she saw it! A faint glow in the distance. She strained her eyes. Was she still dreaming? What was that, a light? Between blinks, rubbing the ice from her lashes, it was indeed the glow of a far-away lantern.

Grasping at hope, she nudged the mare on. Perhaps she had seen it too for her head came up as she bravely lifted one leaden leg after another, hooves biting down through knee deep drifts. Slowly a building emerged from the gloom, lighted windows and chimney smoke. Carried on the howling wind came a new sound that Eulogy strained to hear, fiddle music…and laughter.

“Saints be praised,” she mumbled, half-crying with relief.

Gathering the reins in numb hands, eyes fixed on the distinct glow Eulogy encouraged the mare forward.

It took an age to cross the distance to the welcoming inn, but arrive they did. The approach road had been churned up by wheels and hooves, until freshly fallen snow had smoothed the ruts. As Eulogy drew closer she made out a substantial building with a coaching arch in the middle leading to stables at the rear. It looked an old building, criss-crossed timber beams across the façade and what looked like a thatched roof, thick with snow like a muffin top. Close enough now to hear the murmur of voices, she passed by lead paned windows, misty with condensation, a welcoming orange glow inside.

Turning into the stable yard, Eulogy felt like pinching herself. Courtyard walls formed protection of sorts, the cobbles slippery with ice but largely free of drifts. The noise and bustle of the inn was confusing after the blinding, white landscape and it made her dizzy. A stable lad buzzed around, whistling to himself, tossing hay over half stable doors. Eulogy tried to smile but found her face frozen.

Shaking with exhaustion, the mare staggered to a halt. Eulogy felt bewildered, as the yard span slowly.

“Miss?”

A thick set man with a pugilist’s broken face strode towards her.

“Miss, is yer all reet?”

The fog of bewilderment Eulogy nodded, but couldn’t move, set like an ice statue in the saddle. A lad appeared at the mare’s head, rubbing her nose, leading her to cover.

“Miss, I’m going to ‘elp yer down. Ready now?”

Callused hands gripped her waist, lifting her from the saddle, but her legs buckled and refused to take her weight. The ostler grunted as he held her upright.

“Steady now, Miss. Tek a deep breath now.” His voice was rough but his tone kind.

“Chosen a reet night to be out, Miss, ain’t yer? Best get into the warm now.”

With a weak nod Eulogy accepted his arm, leaning heavily against him as he led the way.

They entered through a sturdy oak door and after the bitter cold of the storm, the heat was almost unbearable. The ostler led her across a dimly lit hall and helped her to sit in a battered leather armchair. Shapes moved around her, out of focus and shadowy.

“Wait here, Miss, an’ I’ll fetch yer some help.”

Eulogy mumbled thanks and reached for her reticule to give him a tip, but the man was gone, already engulfed by a noisy surge of men come spilling past from the bar. Laughing raucously, smelling of unwashed bodies and stale beer, a great hubbub of noise. She shrank deeper into the chair. Men. All around. Fortunately they were too busy carousing to notice a bedraggled waif in the corner. Laughing and joking, slapping each other’s backs in uproarious mood.

Then the smell of stale ale hit. She shivered. Her sluggish senses started to life. These were not gentlemen but drunken sots. Heavens this was no place for a woman alone! A room. She must get a room where she would be safe.

Unsteadily, she rose to her feet. In the warmth of the inn’s her redingcote, which had been stiff with ice started to thaw, dripping a trail of water across the tiles. Her petticoats sodden, her wet chemise clinging to her legs and impeding her movements. Trying to make herself as insignificant as possible she squirmed through the press of bodies making for a heavy oak desk, behind which stood a ruddy faced man in a leather apron, busy leafing through a ledger.

“Sir,” she spoke through chattering teeth. “A room if you please.”

Without looking up, the man shrugged and continued running a blackened fingernail down a column of figures. “All taken.”

Eulogy recognized rudeness when she saw it and squaring her shoulders she spoke firmly. “Sir, perhaps you misunderstand. I have travelled through a blizzard…I must have a room.”

The man frowned at his papers. “And you must understand Miss. There ain’t one.”

Eulogy sighed, pushing aside dreams of feather pillows and thick woolen blankets. “It needn’t be your best chamber. Anything will do...even an attic. Just a room and a fire.”

For the first time, the man she took as the landlord looked up. Thickset with a dragon tattooed around his neck, the man took in her disheveled appearance with a sneer. Leaning on one elbow, leering closer as if undressing her with his eyes, she faced a new danger. Had it not been for the raging blizzard, she would have left there and then.

“Well then, my pretty, look what the storm’s blown in.” His lecherous sneer made her uneasy. He mustn’t see how frightened and exhausted she was. With a fresh resolve Eulogy tipped up her chin, eyes blazing.

 “A room…or shall I sleep with my horse?” Instantly, she regretted the words, clearly the stable was not safe.

The man smiled, revealing gaps between his blackened teeth. “Well I’d like to oblige but the inn is full. Cockfight in the village you see. Only the weather closed in. Everyone and ‘is dog wants shelter tonight. All rooms is took, but if you wanted to warm my bed I shouldn’t object.”

Eulogy gasped, clutching her arms across her chest. “How dare you!”

But the sound of a raised female voice momentarily silenced the commotion. A weasel-like man with lank greasy hair staggered toward her.

“A looker like you can bunk in wi’ me.” He slavered in her face, then lurching forward, draped his arm around her shoulders. Eulogy struggled, trying to shake herself free, but the man was surprisingly strong. A cry of despair escaped her lips. Her options were few and unpleasant: ride on in the teeth of a storm or be ravaged. The drunk, half fell against her, pinning her down with his weight. His breath stank of ale and onions and his clothes of rancid sweat.