Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

H annah fastened her pink cashmere pelisse over her day dress. In the normal course of events, she would leave her letters in the hall to be collected by the postman. But the morning post had already come by the time she'd finished her cat article, and she was too impatient for Mattie to read it to wait until tomorrow.

"I shall take it to the post office myself," she informed her maid as she drew on her gloves. "Evangeline and Tippo will enjoy the walk."

Ernsby greeted this news with tightly compressed lips. She didn't approve of Hannah drawing attention to herself with her motley assortment of canines. "Perhaps if you had a handsome little spaniel or a prettily clipped poodle," the lady's maid had remarked on more than one occasion. "Then, you could parade them down the high street as much as you please. But this pair… they do you no credit, miss."

She nevertheless trudged dutifully behind Hannah and her two dogs, away from Camden Place toward the post office in Broad Street.

Hannah had become more familiar with the city over the past week as she'd diligently applied herself to the business of her first season. Every day had been taken up with concerts, dinners, dances, and formal calls. What time she'd had left had been devoted to her animal interests. There had been precious few hours remaining to pine over icy blond viscounts.

Just as her father had predicted, the ache in Hannah's heart had gradually receded. In James's absence, there was nothing to remind her of what had caused it.

Neither was there any more favorable emotion to take its place.

None of the gentlemen Hannah had met since rejecting James's proposal had inspired any degree of interest in her.

But, as she often reminded herself, these were early days yet. There were many more weeks of entertainments to come. In the meanwhile, Hannah had plenty to keep her busy, both socially and intellectually.

She continued toward the post office with a purposeful step. It was less than a mile away. An easy enough distance for a country girl accustomed to tramping over the rolling hills of her parents' estate. Evangeline and Tippo trotted gamely at her side, sniffing at the air with interest as they passed horse riders and strolling pedestrians.

The population of the city was growing by the week, with newcomers arriving to take part in the season. Hannah felt the curious glances of some of them as she walked past. She doubtless provided quite a spectacle with her mismatched eyes and her three-legged dog. Even Tippo inspired a second look or two. He was an ancient pug, grizzled and bleary-eyed, though still quite happy to be out for a stroll.

They hadn't gone far down Broad Street when Hannah spied a costermonger's cart stopped ahead. There was a small donkey in its traces, its head hung low as the costermonger unloaded his wares.

Hannah cast a sympathetic look at the poor creature as she passed.

And then she looked again.

She came to a startled halt. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed under her breath. "That donkey has one white ear!"

"Indeed, miss," Ernsby acknowledged indifferently.

Hannah drew her maid aside as the balding costermonger continued unloading his crates of produce. Evangeline and Tippo milled restlessly around their skirts. "Sweet William, the missing donkey pictured in the Animal Advocate , had one white ear as well," she whispered. "And a white back fetlock too."

Ernsby's thin brows lifted. "Did he?"

Hannah peered at the donkey's muddy hooves. It was impossible to tell the color of his fetlocks. Not from this vantage point. Coming to an abrupt decision, she handed the dogs' leads to Ernsby. "Hold them a moment, if you please."

Before Ernsby could object, Hannah stepped down into the street. She walked around the donkey, examining it closely.

The costermonger paused in the middle of hefting another crate onto his shoulder. He was a rough-looking fellow in a course cloth coat, with a decided sneer about his mouth. "You looking for something, miss?"

A glimmer of white peeped above the mud on the donkey's back hoof.

Hannah stopped in triumph. " That ," she said, pointing. "This donkey has a white back fetlock."

"What of it?" the costermonger asked.

"He matches the description of a donkey who was stolen from a farm in Bidbury last autumn."

The costermonger's already surly face darkened with anger. Letting his crate fall to the ground, he took a menacing step toward Hannah. "Are you calling me a thief?"

Ernsby made as if to join Hannah in the road, but the dogs had tangled their leads around her legs, preventing her movement. "Miss Heywood?" she called out in a shrill voice. "Perchance we should walk on?"

"I'm not accusing you of theft, sir," Hannah said to the man. "But this donkey is stolen, however you came into possession of him."

"Like hell he is. I bought him at the sales six months ago, fair and square."

Evangeline barked at the man's angry tone. Tippo gamely joined in. Several people strolling by slowed to look, curious about the cause of the commotion.

Hannah ignored both the dogs' barking and the interested glances of passing pedestrians. "In that case, the thief is very likely the person who sold him to you."

"Rubbish," the man spat.

"This donkey was taken from Fallkirk's Farm exactly six months ago. There's a sketch of him being circulated in a local journal. I've seen it myself."

"You don't know what you're talking about." The costermonger returned to his crate of produce. He bent to pick it up. "Be off with you. I've enough work to do without having to listen to hen-witted busybodies making nuisances of themselves."

Hannah positioned herself by the donkey's head. The little creature pressed his small, velvety nose against her hand in silent entreaty. It gave her all the courage she needed to continue. "You may say what you like about me," she replied to the man. "The fact remains, this donkey belongs to someone else."

The costermonger hoisted his crate back on his shoulder with a dismissive snort. "If you're not gone by the time I return, I'll be summoning the constable," he informed her. He turned to walk away.

Evangeline and Tippo continued barking at him as he went.

Hannah remained by the donkey, her shoulders squared and her back straight. "Summon him now," she said. "A constable is precisely the man we need."

Ernsby's face went pale. The only thing worse for a young lady's reputation than a public altercation in the street was an altercation involving the law. "Miss Heywood," she protested. "Surely you should not?—"

"Aye, I'll summon a constable, miss," the costermonger growled, doubling back on Hannah. "I'll have you up on charges for interfering with my property." He reached out to grab her arm. "Now get away from that beast before I?—"

"Before you what?" a cold, iron-backed voice interrupted.

Hannah looked up with a jolt, straight into the arctic gaze of James Beresford, Viscount St. Clare.