Chapter Eight

Morvoren

Atentative tap on the bedroom door disturbed Morvoren's sleep. She rolled over in bed to discover early morning sunshine peeking in around the edges of the heavy curtains. Last night's experience came rolling back in a tidal wave, and she jerked wide awake in an instant. The tap on the door sounded again, more demandingly, so she sat up and pulled the covers up to her chest, despite the Victorian-modesty of her nightgown. "Come in."

Loveday bustled into the room carrying another glass of milk. Her eyes went to the full one by the side of the bed, now boasting an unattractively thick skin on its surface, and a frown furrowed her brow for a brief moment. "I did bring you some more warm milk, Miss Lucas."

A hint of disapproval marred her voice as she set down the new glass and retrieved the old. "Mr. Kit did ax me to tell you that breakfast'll be in ten minutes. He ses as he do want to get to the coach stop in good time."

As it turned out, neither Kit nor Jago were in the kitchen. Jenifry, a not-very-clean apron tied about her ample middle, looked none the worse for her nocturnal activities as she bid Morvoren a cheery good morning. Bustling from stove to table, she served up a plate of sizzling bacon, two fried eggs and some hot potato cakes, along with a far-too-dainty cup of strong black coffee. Wiping her hands on her apron, she sat down with her own hefty mug. From above, echoing through the old house like a drum, came the sound of movement, as Loveday took care of the packing.

Morvoren ate in silence for a while, all too aware that Jenifry was as much a smuggler as Kit and his uncle and that she should give nothing away.

Eventually, Jenifry set her coffee mug down on the table and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "Sleep well, did you, Miss Lucas?"

A loaded question if ever there was one.

Morvoren schooled her face into passive neutrality and looked up, meeting sharply intelligent grey eyes. "Yes, thank you. I've never slept on a feather bed before, and it was very comfortable." She paused before deciding to elaborate. "I slept like a log." There. She'd effectively denied having seen or heard anything.

Challenge that one if you can.

Jenifry's moon face broke into a broad smile. "That's good to hear. I did worry to meself as you might not have slept so well, bein' in a strange bed, an' all." She wiped her hands on her apron front. "Now, finish up your food because it'll be a while afore the coach stops for vittles and you've a long journey ahead o' you. I'm off to see if they've got the horse between the shafts yet."

Mindful of Jenifry's warning about the time until the next meal, Morvoren polished off the last of her breakfast and poured a second cup of coffee from the jug on the stove. Just in time to hear the thump on the stairs of Loveday dragging down the trunk she'd been packing. She appeared through the door at the bottom, her rosy cheeks a shade rosier and her breath coming fast. The object she was dragging was a much smaller trunk than the ones in the box room, but nevertheless, it appeared to be a weighty object. How much did one woman need in 1811?

Morvoren set down her empty coffee cup and hurried over. "Here. Let me help."

Loveday batted an admonishing hand. "No, no, no, Miss Lucas. I c'n manage right well, and it ain't for a lady to help the maid. I'll jest set it here and Mr. Kit or Father can carry it out to the cart in a moment." She plumped herself down on top of it, still puffing, and fanning her hot face with her hand. "And in a minute, when I've me breath back, I'll fetch your bonnet and gloves for the journey. An' a shawl lest it turn cold up country." She frowned. "You never can tell wi' foreign parts."

Voices carried from outside and the front door swung open. Kit came in, this morning dressed much more smartly. Even his unruly hair had been slicked into some sort of order.

He made Morvoren a brief bow and held out his hand. "The cart awaits you."

Morvoren hesitated.

He didn't drop his hand, though, and to leave him standing there holding it out seemed rude. She touched her fingers lightly to his, resolutely ignoring the frisson of electricity as it ran between them, and let him lead her out into the farmyard.

*

Kit

A single woodenfingerpost on the crossroads of two tracks marked the stopping place for the Exeter coach. Kit halted the cob and applied the brake. "Here we are. Time to get down." He looped the reins around the cart's brake handle and jumped down to walk round and help Miss Lucas dismount.

After a brief hesitation, she took his offered hand in her gloved one. Then, setting her foot on the step, she gave a little hop to land lightly on the ground, her strange shoes making a momentary disturbing reappearance. Something needed to be done about those.

Loveday climbed out of the back, and Jowan, with manifest ill will, lifted down the two trunks and his daughter's bag to dump them unceremoniously beside the fingerpost. Wasting no time, he clambered back onto the driving seat of the cart and let off the brake.

"Glad to see the back o' her," he grunted, jerking an ill-mannered thumb at Miss Lucas. "Be seein' yer." And with that surly farewell, he set off down the farm track, back hunched and shapeless hat jammed down over his eyes.

"Doan be wishin' me farewell, will ye?" Loveday shouted after him, hands on ample hips. "I might be decidin' to stay at Ormonde. Then you'll not be seein' me agin."

For answer, the old man hunched over even further, his head sinking between his shoulders. Hard to imagine him ever having been a carefree boy running wild with Kit's late father and his Uncle Robert.

Kit, Miss Lucas, and Loveday stood silent for a few seconds watching him go, until the hill hid his progress. Then, with a sigh, Kit took his pocket watch out and studied its pale face. "The coach should be here very soon."

He was right.

Within five minutes of standing in the rapidly warming morning sunshine, the coach appeared over the rise in the west. Four sturdy bay horses trundled along at a steady trot over the less than perfect road surface, the whole vehicle rattling fit to break apart. Already, luggage piled the roof, and a few passengers clung precariously to the outside seats. Nevertheless, the driver pulled his horses to a halt when he saw he had three would-be passengers standing by the side of the road.

"Three for inside?" he called down to them from his lofty perch at the front, his dusty, booted feet resting squarely on the footboard at Kit's eye level.

"Three for Exeter to join the Quicksilver tonight," Kit said, as the guard jumped down from beside the driver to open the doors and let down the step.

Two people already occupied seats inside the coach. In one corner a cadaverous man sat hunched as though desperate to keep his distance from his fellow passengers. And a fat matron occupied the seat opposite him, clutching a wicker basket from which came the unmistakable plaintive meowing of a disgruntled cat.

Morvoren took a seat by the window on the same side as the matron and Kit settled himself opposite. A moment later, Loveday clambered up to join them and wedged her ample bulk into the small space between Morvoren and the cat lady, and the guard folded up the step and closed the door.

They were off.

Kit glanced at Morvoren, who was staring about with the puzzled air of someone who'd never been in a coach before, her eyes flitting between the faded upholstery and the small sliding windows in each door. Her forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat that matched his own. This was going to be a long, hot day.

The indignant meowing from the basket on the fat lady's lap increased.

"There, there, Princess," the cat's owner cooed as though she were soothing a baby, but thankfully she didn't open the lid. Kit was not overly fond of cats, especially not in confined spaces.

He leaned back in his corner against the dusty upholstery and closed his eyes, determined to get some rest. After all, he'd had a very disturbed night.

The lady with the cat got out at Launceston, which was a blessing as the cat had clearly been in dire need at one point of the privy and the resulting odor of cat urine had become quite overpowering in the confined space of the coach. The cadaverous gentleman wrinkled up his nose and brought out a vinaigrette to sniff, and Kit sorely wished he had one as well, as the smell of cat lingered for some while after its owner had departed.

At last, after many stops to change horses and with darkness falling, the coach, with a blast on the post horn to let everyone know of their arrival, rumbled over Exeter's fine stone bridge and up New Bridge Street. It ground to a halt outside Thomson's Inn, opposite the cathedral.

"Exeter," Kit said. "We have an hour to spare before the mail coach leaves. We should go into Thomson's and procure some supper." He held out his arm for Miss Lucas to take. "Loveday can go to the kitchens, and we shall dine in the parlor."

Several other people were already in residence in the inn's parlor, presumably also waiting for the mail coach, but it was a spacious room. Kit steered Miss Lucas to seats at a small table in a corner away from the others and waited for the landlord to send in the meal he'd ordered.

For the first time that day he had her to himself. Yet again, she was staring around in wonder at the candlelit room and the log fire blazing in the hearth. She had the air about her of someone visiting Astley's to view animals she'd never seen before, and that he, Kit, was one of the exhibits. Very puzzling.

"The best coaching inn Exeter has to offer," he said, after scrabbling in his head for something to say. "The dinner they serve should at least be palatable."

She managed a tight smile as she took her seat. Her cheeks had flushed a becoming pink, possibly from the heat, but her eyes gave away her exhaustion, with dark rings starting to show beneath them. Clearly, unlike him, she hadn't managed to sleep on their long journey.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. Should I have commanded rooms so you could rest? I'm not used to making allowances for ladies of gentle birth, unless you count my sisters, and two of them have been married for some while now, so only Ysella remains at home." He gave her a tired smile. "And I've never had to make allowances for that chit."

She shook her head. "Not at all. I'm perfectly fine and I don't want allowances being made for me. I'm stronger than I look." And this time her smile reached her eyes. "I managed a little sleep in the coach, although I have to say it's not the most comfortable of vehicles and the constant stopping for fresh horses doesn't allow for much peace."

That was reassuring. However, something about Miss Lucas that he didn't understand shouted to him that she was different, although he couldn't quite see how she could be. A girl was a girl, after all.

"I hope, in that case, that you don't mind us travelling on straight away?" he said, unable to take his eyes from her face. Damn it. What was it about her? He couldn't allow himself to show an interest, not with his dangerous responsibilities at Nanpean.

A gap-toothed serving girl in a grubby apron set bowls of brown soup before them on the table.

"Whatever you think is best," Miss Lucas said, stifling a yawn and dropping her gaze to her bowl. She gave a tentative sniff. "What do you think is in this?"

Kit sniffed as well, glad to be able to talk about the food. "Difficult to be certain. Thickened bone broth perhaps? It's hot, at least. If we don't eat it up quick, we won't get the roast, though, so best sup up."

There was indeed a taste of meat about the soup. Faint, but present, but as to what else was in it—that was anyone's guess. He'd heard enough cautionary tales about the food served in posting inns, even the best ones. Better, on the whole, not to know what you were eating.

"I'm sorry the journey is tiring you," he tried.

Miss Lucas raised her eyes to consider him, something going on behind them that he couldn't work out. "Having to use horse drawn transport does rather make the country feel large."

What an odd thing to say. As if there were any alternative. "It is large. Although not so big as the Americas, so I'm told." How inane was this conversation? What he really wanted to ask her was who Josh was, and what a boyfriend was, and why her accommodation had just vanished off the face of the earth. A lot of other things as well, but manners prevented him from reeling his questions off like an interrogation. A gentleman didn't demand things of a lady. And now he'd left Cornwall behind, he was back to being a gentleman. Damn it.

With their soup bowls emptied, the same girl brought out slices of still bloody beef, potatoes and a rather mushy concoction of cabbage and walnuts. Kit washed this down with several glasses of a claret of dubious origins but better taste than he'd expected. Miss Lucas, however, only sipped her wine.

Now or never. "Will your parents not be awaiting your return?"

Those blue eyes widened. "My parents are dead."

Of course. She'd said she had nobody. "But surely you don't live alone?"

She shook her head. "I live with a friend." She paused. "Another… young lady. Christina Armstrong."

This was getting somewhere. "Will she not miss you?"

Morvoren shook her head, her eyes darting sideways giving her the appearance of a frightened deer. "She's… not there at the moment, I'm afraid."

Progress at last. "She didn't accompany you to Cornwall, then?"

Morvoren picked at her food. "No. She didn't." Her words came out with a finality that had him stumped. As though she'd just closed a door in his face and shot the bolts across.

No time for anything else, though, as a shout of, "All's ready," rang through the inn.

Kit laid his napkin aside and rose to his feet. "That's us he's calling. We'd best make haste as they're not known here for their patience. If we're not careful they'll leave without us, but with our baggage." He held out his arm.

She stood up and took it with a smile. Perhaps she was glad the questioning was over. Her light fingers rested just in the crook of his elbow, as though she were getting more used to this action, the tingle of her touch most disturbing.

Outside, darkness had fallen, and the lamplighter had been round. The golden glow of the flickering streetlights spilled across the square, illuminating not just the large, smartly painted, red, black, and yellow mail coach drawn up outside the inn, but also the looming bulk of the cathedral across the square. Already, the passengers' baggage was strapped securely onto the coach's roof, and a guard, uniformed in a scarlet coat with blue lapels and gold braid, stood waiting to mount up and take his place beside the strong box of mail fastened to the back of the coach.

He'd already let down the step, and Kit handed Miss Lucas into the gloomy interior where a single small oil lamp now added to the fug. She cast it a suspicious glance, as though fearing it might ignite a fire inside the coach, which was, of course, possible, then settled down beside Loveday and arranged the skirts of her brown dress to demurely cover her strange footwear.

Taking his seat opposite the two women, Kit regarded Loveday with a jaundiced eye. How much easier would it be to continue to engage Miss Lucas in conversation if Loveday were not here with her flapping ears. Perhaps he should have bought her an outside ticket.

He was going to have to wait until they reached Ormonde to question Miss Lucas further. He had a lot more he wanted to ask her when she wasn't so tired, and the list was only growing the more time he spent with her.