The Highborn Housekeeper. Sarah Mallory
Chapter Seven
The snow started at dusk. Only a few flakes at first, but soon it was falling steadily and coating the icy ground.
Nancy was warm enough, dressed in her riding habit of plum-coloured velvet with its matching curly-brimmed hat and wrapped in a voluminous cloak. Her companion, too, looked snug in a heavy wool redingote and shawl and they both had their feet resting on warm bricks and snuggled into sheepskin, but she felt some sympathy for the servants sitting up on the box.
However, when they stopped to change horses at the Crown in Tuxford and her driver suggested that she might put up there for the night, she was adamant that they should continue. William, who had come to the chaise door to issue his advice, pushed back his hat and stared at her, perplexed. His breath formed small icy clouds as he spoke with all the confidence of an old and trusted retainer.
‘I don’t like it, madam, and that’s a fact. The snow don’t show no signs of easing. We should stop here.’
‘It is but very fine snow,’ she responded. ‘There is nothing much to accumulate and no wind to cause any drifting, so we shall go on.’ She noted his frown and conceded one point. ‘You may order yourselves something hot to drink, if you wish, and have them bring coffee out for Mrs Yelland and me. And perhaps you will ask them to provide fresh hot bricks for our feet.’
‘You won’t step inside, ma’am, just for a few minutes?’ The woman sitting beside her spoke for the first time. ‘We might warm ourselves by a fire.’
‘No, Hester, we will push on.’ Nancy shook her head. It was not only the memories this place conjured for her, she dared not risk being recognised.
Her companion read the determination in Nancy’s face and sighed as she settled herself back into her corner. ‘Very well, ma’am, you know best.’
Nancy heard the disappointment in Hester Yelland’s voice, but would not change her mind. She was unusually tall for a woman and that would attract attention. Someone might recognise her. After all, she had immediately known the landlord as he stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, watching the travelling chaise as it came into the yard. He had been assessing whether it was worth his while to step out into the cold and she was relieved that his experienced eye noted that it was a rather shabby vehicle. Instead he had sent a servant out to speak to William Coachman, who was calling to the ostlers for fresh horses and be quick about it.
The landlord had barely changed in the twelve years since she had last seen him, save to grow a little rounder, and while Nancy felt very different inside, outwardly she knew that with her height and abundance of dark hair she looked much the same as she had done all those years ago, when she had slipped away on the common stage with nothing but a hastily packed portmanteau and the little money she had managed to save. Looking back, it was a wonder she had survived the past dozen years relatively unscathed. But she had survived and with very few regrets.
Within minutes they were travelling again. The snow had ceased, at least for the moment, and the waning crescent moon shone down intermittently between ragged clouds. However, it was noticeably colder. Nancy pulled her cloak more tightly about her and tried to sleep, but it was impossible in the lurching carriage. Very soon she became aware that they were slowing again and sat up. When they came to a complete stop she let down the window.
‘What is it?’ she called. ‘What has occurred?’
The coachman had jumped down and was now standing beside the team.
‘One of the wheelers has cast a shoe, ma’am,’ he called to her, beating his hands together to warm them. ‘We’ll have to go back now—’
‘No.’ Nancy looked out at the moonlit landscape. ‘No, it makes more sense to go forward rather than back. Let us push on to the Black Bull.’
‘But we have come barely two miles from Tuxford—’
‘Then we are closer to the Bull,’ Nancy told him. ‘It has a smithy next door.’ Or at least there used to be. ‘Come, now, let us press on.’
They continued at a much-reduced pace and Nancy breathed a sigh of relief when at last they reached the cluster of cottages that comprised the village of Little Markham. The Black Bull was a much smaller hostelry than the Crown at Tuxford and it was patronised mainly by local gentry and farmers. Nancy had passed this way frequently in her youth, but she had never stopped here before. Nevertheless, she kept her hood up, shadowing her face as the landlord escorted her and her companion into a small private parlour.
‘Thank heaven they have a good fire,’ muttered Hester, moving to the hearth. ‘I hope to goodness the smith won’t be too long about his business.’
‘I hope so, too,’ Nancy responded, drawing off her gloves. ‘But it is not so very bad. We shall take up the landlady’s offer of dinner and we can then travel through the night and make up the time. There is some moonlight, after all.’
The older woman turned to look at Nancy. ‘You wouldn’t stop at Tuxford and now you are very anxious to move on. Why would that be, madam? Do you know this area?’
‘I know it very well. I grew up near here.’
Nancy was grateful that she did not press her to say more, but she was not surprised, for they understood one another. Hester Yelland was a widow whom Nancy had hired to be her companion while she was in London. They had become firm friends and when Nancy had invited her to travel north with her, Hester had jumped at the chance.
‘After all,’ she had said, giving one of her rare smiles, ‘there’s no one here to care whether I go or stay.’
Now she merely shrugged, accepting Nancy’s reticence and saying gruffly, ‘Very well, you make yourself comfortable, madam, and I’ll go and chivvy the landlady to bring us our dinner as soon as possible!’
* * *
When they had finished their