Page 20 of The Cornish Mermaid

Kit

A single wooden fingerpost 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.