Page 34 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

The inn smelled musty and of stale ale. As Linnet’s eyes adjusted to the dark she found several pairs eyes trained on her group in surly curiosity.

“A private room, my man,” cried out Chilton, who did not seem one whit cowed by the atmosphere of the place.

A thin man in a grubby apron hurried forward. “This way, my lord, my ladies” he said fawningly and led them to a narrow corridor leading to a room out the back.

Walking through the main room was an education for Linnet. The floor rushes were dirty and smelled. The clientele were also somewhat odorous and villainous looking. She could only be grateful that Sir Chilton had procured them a private chamber. Cuthbert skipped behind her, looking a picture of serenity. She noticed he even bobbed his head in acknowledgement of a few of the customers as if he knew them! Enid’s face was a careful blank as they were seated around a low, sticky table in a small, somewhat grubby-looking room. She looked resigned rather than curious, and Linnet guessed that unlike herself, she had frequented an alehouse before.

“What fare have you today, sirrah?” asked Chilton jauntily. “We’re hungry and thirsty and in need of sustenance.”

“There’s pie,” answered the custodian, scratching his head. “And ale.”

“What sort of pie?” asked Enid suspiciously.

He shrugged. “Meat. Or pottage.”

“Pottage pie?” echoed Linnet, her ears perking up. She’d never heard of putting pottage in a pie crust before! “I’ll take one of those.”

“Yes but what sort of meat?” asked Enid persistently.

The server shrugged. “Whatever went into the pot today, likely as not.”

“Gran says you’re not to ask,” answered Cuthbert in a hushed voice. “If’n a carthorse keeled over in the yard, he’ll end up in the meat pie.”

Enid shuddered. “Pottage pie for me also.”

“Two pottage pies and two meat pies, my man,” said Chilton. “And a jug of ale with four cups.” He winked at Cuthbert. “We’re not so fainthearted, eh my lad?”

“What of Lawton?” asked Cuthbert, looking round in surprise.

“Oh, don’t you worry about Lawton,” said Chilton. “He’s stood in the corridor. Making sure we’re not disturbed.”

Linnet felt grateful that Sir Chilton was not as wholly oblivious to the dubious company as he appeared. She was starting to enjoy the novelty of the experience now that there were no curious stares trained on them. Reaching up, she adjusted her veil and smiled at the server when he set down their ale before them. He gave a start when he saw her visage.

“Begging your pardon ma’am,” he started hesitantly. “But . . . ”

“That’s Lady Vawdrey to you, damn your impudence,” said Sir Chilton, sitting up straight.

“It’s alright Sir Chilton,” said Linnet hurriedly.

“This is Johnny Wickers, milady,” said Cuthbert loudly. “His old mam lives in one of your cottages.”

“Oh indeed,” said Linnet, feeling her cheeks fill with color. Suddenly she felt ill at ease again, thinking of Mason’s talk of exorbitant taxes on her people.

“So she’s the Cadwallader heiress?” asked Wickers in a hoarse aside.

“I am lately married,” she said loudly, bringing the conversation back to her rather than about her. “How can I help you Mr. Wickers?”

He cleared his throat. “Well it’s like this milady. Me old mum, she’s had a hard winter and her knees ain’t so good as they was, so she’s fallen behind on her rent.”

“This hardly seems the time or the place, Wickers,” cut in Sir Chilton, sounding annoyed.

Linnet held up her hand. “That’s quite alright, Sir Chilton. Carry on Wickers.”

He fidgeted, tugging at his neckerchief. “Well, she used to be the alewife up at the castle for nigh on twenty years,” he said belligerently. “Then last winter she had a fall and Lady Jevons told her not to bother coming back when she’d only be a hindrance to her staff!”

Linnet paused, feeling strangely heartened that her aunt was the villain of this piece rather than it being put on her shoulders. “That seems very unfair after so many years’ service,” she said gravely.

“S’what we all said!” agreed Wickers roundly. “But that Lady Jevons was a right old bitch, begging your pardon milady.”