Carla Kelly by Miss Chartley's Guided Tour Page B

at
him. “My discomfort is little compared to yours, sir. And I wish
you would call me Omega. Miss Chartley is a schoolteacher, but
Omega is on holiday.” She sighed. “And she’s a bit of a scapegrace,
I fear. Such a holiday!”
    She wanted to
talk then, wanted to hear their stories, and even wanted to tell
her own, but her eyes were closing again. As she drifted off to
sleep, Hugh covered her with the blanket and she felt Angela
cuddling up close to her. The warmth of the child’s body took away
the chill of the river, and she slept.
    When she woke,
the birds were singing, the cattle had been turned out. Angela was
braiding her hair, humming a little tune Omega had never heard
before as she pulled her hair back and plaited it
carefully.
    Hugh came in
then, Jamie at his heels, and smiled to see her sitting upright and
finishing her breakfast. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked
after she finished her tea and dabbed at her lips with the corner
of the blanket.
    “ I can
certainly try,” she said, and then eyed him in the manner of the
suspicious Miss Chartley. “But I’ll be keeping my eyes on you, Hugh
Owen. You tired yourself dreadfully yesterday, and I refuse to be
party to your complete ruin.”
    “ I was
tired,” he admitted, “but I am fit today. Jamie and I have scouted
our march. We will do famously if we march among the trees, stay
off the road, and avoid the river.” He nodded to Angela. “Does this
sound like our Spanish campaigning?”
    “ You
told me England would be different,” Angela accused.
    “ That
was before I met Miss Chartley,” was his prompt reply. “And her
famous paperweight.”
    “ Am I
never to be forgiven my paperweight?” she asked.
    “ No,”
he said. He picked up the reticule by the fire and hefted it before
handing it to her. “Mind you keep that to yourself or we’ll all end
up on a transport ship, watching the sun rise over the Great
Barrier Reef. Come to attention, Angela. We must march.”
    Jamie stood a
little straighter beside Omega and watched as Hugh Owen stood in
front of them.
    “ Old
Hookey called us an ‘infamous army’ not long ago,” he said,
speaking more to himself than to them. “That was only because he
had never seen this file.”
    “ Lead
on, sir,” said Omega.
    They walked into
a beautiful Cotswold morning, where dew still decorated spiders’
webs and the very ground smelled of summer. Every now and then the
sweet, sharp scent of roses teased them as they passed crofters’
cottages and skirted tiny villages that probably had not changed
measurably since the days of Queen Elizabeth. Hugh ambled into
several villages to inquire about Byford. The closer they came, the
more information he gleaned.
    “ Well,” he began after his latest side trip, “we now know that
Byford is home to well over one thousand souls, is famous for its
needlework, and has a church housing the relic of St. Stephen’s
little finger. Our latest piece of news is that the Viscount of
Byford is also the justice of the peace.”
    “ Is
that good?” inquired Jamie.
    “ I
hope so. Let’s assume that he has a sharp sense of justice, but
maybe not too much nicety about law by the books,” said Hugh.
“Jamie, have you considered what you will do if your uncle turns
you over to your guardian? He could, you know.”
    The mulish look
returned to Jamie’s face. “I will not stay,” he said.
    Hugh Owen had the
wisdom not to continue the conversation.
    Still short of
their destination, they paused for the night in an area of heavy
woods. “From what I have learned, we could perhaps be there around
midnight, if we continued,” said Hugh, “but I do not think that
rousing the viscount from his bed will further our cause any.
Besides, I am hungry.”
    They all were,
but no one complained about the short rations; Hugh and Angela were
obviously used to doing without, and Jamie and Omega were too
polite. Omega did find herself staring with some longing at a
rabbit that