his steed, and Edwina to remain in the cabriolet; and then set out in search of the innkeeper and a glass of ale.
Neal expected to encounter some little difficulty in tracking down the Mannering chit—indeed, he half-expected to discover he’d been sent on a wild-goose chase. It was, after all, almost a week beyond the time appointed in Delilah’s letter as most suitable for a rendezvous. As matters evolved, however, the expedition had not been in vain. Along with a glass of fine old ale, the genial innkeeper provided the information that a young girl had been haunting his property for several days. “If it’s the tinker’s lass you’re wanting, sir,” he added, with a doubtful glance at Neal’s well-bred figure in his superbly fashioned regimentals. “Myself I’m thinking some mistake’s been made.”
“Lord, I don’t want her!” Since Neal was polishing off his ale, he did not notice the innkeeper’s scandalized reaction. “Is she here now? I might as well have a look at the chit.”
It was not the innkeeper’s place to quarrel with the Quality, no matter how depraved their attitudes might seem. With a disapproving expression, he guided his visitor—and who would have guessed that so pleasant a countenance masked a wicked soul?—out a rear entrance. Extremely queer were the tastes of the ton. The innkeeper could imagine no less likely a candidate for a life of shame, as this young man certainly intended, if not on his own behalf then on the behalf of another equally sunk in vice, than the tinker’s lass.
With this sentiment, had Neal but known it, he would doubtless have agreed. His first glimpse of Miss Delilah Mannering was one that would haunt him, and not in a pleasant manner, for a very long time. She was perched upon a stile, her ragged skirts hitched up almost to her knees, clutching in one hand a half-eaten peach. A monstrously ugly dog was sprawled at her bare and very dirty feet. Oddly, and despite her shocking appearance, Neal didn’t for an instant doubt that this raggle-taggle creature was the young lady that he sought.
Her first words confirmed that impression, and for the second time that day inspired him with a strong impulse to show the entire of his acquaintance a clear pair of heels. France was out of the question, due to the ongoing hostilities, as was America. Perhaps Australia? ‘Twas said that there a man could easily disappear.
But a gentleman, however reluctant, could not desert a damsel in distress. That Delilah did not appear aware of her peril was quite beside the point, as was the fact that she was conducting her quarrel with every evidence of great gusto.
These hostilities were being exchanged with a man of middle age, wiry stature, swarthy, and furious countenance. Neal moved closer so that he might hear.
“Furthermore,” announced Miss Mannering, brandishing her peach, “I’ve been sneaking off for a whole week, so you are not nearly so clever as you think to have found me out! And I will not go back to the camp with you, because I am sick to death of listening to you talk like a nodcock!” The man muttered something beneath his breath. “Yes, a nodcock!” she insisted. “An addle-pate! And if you are thinking of laying violent hands on me again, Johann, you will regret it. Even if I don’t have with me a frying pan!”
Johann, it seemed, had exactly that intention: he roughly grasped her shoulder. “Caliban!” shrieked Miss Mannering. The hound yawned and wagged its tail.
Neal had no choice but to intervene. He touched the man’s shoulder. Cursing, Johann spun around. Setting to his task with all the strength and spirit of a prizefighter, Neal knocked him down.
“Well!” said Miss Mannering, setting her disheveled person to rights. “That was a very handy bunch of fives! I’m sure I’m very grateful to you for drawing Johann’s claret, because my case was growing desperate— not, of course, that I would have knuckled under but there’s no
Neal expected to encounter some little difficulty in tracking down the Mannering chit—indeed, he half-expected to discover he’d been sent on a wild-goose chase. It was, after all, almost a week beyond the time appointed in Delilah’s letter as most suitable for a rendezvous. As matters evolved, however, the expedition had not been in vain. Along with a glass of fine old ale, the genial innkeeper provided the information that a young girl had been haunting his property for several days. “If it’s the tinker’s lass you’re wanting, sir,” he added, with a doubtful glance at Neal’s well-bred figure in his superbly fashioned regimentals. “Myself I’m thinking some mistake’s been made.”
“Lord, I don’t want her!” Since Neal was polishing off his ale, he did not notice the innkeeper’s scandalized reaction. “Is she here now? I might as well have a look at the chit.”
It was not the innkeeper’s place to quarrel with the Quality, no matter how depraved their attitudes might seem. With a disapproving expression, he guided his visitor—and who would have guessed that so pleasant a countenance masked a wicked soul?—out a rear entrance. Extremely queer were the tastes of the ton. The innkeeper could imagine no less likely a candidate for a life of shame, as this young man certainly intended, if not on his own behalf then on the behalf of another equally sunk in vice, than the tinker’s lass.
With this sentiment, had Neal but known it, he would doubtless have agreed. His first glimpse of Miss Delilah Mannering was one that would haunt him, and not in a pleasant manner, for a very long time. She was perched upon a stile, her ragged skirts hitched up almost to her knees, clutching in one hand a half-eaten peach. A monstrously ugly dog was sprawled at her bare and very dirty feet. Oddly, and despite her shocking appearance, Neal didn’t for an instant doubt that this raggle-taggle creature was the young lady that he sought.
Her first words confirmed that impression, and for the second time that day inspired him with a strong impulse to show the entire of his acquaintance a clear pair of heels. France was out of the question, due to the ongoing hostilities, as was America. Perhaps Australia? ‘Twas said that there a man could easily disappear.
But a gentleman, however reluctant, could not desert a damsel in distress. That Delilah did not appear aware of her peril was quite beside the point, as was the fact that she was conducting her quarrel with every evidence of great gusto.
These hostilities were being exchanged with a man of middle age, wiry stature, swarthy, and furious countenance. Neal moved closer so that he might hear.
“Furthermore,” announced Miss Mannering, brandishing her peach, “I’ve been sneaking off for a whole week, so you are not nearly so clever as you think to have found me out! And I will not go back to the camp with you, because I am sick to death of listening to you talk like a nodcock!” The man muttered something beneath his breath. “Yes, a nodcock!” she insisted. “An addle-pate! And if you are thinking of laying violent hands on me again, Johann, you will regret it. Even if I don’t have with me a frying pan!”
Johann, it seemed, had exactly that intention: he roughly grasped her shoulder. “Caliban!” shrieked Miss Mannering. The hound yawned and wagged its tail.
Neal had no choice but to intervene. He touched the man’s shoulder. Cursing, Johann spun around. Setting to his task with all the strength and spirit of a prizefighter, Neal knocked him down.
“Well!” said Miss Mannering, setting her disheveled person to rights. “That was a very handy bunch of fives! I’m sure I’m very grateful to you for drawing Johann’s claret, because my case was growing desperate— not, of course, that I would have knuckled under but there’s no
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