at the Crown and found Cyn’s coachman there in
the taproom. Hoskins was a barrel of a man with the ruddy, weathered
face of one who had spent a large part of his life on the box.
“Sent the others on to the Abbey, milord, since there were spaces on
the uptraveling Exeter Fly.” He drained the ale Cyn had purchased for
him and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Reckoned I’d best stay,
though, in case you needed ‘elp. ’Sides which, I can’t go ‘ome without
me rig, can I?“ He gave Chastity an unfriendly look, but there was no
hint in it that he thought she was female, or a true villain.
She took as large a swig as she dared from her own tankard, and worked at looking like a cocky young rogue.
“Then you’ll approve of my plan, Hoskins,” said Cyn. “I want you to drive us.”
“That’s me job, milord,” the man agreed, but with narrowed eyes. “That, and keeping you out of mischief.”
Cyn grinned. “And how do you think to achieve that?”
“Lord only knows. Gallows bait, you are.”
Cyn slapped him on the back. “Cheer up. It’s not as bad as you fear,
certainly not a hanging matter. The first thing you should do is hire
yourself a horse so you can ride back with us. Then,” he added
blithely, “purchase a pint of paint to match the coach color as close
as you can. It has been a little scratched. Be ready to ride out with
us in an hour or so. My friend and I have some purchases to make.”
Cyn then dragged Chastity out of the room before the man could
splutter his alarmed questions. Chastity pulled against Cyn’s hand on
her arm, but his grip was like steel. He did not let her go until they
were well clear of the inn.
“Believe me, lad,” he said, “you don’t want to be the one to describe the damage to the coach. Especially as it was your doing.”
“It’s only a few scrapes.”
“I’ve seen Hoskins fret over a bird dropping on his varnish. He’s going to want blood when he sees what you did.”
“Then why are you adding him to our party?”
“We need someone to drive the coach. Don’t worry. If he tries to
flog you, I’ll defend you to the death.” He looked at the street name
painted on a building, and plunged down an alley.
Chastity had expected to derive amusement from his lordship’s
attempts to procure ladies’ clothing at short notice in a strange town.
Her own ignorance, not his, was exposed.
The Walgrave ladies had only ever patronized one dressmaker in
Shaftesbury, and Miss Taverstock had only been entrusted with the
simplest garments. Cyn had made inquiries of the innkeeper, and now had
the direction of the town’s secondhand clothes dealer.
Chastity was fascinated to venture into parts of Shaftesbury which
were strange to her. There were alleys with small shops, and narrow,
winding streets festooned with lines of washing. There were houses as
dark and forbidding as the Fleet, and others which turned smiling faces
to the world. In front of the former lurked scabrous, dirty rogues; in
front of the latter sat women preparing food or knitting, while
watching children and chatting with their neighbors.
Some streets were dry and wholesome, others noisome from the sewage pooling in the central gutter.
A junk shop full of fascinating bits and pieces distracted Chastity,
then an herbalist’s that looked as if it still operated according to
the rules of Gerard’s Herbal. Cyn drew her away, even from a delightful
bookshop.
“We’re hardly in a hurry,” she protested.
“I told Hoskins we’d be back in a hour. If we’re not, he’ll probably decide you’ve done away with me. Look, here we are.”
Mrs. Crupley’s Emporium presented a narrow, faded front at the
entrance to a particularly dismal alley. Chastity took in the foul mess
lying in the middle of that dark passageway—including a dead cat—and
gave thanks they didn’t have to travel it. They had obviously reached
the edge of respectable Shaftesbury. She doubted they would find much
of use in
the taproom. Hoskins was a barrel of a man with the ruddy, weathered
face of one who had spent a large part of his life on the box.
“Sent the others on to the Abbey, milord, since there were spaces on
the uptraveling Exeter Fly.” He drained the ale Cyn had purchased for
him and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Reckoned I’d best stay,
though, in case you needed ‘elp. ’Sides which, I can’t go ‘ome without
me rig, can I?“ He gave Chastity an unfriendly look, but there was no
hint in it that he thought she was female, or a true villain.
She took as large a swig as she dared from her own tankard, and worked at looking like a cocky young rogue.
“Then you’ll approve of my plan, Hoskins,” said Cyn. “I want you to drive us.”
“That’s me job, milord,” the man agreed, but with narrowed eyes. “That, and keeping you out of mischief.”
Cyn grinned. “And how do you think to achieve that?”
“Lord only knows. Gallows bait, you are.”
Cyn slapped him on the back. “Cheer up. It’s not as bad as you fear,
certainly not a hanging matter. The first thing you should do is hire
yourself a horse so you can ride back with us. Then,” he added
blithely, “purchase a pint of paint to match the coach color as close
as you can. It has been a little scratched. Be ready to ride out with
us in an hour or so. My friend and I have some purchases to make.”
Cyn then dragged Chastity out of the room before the man could
splutter his alarmed questions. Chastity pulled against Cyn’s hand on
her arm, but his grip was like steel. He did not let her go until they
were well clear of the inn.
“Believe me, lad,” he said, “you don’t want to be the one to describe the damage to the coach. Especially as it was your doing.”
“It’s only a few scrapes.”
“I’ve seen Hoskins fret over a bird dropping on his varnish. He’s going to want blood when he sees what you did.”
“Then why are you adding him to our party?”
“We need someone to drive the coach. Don’t worry. If he tries to
flog you, I’ll defend you to the death.” He looked at the street name
painted on a building, and plunged down an alley.
Chastity had expected to derive amusement from his lordship’s
attempts to procure ladies’ clothing at short notice in a strange town.
Her own ignorance, not his, was exposed.
The Walgrave ladies had only ever patronized one dressmaker in
Shaftesbury, and Miss Taverstock had only been entrusted with the
simplest garments. Cyn had made inquiries of the innkeeper, and now had
the direction of the town’s secondhand clothes dealer.
Chastity was fascinated to venture into parts of Shaftesbury which
were strange to her. There were alleys with small shops, and narrow,
winding streets festooned with lines of washing. There were houses as
dark and forbidding as the Fleet, and others which turned smiling faces
to the world. In front of the former lurked scabrous, dirty rogues; in
front of the latter sat women preparing food or knitting, while
watching children and chatting with their neighbors.
Some streets were dry and wholesome, others noisome from the sewage pooling in the central gutter.
A junk shop full of fascinating bits and pieces distracted Chastity,
then an herbalist’s that looked as if it still operated according to
the rules of Gerard’s Herbal. Cyn drew her away, even from a delightful
bookshop.
“We’re hardly in a hurry,” she protested.
“I told Hoskins we’d be back in a hour. If we’re not, he’ll probably decide you’ve done away with me. Look, here we are.”
Mrs. Crupley’s Emporium presented a narrow, faded front at the
entrance to a particularly dismal alley. Chastity took in the foul mess
lying in the middle of that dark passageway—including a dead cat—and
gave thanks they didn’t have to travel it. They had obviously reached
the edge of respectable Shaftesbury. She doubted they would find much
of use in
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