Page 60 of The Redemption of the Shrew

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Elspeth hurried through the dark streets to the Bull and Crown. She hated walking alone. Not only that, she wasn’t in the habit of going to a tavern alone, either, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t tell the other servants about her mission, as its purpose must be kept secret. They would find it strange if she went out too often at night. They might even suspect she was going to meet a man, which would mean gossip—the unpleasant sort.

Not only that, if she asked Gregory, the footman, to accompany her to forestall any salacious gossip, she would have no reason to ask Mr. Turner for help. If she pretended to be unwell or afraid of the dark, Gloriana’s footman would be the obvious person to walk her home.

This was her second try. The first had been ghastly, for Mr. Turner hadn’t been in the Bull and Crown, nor had anyone else she knew. She’d resorted to buying a jug of small beer, saying they’d run out at home, and scurrying away into the night. But she couldn’t bring the stuff home, for Cook had of course made plenty. She couldn’t bring herself to pour it out either, so when she passed a boy sweeping the crossing, she gave him the beer, jug and all. He could drink the beer and sell the jug, so at least someone benefitted from Miss Glow’s folly.

But now she didn’t have a jug to return to the tavern—which would have been a good excuse. She was hopeless at this sort of subterfuge. At any subterfuge, as a matter of fact. She liked things simple and straightforward. Small chance of that with a mistress like Miss Glow.

Fortunately, it wasn’t far to the tavern, nor was it a cold evening, but the wind nipping about her ankles suggested that the brief spring-like weather would soon be over. She’d stewed over the failure of her first attempt, but had decided to get this hopeless effort over with, the sooner the better. Perhaps this time some other servants she knew would be there, so at least she wouldn’t feel such a fool.

She squared her shoulders and pushed open the door of the Bull and Crown. Warmth and a babble of conversation greeted her. People around one of the tables were drinking a toast. At the back, judging by the noise, a rousing game of darts was in full swing. She glanced about, but she mustn’t stand like a stock . . . and she didn’t see Mr. Turner, so what was the point . . .

“Miss Morrison! Looking for someone?” A female voice and a cheery wave greeted her. What tremendous luck! It was Mrs. Coyle, the housekeeper of Lord Hythwick’s neighbor. They had become acquainted last year when it looked as if Miss Glow might marry his lordship.

Elspeth slumped with relief. This might mean a lot of tedious gossip, but anything was better than having to use small beer as an excuse again.

“Just a friendly face,” Elspeth said. “My mistress gave me the evening off, and I longed to get out of the house while the weather is still warmish.” She took the empty chair next to Mrs. Coyle, who introduced Elspeth to the others at the table, some of whom she’d met before.

“So glad I was to learn that your mistress was not to marry Lord Hythwick. Sorry, Joe,” Mrs. Coyle said to a balding man across the table. “Nothing against you and Mr. Turner and the others who are stuck working for Hiffy, but I can say it aloud where you daren’t.”

The balding man muttered something that might have been an acknowledgement. Mrs. Coyle launched into her usual gossipy ramble, and when the barmaid approached, Elspeth ordered a pot of porter—which she should have thought of last time if she hadn’t been so flustered. Cook couldn’t take offense at a jug of porter, since she couldn’t make it at home. And Miss Glow might actually drink some of it . . . At least she knew what to do next time.

Belatedly, she noticed a tankard of ale on the table before her. “Oh, is this someone’s place?”

“Only Mr. Turner’s,” the housekeeper said. “He’s at the back playing darts.”

Her heart began to thrum. “Oh dear, I shouldn’t take his spot.”

“He can pull up another chair when he returns.” Mrs. Coyle pushed the tankard toward the center of the table. The barmaid plunked down a pot of porter, and Elspeth took a tentative sip.

“Is Mr. Turner a good player?” she asked.

“The best,” Joe said grumpily. “Tonight, it’s Hiffy’s house against Mr. Spencer’s. We always win.”

“You’re wondering why he sounds so gloomy, aren’t you?” Mrs. Coyle didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s because he can’t say right out that he’d be happy for Hiffy’s house to lose. Now, if Mr. Turner was working for someone else, nobody’d mind him winning all the time, but he can’t be expected to play badly a-purpose, now can he?”

“No, of course not,” Elspeth ventured. “You mean he would rather Lord Hythwick’s house lost too?”

“Yes indeed, Miss Morrison. They all hates him, you see. He’s a dreadful man. One of the maids is expecting—a good girl, she is, or was, but Hiffy don’t take no notice of anything but what he wants. We’re all wondering what to do with her, poor thing, for Hiffy will have her dismissed when he finds out—as if it wasn’t all his fault. You don’t know how lucky you are that your lady didn’t marry Hiffy, not just for her sake, but for yours, for you’re young enough and pretty enough to catch his fancy.”

“Heavens,” Elspeth said faintly. “A lucky escape indeed.”

“We all likes Lady Marianne, though.” Joe’s deep flush was visible even in the dim light of an oil lamp. Gruffly, he added, “If it were her team, we’d be happy to win.”

“Yes, a most pleasant lady, I believe,” Elspeth said politely, and suddenly Mr. Turner was there, large and strong and unbearably attractive, but also wearing a scowl.

“Won again, did you?” Mrs. Coyle laughed.

Elspeth’s heart drummed in her breast. She did her best to summon a smile. “Mr. Turner, good to see you again.”

Did his expression lighten a fraction? She couldn’t tell. He nodded. “Miss Morrison.” Not at all encouraging, alas.

“I’m sorry I took your place,” she ventured.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Coyle said. “Pull up another chair, there’s a good lad, and we won’t tease you about always winning, now will we?” She rolled her eyes and jerked her chair sideways to make room between hers and Elspeth’s. Good, because he would have no choice but to talk to her. Elspeth shifted her chair as well.

Mr. Turner brought over another chair and sat down. Elspeth passed him his tankard. He thanked her and took a long draught. “How’ve you been, Miss Morrison?”