Page 72 of The Cornish Mermaid

“Well, I’m glad I did it,” Morvoren said, now of the opinion that it hadn’t been that bad. Memory can play false tricks, even short-term memory. “For Kit’s sake at least.” And she gave them both another watery smile. “How much further do we have to go?”

Sam leaned back in his seat. “Only about twenty miles to Carlyon Court, but that’s as the crow flies. A good deal longer by these lanes and all their steep hills.”

“Not Nanpean? Are we not going there?”

He shook his head. “Kit always goes to the Court. I’ve been with him once or twice and we’ve always stayed there. And besides which, we couldn’t get the carriage down the track to Nanpean. You mark my words. We’ll be there well before nightfall, in time to find Kit still at the Court.” He gave Morvoren a reassuring smile. “We’ll probably be there in time to dine with him. Smuggling goes on at night, or so I’ve been told, and it’s not dark until late at the moment.”

She leaned back against the upholstery as well, her heart refusing to steady. Twenty miles minimum, probably more like thirty, and it was already after ten and they had less than decent horses to negotiate the terrible roads. Could they do it?

The carriage rumbled on, James driving the horses hard, as despite him not knowing the true reason for the journey, they’d impressed upon him how speed was vital.

But fate was against them yet again. With evening drawing in and at least six miles still to go by Sam’s reckoning, one of the horses went lame. Did someone up there not want them to arrive in time? Despite her constant anxiety, Morvoren had to feel sorry for the horses; they’d been finding the constant hills hard going even though there were four of them. Their speed had dropped to barely three or four miles per hour now—hardly above walking speed.

It wasn’t the lead horse but the one on the right of the second pair that went lame. James brought the carriage to a halt and everyone climbed out while he took his knife from his pocket and dug a sharp stone from the sole of the horse’s hoof. But it was too late. The stone had done its damage. The horse didn’t want to put any weight on that foot.

They’d stopped at the bottom of a steep hill and no doubt the horses were reveling in not having to drag the heavy equipage up it. Just to the right sat a couple of poor cottages, with chickens scratching at the side of the road. A road whose uneven stoniness was to blame for their horse’s lameness. Morvoren could have sworn. In fact, she did, but inside her head. What time was it now?

Sam provided an answer for that. As James ran his hand over the horse’s front leg, he whipped his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and sighed. “Gone six. And now we’re stuck with a lame horse. Can two of them pull the carriage up this hill, James?”

James shook his head. “Four of them can barely do it. They aren’t good strong animals like we have at Ormonde. This lot’re nothing better than farmyard cobs, and underfed farmyard cobs at that. The money they charged for them you’d expect better.” He sighed. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”

“We could ride them again,” Morvoren said. “Ride the three that aren’t lame, that is. As we did on Bodmin Moor.”

Sam shook his head. “That was nearly dark. This is broad daylight and people would see you ladies and be horrified. I can’t let you do that.”

Morvoren sucked her lips. “But we have to get to Carlyon Court, so we have to try everything we can.”

Ysella tapped her foot on the road, such as it was. Suddenly, her face lit up. “But we have our riding clothes with us, don’t we, Morvoren?” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of it before? If we put those on, no one will know any difference. Let us do that immediately. Sam, go and knock on the door of the nearest cottage and beg the use of a room so that Morvoren and I might change into our riding clothes.” She turned to John who was still in place on the driving seat of the carriage, holding the reins. “Pass us down our valises immediately, John.”

“Riding habits won’t help any,” Sam protested. “You’d still have to ride astride as there are no saddles and that’s not at all ladylike. As I pointed out before.”

“Well,” Morvoren said, as John passed her valise. “Lucky we’ve brought our breeches with us then. You know we can both manage astride and bareback, so stop complaining. This is the only alternative we have and we’re going to do it, whatever you say.” She turned to Ysella. “Come along, and we’ll do the knocking ourselves.”

Holding her bag, Morvoren marched up to the door of the first cottage and rapped smartly on it. After a short pause, it opened a crack and a young girl in a white lacy bonnet peeked out. Her mouth fell open as she took in their smart appearance, even though by the standards of Ormonde they must look like a couple of gypsies by now. “Yes’m?” she whispered.

“We need the use of one of your rooms,” Morvoren said, full of determination. “One of our horses has gone lame and my companion and I need to change our clothes. Can we come inside?”

The girl stood back to let them in. There wasn’t much else she could have done, because if she hadn’t, Morvoren was sure Ysella would have shouldered her way in uninvited. They found themselves in the cottage’s spartan front room, where three more children were playing on a rag rug in front of a cold fireplace. They all looked clean and tidy, although a definite aroma of urine was coming from the baby, who was sitting playing with a wooden rattle. Goodness knows what they used for nappies, but this baby needed a change.

Morvoren forbore from saying so though, not wanting to offend her young hostess, who herself couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve.

“Is your mother at home?” Ysella asked.

The girl shook her head. “She be at the farm, helpin’ wi’ the haymaking’. She do leave me to tek care o’ the littluns, so they don’t get in the way.”

“We need a room,” Morvoren said. “Can you show us where we can change our clothes?”

Three minutes later they were upstairs in a low-ceilinged bedroom. It must have belonged to the parents, as there was only one bed and a crib in the way of furniture. They stripped to their slips and hurriedly pulled on their shirts and breeches. Ysella was fairly crowing with excitement. “I knew these clothes and knowing how to ride astride would come in handy,” she said as she slipped her feet into the buckled shoes that had once been Kit’s.

Morvoren had some trouble with her breeches, but in a few more minutes they were finished and stuffing their gowns into their valises with no heed for how they were going to look when they took them out again. Who cared?

“Hair,” Morvoren said, nodding at Ysella’s. “No boy has a topknot like you’ve got. Let’s undo our hair and tie it back behind. I’ve noticed a lot of older men still wear their hair like that so we can get away with it, as Cornwall’s bound to be behind in the fashion for short hair.”

They did each other’s hair, confining it in low ponytails.

“I wish we’d brought hats,” Ysella said, pulling on her waistcoat. “I’d feel more hidden if I had a hat.”

An idea seized Morvoren. They descended the stairs in their boy’s attire to be met with a row of horrified faces. The girl was only marginally less shocked than Sam, who must have come inside after them and now stood there with his mouth hanging open. Whether it was because they made such good boys or for some other reason, Morvoren didn’t know.