Page 2 of The Cornish Inheritance

“Room for two more,” called the guard and the door was flung open again. Drat it. The coach was meant for six, but four would have made the journey far more comfortable. Nat leaned into his corner, prepared to stand his ground against all comers for this coveted position, watching from behind half-closed eyes.

To his surprise, the newcomers were a pair of young officers, smart in their brightly colored uniforms and a little the worse for what must have been a long night of drinking and probably gambling as well. He recognized one of them as young Captain Lockhart, whom he’d met on board ship on the journey from Bordeaux.

“Treloar!” Lockhart, who’d acclimatized to Nat’s facial disfigurement on the long voyage, exclaimed, as he settled himself into the seat between the man of business and the farmer. “Didn’t think to see you here! Where are you bound for?”

The man of business gave him a cold glare.

“Cornwall,” Nat muttered, his heart sinking. The last thing he wanted to have to do was to engage in conversation with anyone. That was the worst thing about public transport—being cooped up for hours on end with people you wouldn’t normally give the time of day to but who thought you were their new best friend.

The other officer, a baby-faced young man, squeezed his sturdy body between Nat and the bonneted lady, disentangling himself from a sword that seemed intent on tripping him up. “You fellows know each other?” His gaze had fixed on the scar. Being on Nat’s right, he could hardly have avoided it.

“Major Treloar of the 18th Hussars,” Lockhart said. “Fought at Vitoria and Toulouse.”

Nat nodded. “We met on the ship back from France.”

Lockhart set his hands on his knees. “I see you’re out of uniform. Bought yourself out, have you?”

Nat shifted, irritated by their bonhomie. He gave a curt nod. “Relinquished my commission.”

“Oh,” Lockhart said, waving a hand at his companion. “I did wonder about doing that m’self, only I don’t know what I’d do instead. And you never know with Old Boney. I hear he’s been dispatched off to Elba, but allowed to govern it like his own little empire. Not far enough if you ask me. I’d have clapped him in irons if it had been up to me. He’ll be back, I’m certain, but we’ll be ready for him. Just a bit of furlough for us two at the moment.”

He leaned forward and slapped his young friend’s knee. “Allow me to introduce my friend and traveling companion, Lieutenant Talbot. We’ve been up here in Town a week or so now, since our regiment returned, but we’ve run a bit low on the readies, so I had the idea to pop off down to Whitchurch where my pater lives. Attending all the celebration balls and soirées can be a terrible drain on one’s resources, especially if one has a liking for the card tables. Although all those lovely girls can be quite distracting. We both lost rather too heavily last night in the taproom.”

Nat suppressed a smile. No doubt the card sharps had seen these two coming.

“Excuse me, sir,” the farmer ventured, his accent broad and rural, saving Nat from having to answer. “Am I to understand that you three gentlemen are all of you freshly returned from the continent? From thrashing Bonaparte?”

“We are indeed,” Lockhart said, beaming proudly. “Although we were down in Spain and the South of France, alongside the Spaniards and the Portuguese, and Boney made his surrender in the North. We didn’t receive the news down there for several days, but when we did, Soult agreed to an armistice pretty damn sharp.”

Talbot nodded. “He’d already abandoned Toulouse and nearly two thousand of his wounded to Wellington. We just marched in and took it over.” He stretched out his legs as the coach rumbled out of the inn yard. “We made a fine job of it. And that was that. War over. Boney in chains.”

“For now,” Lockhart added. “And not actually in chains, remember.”

“I hope for good,” put in the man of business, a long-faced fellow with heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. “It’s high time we had peaceful dealings across the channel. This has been very bad for commerce.”

“Commerce?” Lockhart cried. “Why, it’s been bad for everything. But particularly bad if you were a French aristo, I should say!”

“Very true,” the matron in the bonnet put in. “I should not like to be a French lady, even now. In fact, I should not at all like to be French. So frightening. Although I did hear they’re planning on restoring their monarchy.”

“Louis XVIII,” the man of business said. “Brother of the one whose head they chopped off with the guillotine. Dreadful business. Dreadful. Let’s hope he’s a step up on his brother and wants to improve relations with us British. It’ll be good for trade.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Lockhart asked, his voice rising. “Venal trade?”

The farmer blustered. “For the likes of us, sir, that’s mighty important, even if it’s not for gentlemen like you who can go home to your fathers and ask for more money whenever you need it. Most of us have to earn our own livelihood.”

Things were hotting up. “Are you saying we soldiers have not been earning our own livelihoods?” Lockhart almost shouted. “Fighting on the Peninsula and in France and Belgium? Prepared to give our lives for our country?”

Time to intervene. Nat held his hands up. “Enough. I may have resigned my commission, but I’m still a major, and as such I outrank both of you two young hotheads. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, although I don’t know how far the rest of you are going.” He nodded to the three civilians. “But I’m with this coach nearly all the way to Penzance, and I don’t fancy sitting here listening to arguments from dawn till dusk. Let us agree to differ and pass the journey in peace. I’ve had more than enough of fighting on the continent and don’t intend to witness it now I’m back in England.”

Lockhart’s eyes blazed, but he bowed his head. “Yes, Major.”

Young Talbot nodded. “I apologize to the company.”

Nat shot Lockhart a hard look. “And you?”

“I apologize as well.”

“Thank you.”

Nat sat back in his seat, with a sigh, and resumed his attempts to fall asleep.