Page 19 of A Much Maligned Miss

Once across the threshold, however, Gervaise realized this would be no easy task, for the inn seemed unexpectedly busy. Enquiry revealed that a rival establishment had recently closed, and its patrons had flocked to The White Hart, leaving it oversubscribed. Though his booking still stood, the landlord informed him there was no chance whatsoever of securing a second bedchamber.

Gervaise turned to contemplate Caroline’s hunched-over form. In truth, she stood in no fit state to protest their sleeping arrangements. Her eyes were closed in pain, and she looked a very unhealthy color. If she did not lie down soon, he had no doubt she would be keeling over.

He turned back to the garrulous landlord. “I’m afraid my good lady wife is suffering badly with travel sickness. Could our room be made ready at once? She requires no supper, only rest.”

“Of course, milord. I’ll have some ginger tea sent up from the kitchen for her,” the landlord promised. “And some cloths soaked in vinegar. They do say it helps.”

“You are very kind,” Gervaise murmured, suppressing the ignoble impulse to refuse the stinky vinegar rags which would no doubt offend his sensitive nose.

“Hie, Jim! Go and fetch his lordship’s trunks in and look sharp about it, do. They’re in the rose room at the top of the stair. Her ladyship looks fit to drop, poor thing.”

Gervaise grimaced. Very likely he too should have used an alias when embarking on this trip. It would be inconvenient if anyone was to learn that Lord Atherton was accompanied by an alleged wife for any leg of his journey.

Still, there was precious little he could do about it now. Miss Halperston could hardly sit up straight at this point, let alone spend the night in a chair, and he certainly was not going to put himself out of the comfort of his own bed after traveling one hundred miles in a jolting coach.

He returned to Caroline’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flickered open to peer at him, her expression one of abject misery. “Can you stand?” he asked quietly. Instead of answering, she rose warily to her feet, gripping the back of the chair and swaying where she stood.

Gervaise’s gaze flickered to the narrow stairs. There was nothing else for it, he realized with resignation. He was going to have to carry her up there like the hero in one of those ghastly novels Lord and Lady Faris insisted on reading together.

He sighed. “Brace yourself, Caroline,” he recommended and then scooped her up in his arms.

She made a faint moan he did not like the sound of. “If you are sick down my person, I will never forgive you. This coat was expensive,” he warned her, making for the stairs. Her lips moved but he could not make out her words. He was not sure, but he thought she might be fervently praying.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, she had both hands over her mouth. He hustled her through the door and set her down on the edge of the bed, grabbing a basin off the washstand as she started to heave.

“Here!” He thrust it under her nose, and she clutched at it, retching and vomiting into the bowl. Gervaise drew out his cigarette case, then thought better of it. He should likely wait until he was out of her vicinity. Reluctantly, he dropped it back into his pocket. Walking over to the door, he threw it open and beckoned to a servant approaching with towels.

“Finished?” he asked Caroline.

“I think so,” she quavered, her cheeks flushed from the exertion but her eyes still dull. “At least, for the moment.”

He took the basin from her and passed it to the maid. “Would you be so kind as to dispose of this,” he said, “And to fetch a carafe of fresh water?”

“Right away, milord,” the obliging woman said, bobbing a curtsey. As soon as she disappeared, Jim took her place in the doorway carrying Gervaise’s monogrammed luggage. He held up Caroline’s carpet bag with a doubtful expression on his face.

“Would this article happen to belong to your lordship as well?” he asked uncertainly. “Only it don’t look like the rest of ’em but the coachman insisted.”

His curious gaze switched to Caroline, miserably hunched over on the bed, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth. “Yes, I’ll take that from you,” Gervaise answered, taking the bag and swiftly producing a tip. Jim perked right up and made himself scarce.

Gervaise carried her bag over to the bed and set it down on the mattress next to where she was slumped. “We’re going to have to share this room tonight, I’m afraid. This inn is lamentably short of beds. I’ll leave you to wash and get under the covers. I mean to take a good supper and a smoke before I retire, so I daresay you’ll be fast asleep when I return.”

Before she could make reply, a large woman, presumably their landlady, bustled into the room bearing a tray with a teapot, cup, and saucer. “You poorly thing!” she exclaimed, coming straight to Caroline’s side and tutting. “Soon as Dawkins said to me, ‘Martha, a lady has need of your ginger tea,’ I knew how it would be! He was talking daft about the vinegar rags though. They only help when you’re actually in motion.”

She set down her tray and turned about to look Gervaise up and down. “Don’t you worry, milord, I’ll see her ladyship is settled nicely, just you see if I don’t!” She picked up one of Caroline’s limp hands and chafed it between her own. “You need a wash and a brush up and then straight into bed with you! Lord knows, I don’t like to see such pallor on a body!”

“She looks marginally better than she did,” Gervaise observed truthfully. “Her head has been paining her these past three hours.”

The good lady nodded, lowering her voice. “My poor father used to suffer bad heads something awful! ‘Martha,’ he would say, ‘I hope you never know how I suffer,’ and I never have. I know how to treat them though, on account of him. She needs to lie quietly in a darkened room. I’ll draw the curtains and help her into her nightdress. Polly can light the fire, and we’ll get her comfortable, don’t you fret, milord.”

Gervaise nodded, and the maid from earlier appeared in the doorway carrying the cleaned basin and a jug of steaming water.

“I should—er—not wish to disturb her ladyship when I come up later,” he said, addressing the landlady in low tones. “Perhaps you have such a thing as a long pillow we could set down the middle of the bed between us?”

Her eyes widened. “Now, that’s what I like to hear of, a nice, considerate husband, and you a lord too!” she marveled. “Polly,” she said, turning to the maid who was restocking the washstand with towels and fresh soap. “Fetch two of those bolsters down from the top of the wardrobe and set them on the bed.”

“Yes, Mrs. Dawkins.”

“Now, milord,” she said, turning back to Gervaise. “You had better get down to your private parlor. There’s roast duck and peas waiting for you and you don’t want it to spoil your supper. I promise you; we’ll see your good lady wife comfortable for the night.” Gervaise spared Caroline one final look and then left her to their tender ministrations.