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Sassy was taken aback by the woman’s waspish tone. “First, I should like a room—”
“Ho! A room is it? You’ll be getting none here. We don’t run that sort of house.” The woman sneered.
A small, wiry man with a white apron hanging from his waist approached the sharp-tongued woman
but said nothing.
Sassy’s eyes flashed as she sucked in her temper. “I don’t precisely understand your meaning, ma’am, though I take leave to advise you I take exception to the tone you use with me. My name is Sassy Winthrop, and I have had a long journey from Tanderlay. I require a clean and comfortable room, hot water, and later some dinner, in my room.”
“Gawks, listen to the mort!” exclaimed the shrew, sniffing. “Out wit ye,” she ordered, waving her hand. “A mort with airs—out!”
“How dare you!” Sassy was both outraged and mortified, and one gloved finger began rubbing her ring. Should she use magic to get what she needed? No, her mother and father had told her to only use it when all else failed. She should, instead, use her wits.
“Listen to the fancy piece, will ye …” continued the shrew looking at her derisively before she turned to the man at her side. “Talks like a lady born and raised.” She returned a spiteful gaze to Sassy. “Doxy, I won’t say it again—out.”
The word doxy resounded in Sassy’s ears, and the urge to use magic began trumpeting in her head. The moment was saved, however, as the driver of Lady Margate’s carriage arrived on the scene.
He gasped and then in shocked accents said, “Harebrained ye be, ye old hag! Miss Winthrop is a guest of Lady Margate’s. You know her ladyship well, as we have often stopped here, as ye know me. This is the late Sutton Village vicar’s daughter, ye dolts! So what ye need to do now is make Miss comfortable, unless ye want Lady Margate to hear of this incident and start telling her friends this is not the place they want to patronize?” He nodded. “Aye, I see ye understand. Right then, I think ye best put a hot brick between Miss Winthrop’s sheets and attend to her needs without any more of yer argle-bargle.”
Sassy shot the driver a grateful look, and he tipped his peaked wool cap. “I am that sorry, I am, Miss. Thought this was a respectable place.”
“It is a respectable place,” squeaked the innkeeper’s wife. “It isn’t m’fault … How was I to know—why, she doesn’t even have a maid with her.”
“That be none of yer business. Yer business is to serve wit’ a smile,” said the driver, who then added, “and an apology.”
The innkeeper finally opened his mouth. “That sorry we are, Miss Winthrop … didn’t realize.” He turned to his wife. “Off with ye, Stella. Tell Sue to set a nice hot brick between the sheets …”
Sassy’s cheeks had burned during the entire episode, and she noted it as another lesson learned. Now what she needed, besides the privacy of a room, a wash, and dinner, was a good cry.
After this incident she was so distressed she thought she might not be able to sleep, but she awoke early the next morning having had a deep and thoroughly excellent sleep. An hour later saw them on the road again, and Jessie, whom she now thought of as one of her very best friends, called down to her that another hour would see them at Netherby. As they drove through the rolling green hills, Sassy tried very hard not to daydream about a man with blue eyes and black silky hair. Then, all at once, she was flung to one side of the coach’s interior. She tried to brace herself as she attempted to right her position.
Sassy sighed heavily as she pushed open the carriage door and peered out. The coach was woefully tilted and resting on its right rear axle, and a wheel lay flat on the open road, depicting clearly what had occurred.
Jessie, who was already there at the door, asked anxiously, “You be all right then?”
She nodded and gave him her gloved hand, and he helped her jump to earth, where she undid her bonnet and pushed her long strands of hair out of her face. “What has happened, Jessie?”
The driver was already inspecting the wheel and its former housing before he mumbled what Sassy smiled to think were a string of oaths. Even her father had moments similar to these when he thought no one was about.
“Slovenly beggar,” Jessie said out loud finally. “Wait till I get m’hands on you, Joseph O’Rourke!” He shook his head and decided more needed saying. “Aye, it’s wring your fat neck I will—dang if I didn’t tell you that the dratted bolts looked loose to me! Lazy son of …” He stopped himself and mumbled an apology in Sassy’s direction.
“Never mind, Jessie Jarvis. I didn’t hear a word.” She fought back a sudden urge to giggle. What else was there to do but laugh? However, they were in somewhat of a pickle, she thought, and she inquired, “What now shall we do?”
“Now don’t ye fret, Miss Winthrop. I’ll go and fetch the smithy. He is not too far from here at the edge of Wetly Village. I’ll take one of the carriage horses and be back with help in no time.”
“Oh,” Sassy said, suddenly worried. That would mean she would be alone on the open road. Her experience with the rude innkeeper’s wife had left her wary.
Jessie eyed her thoughtfully, climbed up to the back of the driver’s seat, and returned with a huge pistol. He placed it into her gloved hands.
“Know how to use this?”
Sassy held it thoughtfully a moment. It brought back memories of her mother, who had been a ‘crack shot’. Her father had not liked the notion of target shooting, but that was precisely what her mother had spent hours teaching her the knack of. She had enjoyed that and so never inquired why her mother was so bent on teaching her how to shoot. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” she replied, “I do know how to use one.”
“That’s it, Miss. I don’t like leaving you alone, but I feel better if you keep that on hand.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it at the ready,” Sassy said with an accompanying smile.
“Pluck to the backbone you are, Miss!” he said with approval as he began unhitching the horse. Within a few moments he was mounted and disappearing out of sight.
