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“I would like a room for the night.”
“Just one night?” he asked.
“Yes, I will be continuing my journey to Wexley Hall tomorrow, on the morning mail coach.” Looking briefly behind her for a maid or companion, which made her feel rather embarrassed, Mr Jeffries lifted a registration book from under the counter, and handed her a pen. As she signed her name and the date, he was obviously assessing her station. She ignored that scrutiny, and instead went straight to the important point, even as a groom carried in her two trunks, and set them down beside her. “Would it be possible, sir, to obtain some food, as I am fairly famished?”
Verity was not truly aware of how pleasing she was to the eye, but she carried herself, intentionally, as modestly as possible. As she cast her eyes down becomingly, she was confident that her modest dress and manner suggested a person of breeding, possibly even position.
The Innkeeper, it seemed, was sensitive to the quality of service his Inn provided, and the quality of customer it thereby attracted. She suspected that he was constantly seeking ways to secure repeat business from persons of class. And, even without a maid, she was sure that she appeared as someone who could at least refer wealthy clientele if she herself was properly treated.
She almost laughed at that thought. Once, it had been true – once she had been Lady Verity – a title which, truth be told, she was still entitled to, having been born to it – but when she had married Edward, she had made the choice, out of respect to him, to be simply ‘Mrs Millwood’.
The Innkeeper turned the register around so that he could read the name.
“Of course, Mrs. Millwood,” he said. “Though it is a bit late, we can procure bread and cheese of a certainty. I will ask Cook if there may be yet some soup to warm you. My son, Dirk here,” he waved in the direction of a young man with unkempt hair and beefy shoulders, “will take you and your luggage to your room above. I’ll have the food sent up directly.”
Verity sighed wearily and, thanking her host, turned to find Dirk lifting her first trunk.
He stared at her with frank admiration.
She shrank back a little.
“Ah… I…”
“Now, Dirk, mind your manners!” Mr. Jeffries spoke sternly to his son. And to his guest he said as an apology, “My son is harmless, Mrs. Millwood. He merely appreciates a rare beauty such as yourself.”
Blushing furiously, Verity turned to follow the lad as he trudged his way to the rooms upstairs. As she approached the stairs a traveller in dusty livery jumped up from his place at the fire.
“Do pardon me, Mrs. Millwood,” he said, “I could not help but overhear. Are you late of Lady Chittendom’s household, a day’s journey south?”
Startled, Verity hardly knew how to answer. Whilst she had indeed left Lady Chittendom’s household where she had been governess until only a few days ago, how could this person know that?
“Sir, I was until just lately governess to Lady Chittendom’s children, that is correct. What could you possibly know of this?”
Brushing a not-too-clean hand over his face, the thin man opened a leather pouch slung over his shoulder. He extracted a letter with a very dark red wax seal and handed it to her.
“I was on my way to Lady Chittendom’s estate, ma’am,” he said, “to convey this important message from the household to which you are journeying. I am the most fortunate of men to find you here and save myself another day’s travel!”
Verity accepted the letter and examined the sender’s direction as inscribed upon it. There was no doubt that it had been sent from Wexley House.
“Thank you.”
The messenger nodded and smiled.
“Good journey my Lady, and may you be healthy at the end of it!”
Thus saying, the fellow gave a shallow bow and turned to resume his fireside seat, gesturing to the maid to bring another tankard of ale.
Verity, still bewildered, continued up to find her room. She would open this missive in private, and soon know what was so important that it required sending a messenger to track her down, when, if her own letter had reached them, they surely had word already that she was on her way.
When she got to the top of the stairs, she noticed that the lad had opened a door not far along the narrow hall and carried her trunk to a chair under the window. He tipped his hat and left directly, then soon returned with the other trunk. Apparently chided by his father’s remark to display more deferential manners, he tipped his hat again, and left her there immediately.
Once he had closed the door behind him, Verity examined the room properly for the first time. She saw that it was clean, there was water in the pitcher at the wash bowl, and a drying cloth on the stand. She appreciated that the curtains were closed, as it was already dark and quite chill outside. A small fire burned merrily in the grate, and an unlit candle had been placed at the bedside table. There was a faint odour of alcohol about the room – she supposed that was inevitable, in any Inn.
Verity sat on the edge of the bed and examined the letter. The large blob of red wax appeared undisturbed and imprinted on it she recognised the sign of her late husband’s father,George Millwood, Baron Wexley. Slipping a manicured fingernail under it, she carefully broke the seal.
As she read the missive her heart began to flutter. Her face reddened, her breathing came in gasps, and she began to feel light-headed. Then she emitted a moan, her eyes closed, and she fell back, unconscious, onto the bed.
*****
