Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

‘We will need food and transport,’ Sam said and again she noted that autocratic tone, as though privy to some private script.

‘Very well.’ The landlord folded his plump fingers about the guinea, pocketing it his trousers. ‘There is a private room behind the tavern. Go there if you’ve a mind. The boy can eat out back.’

‘I—’ Millie started to protest, but Sam gave her a quelling glare.

‘The boy can eat with me,’ he said.

Perhaps it was Sam’s manner, the hope of more guineas or a desire to avoid more people in the kitchen, but the landlord merely nodded. ‘Follow me then.’

‘Thank you.’ Sam’s tone was polite, but with no great gratitude, as though the landlord’s compliance was only to be expected.

‘I’ll take you through and get Doris to bring you something to drink and eat.’

They followed him into the back room which had a collection of threadbare furniture, a table with several chairs, a multipaned bay window, and a fire. The landlord poked at the lacklustre blaze before turning to leave. ‘Right then. I’ll send Doris in,’ he said.

They heard his retreating footsteps. ‘The boy can eat out back,’ Millie hissed, as soon as the door closed. ‘Really?’

‘Well, you do look a bit of a ragamuffin and smell a tad off to boot.’

‘You’re none too fresh either,’ she muttered.

Sam sat somewhat gingerly on one of the straight back chairs. ‘I feel like I have had ten rounds at Jackson’s. Thank goodness we are getting fed. I believe I am hallucinating about roast beef.’

Millie smiled, the thought of food soothing her lingering irritation as she sat on the chair opposite, propping her elbows on the table. ‘And I have been smelling fresh baked bread for the last hour.’

‘With nary a bakery in sight. In a few moments you’d be dreaming of Brussels sprouts.’

‘What a fate. I am indebted.’

‘I rather like that,’ he said, with that lopsided smile. Something in his tone sent a tingle down her spine, making her catch her breath.

Just then, the door opened and the landlord’s wife entered. She proved to be a round woman rather resembling her husband with florid, apple dumpling cheeks.

‘I’m Doris,’ the woman said, putting bread, ale, cheese and cut meat on the table. Millie felt herself salivate, her hands almost vibrating with the need to grab the food, stuffing it into her mouth, manners be damned.

Indeed, by mutual consent, neither Sam nor Millie spoke. Instead they ate steadily as Doris poured out a tumbler of ale for each and departed.

‘I do not think food has ever tasted so good,’ Millie said, at length, leaning back in her chair and sighing with deep contentment.

‘I do not think I took the time to taste it.’ Sam also stretched out his legs towards the fire. ‘I wonder if I have enough guineas to convince them to provide us with a bath and fresh clothes.’

For a moment, the length of a heartbeat, she imagined him naked. His skin gleamed with moisture. The muscles of his shoulders and arms moved under the skin. She could even see the dampness of his hair at the base of his neck where the golden glow of the lamplight cast intriguing shadows.

‘I...um...’ She gulped the last of her ale. ‘It seems unlikely that even your charm could achieve a new wardrobe.’

‘Do not underestimate my charms.’ He gave that half-smile, one lip twisting upwards and a dimple flickering.

She knew he meant nothing more than his ability to use his manner and his privilege to convince the landlord but, even so, she was conscious of her cheeks flushing as she moved uneasily within her chair.

‘I hear the landlord or his wife coming so you can try your luck,’ she said, keeping her tone brisk and clipped.

The door swung open and the landlord appeared. ‘All done, then?’

‘Thank you,’ Sam said. ‘That was delicious.’

‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘We make our own bread, cheese and sausage here.’

‘Then you are to be commended. As soon as I get back to Fowey I will ensure that your kindness is recognised.’

‘Fowey is it, then?’ the landlord said, bending over to pick up the coal shovel. He added a lump of coal to the fire, stoking it with the poker. A flurry of sparks flew up the chimney.

‘Yes, my sister lives there.’

‘Aye. And who be that, then?’

‘My sister is Mrs Ludlow.’

‘Ludlow, eh? You do not say?’ The landlord put down the poker with a clank, his increased interest and curiosity obvious.

‘And would she be married to a Mr Jason Ludlow?’

‘Yes.’

The landlord went to the door, moving with increased speed as he shouted into the nether regions of the inn, ‘Doris, this is Mrs Ludlow’s brother. What do you think of that, then?’

Doris appeared so fast that Millie wondered if she had been waiting outside or whether the news had made her run along the hallway. Either way, she seemed to bristle with an unexpected pent-up excitement.

‘You do not say?’ Her eyes grew round, like bright buttons set within the pouches of her skin. Again, Millie felt that Doris displayed an interest and eagerness which did not seem sensible in the situation.

Sam must have thought that, too, because his body stiffened. ‘What is it? Are you acquainted with my sister or her husband? Have you some news?’

‘It is not like us to gossip...’ the landlord said.

‘Indeed, no, we always keep our customers’ confidences...’

‘Except neither Mr or Mrs Ludlow are your customers, at present,’ Sam said, leaning forward. ‘And I am.’

Husband and wife glanced towards each other, although Millie did not know if they were hesitant to speak or merely engaged in a competition to see who would speak first.

The landlord apparently won. He straightened, cleared his throat and threw back his head as though about to recite a Shakespearean monologue.

‘Mrs Ludlow is currently arrested,’ he said.

Chapter Six

Whatever Sam had been expecting, it was not this. He stared at the man for a moment, not quite comprehending the words. He felt a chill that began inside and