Page 31 of By Marsh and By Moor
But this was neither the time nor the place; and even if they’d been in private, he didn’t know what Solomon would make of such a mawkish little gesture.
“Come on, better not be late,” he said gruffly.And indeed, a nearby clock was just striking seven.
Next to the Boar, a narrow lane led to a cobblestoned yard where two men were carrying sacks of grain from one cart to another.Solomon asked for Mrs Drake and was directed to the office at the far side of the yard, where a stout, middle-aged woman was speaking to several different people at once.
“If I say it’ll be there on Friday, then you can count on it.Ask anyone in town.”This to a wizened fellow with the air of a prosperous farmer.She turned to an old lady with a parcel.“My clerk will take care of that, ma’am.Toby, take the lady’s parcel.Now, Mr Dalley”—this to the farmer—“when I say Friday, it’s only if you have that worsted here by this afternoon, mind.”
She and the farmer shook hands on the deal, while Toby—a scrawny, red-haired young man—made a note of the old lady’s parcel in a ledger that lay open on the desk.
Mrs Drake showed her two customers out the door, then turned to Solomon.
“You’re Dyer, are you?Mrs Steele tells me you’ve come down from London.Worked as an ostler, she says.You know how to handle a horse, I take it?”
“I was head ostler in one of the biggest coaching inns on the Borough High Street.Worked there eight years.”
“Hmm.”She was a square-faced woman in her fifties, grey hair pinned under a neat black cap.Her expression gave nothing away.“And who’s this?”
Jed returned her gaze, chin raised.He was a carrier too, even if he’d never owned a yard with a dozen carts and strings of horses as Mrs Drake did.
“This is my friend, Trevithick,” Solomon said.
Mrs Drake’s gaze raked Jed from head to toe.He had the uncomfortable feeling of standing to attention on deck during Sunday inspection as a sharp-eyed captain, keen to find fault, examined him for spots of tar.“There used to be a family of carriers of that name in Ledcombe.Any connection?”
“Michael Trevithick was my father.My name is Jedediah.”
“I thought you looked familiar.You have your father’s face.You don’t work out of Ledcombe anymore?”
Jed shook his head without offering any explanation.
“I remember your father as a decent fellow, God rest him.Lord, it makes one feel old.”She fell silent for a second, then became all business again.“Well, I’ll take you both on, on a trial basis.A penny a mile, regardless of carriage, and paid on return.No deductions for spoilage, without it was by your negligence.”
Solomon directed a questioning look at Jed.They were reasonable terms, and Jed nodded.
Mrs Drake looked satisfied, and they shook hands on it.
“You can start at once.I’ve twenty bales of cotton for Adamson’s mill and the regular string of packhorses for Clifton.”She turned to speak to the red-haired clerk.“Toby, tell Bill I’ve found someone to go with him this morning.We can send Old Abe to Exeter instead.”
The young man put down his pen and hurried to the door to whistle for Bill.
Solomon caught Jed’s eye, and they shared a grin.
Bill turned out to be a heavyset, square-jawed fellow with his cap set at a rakish angle.
“The cart is for the mill, and the packhorses are for the Clifton run,” he explained in an irritatingly patronising tone of voice.“There’s no getting a cart up the Clifton road at this time of year.”
“I know,” Jed said, bristling instinctively.“I’ve been up there myself many a time.”
The smug bastard didn’t even seem to be listening to Jed.“You’ll walk with the lead horse,” he went on.“Your friend there will take the rear, and I’ll be in the cart.You see to the harnesses, now, and mind you test everything twice.”
Jed had to bite his tongue.“Aye, aye, sir,” he said sourly.
But that sourness soon cleared when they set out.It was impossible for him to remain in a black mood when they were on the road.The cart rumbled along at a walking pace, pulled by four strong draft horses.Behind it came the string of packhorses, sacks and boxes strapped to their backs.Whenever Jed looked over his shoulder, there was Solomon at the far end of the string, his cap tilted back so the sun fell on his face, his long legs eating up the miles.He smiled whenever Jed caught his eye.
Jed had kissed that mouth.Wrung from it strangled moans that had gone straight to his own prick.Brought a flush to that narrow face and turned those grey eyes dark with desire.If they were alone on this journey—
“Mind your horses,” Bill called back.“Keep them moving there.Hey up, hey up!”
Jed gritted his teeth.
