Page 30 of The Storybook Hero
“I like sleeping outside,” she announced. “I hope we can do it every night.”
Octavia shuddered at the thought.
Breakfast was a quick affair, but the plate of hot bacon and cup of steaming tea did much to restore her flagging spirits. By the time the fire had been put out and the wagon repacked, she was feeling more herself again. After traveling several versts down the main road, Shishkov turned off to the west.
The steady stream of carts and carriages all but disappeared, bringing a frown of concern to Octavia’s face. Seeming to sense her dismay, the cook turned around. “Though we are now heading for Gzhatsk, in a few hour’s time we intersect another road leading north. My wife’s family knows the innkeeper. There it will be easier to arrange for your passage to St. Petersburg.”
Octavia was not unhappy to finally climb down from their perch on the sack of grain. Much as she appreciated the cook’s kindness, every bone in her body ached from the rough jarring of the lumbering wagon. Surely even the worst sprung coach must be a vast improvement over the current vehicle. She stamped her feet on the frozen ground, trying to restore some circulation, then reached up to help Emma over the jumble of crates and boxes. While Shishkov went to speak with the innkeeper, his son tossed down the two small valises.
The thought that soon they would be truly alone, without any friends, however casual, to lend a helping hand caused Octavia’s throat to tighten. Her hand fisted, stirring the weight of the reticule looped around her left wrist During the morning, while Emma napped, she had taken the precaution of removing the loaded pistol from its case and placing it within easy access. She was not unaware of what sorts of dire things might befall a lone woman, traveling with only a child for a companion. It didn’t do to dwell on them, but at least she was not totally unprepared for whatever might happen.
The cook appeared at the door of the inn and motioned for her to approach. “Miss Hadley,” he said in a low voice, before taking her inside. “There is a fellow here willing to hire himself to you for the entire journey, It would be vastly more comfortable than traveling by public conveyance.” He paused before adding, “And no doubt safer for you and the child. However, it will cost you.”
“How much?”
He named the price.
Octavia took a moment to consider. The sum was high, but not outrageously so. She should still have enough left for their passage to London if need be. And as her friend suggested, it offered a number of advantages. “That is acceptable.”
“Good. Let us go make the deal.” His voice dropped even more. “I will haggle, of course. You do not want him to see you as an easy mark. I have also not mentioned you are English. Just mutter an occasional answer in Russian and you should be able to manage. He won’t expect any more from a woman.”
She nodded her understanding.
“Another thing, he will want an advance. Take it out now, so you do not show him your entire purse.”
She had already thought to transfer several of the gold coins into her pocket and gave them a jingle. The sound elicited a thin smile of approval. “As I said, you have a good head on your shoulders.”
He pushed the door open and they went inside. It reeked of stale beer and the air was thick with the smoke from the iron woodstove and a number of Turkish cheroots. Three rough looking men drinking kvass at one of the small tables stopped fell silent as she walked by. One of them made a lewd comment, and the others snickered, adding their own coarse remarks.
She ignored them.
Shishkov led her to where a heavy fellow with greasy blond hair and a spiky beard to match was sitting with his hands outstretched to the stove. Though his person could have done with a bit of soap and water, he had a cheerful countenance and clear blue eyes that crinkled in good humor as he got to his feet. Octavia found herself warming to him already.
“This is my … relative, who wishes to join her husband in St. Petersburg,” began Shishkov. “While she is interested in your services, only a drunken donkey would be foolish enough to consider the price you named….”
A heated negotiation followed, accompanied by dark mutterings, expressions of outrage and injured shrugs. A price was finally arrived at, with each party assuring the other that he had gotten the best of the deal. On Shishkov’s signal, Octavia passed the gold Imperials to the newly hired driver.
“I wish to leave as soon as possible,” she said.
He smiled, revealing a wide gap between his front teeth. “I shall see to having the horses harnessed. “Best have a bite to eat here, ma’am. There’s no telling what we may find ahead.”
“Well, he seems a decent enough fellow,” she whispered, once he had left the room.
Shishkov nodded. “The innkeeper says he is trustworthy, so I think you will not regret engaging his services.”
They went back outside. Emma left off tossing pebbles into the brook that skirted the stableyard and came running to Octavia’s side. The cook crouched down and touched her cheek. “Take care of yourself, Miss Emma,” he said. “I wish you godspeed on your journey.”
She gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Mr. Shishkov. I shall miss your apple tarts and your blinis with sour cream.”
He got to his feet and held out his hand to Octavia. “And godspeed to you, Miss Hadley. You are a good woman, to look after the child. And a brave one.”
She felt a sudden clench in her chest as she made her own thanks. It was not easy to part with the only acquaintance she had in this part of the world. Still, she kept on a brave face as he mounted the seat of his wagon, then turned for a final wave as it lurched around a stand of silvery birches and towering Sitka spruce.
Emma’s hand tightened in Octavia’s. “What are we going to do now Miss Hadley?” she inquired in a small voice.
“We are going to have a nice hot meal,” she answered with a rather forced gaiety. “And then we will set off in grand style, in our own private carriage, traveling just as any grand heroine would.”
The little girl’s eyes lit up. “We are?”
