Page 37 of The Society Catch
‘What are we going to do tonight? I mean, when we get to the inn. I have no baggage, and it is going to look very odd isn’t it?’ She broke off, blushing slightly, and Giles administered a sharp mental kick and set himself to reassure her.
‘We must agree our story and stick to it. You are my sister. We set out on a foolish whim from St Ives to visit our great aunt in Sandy, not considering how far it was in this heat. Then Moonstone lost a shoe and we had to find a blacksmith and you are far too tired to ride on to Great Aunt Julia’s so we are having to spend the night in St Neots. How is that?’
‘That is very convincing,’ Joanna agreed approvingly. ‘Itaccounts for everything neatly. What a deplorable turn for invention you have.’
Giles smiled back at her teasing, but his mind was racing. With that story they might find a respectable inn with two bedchambers available and hope their tale would cause no impertinent comment. But he was less sanguine about it than Joanna appeared to be. For a start, they looked not the slightest bit like brother and sister. Even if that went unnoticed, how would she feel when the reality sank in that she was spending a night alone in a strange place with a man? And one who only that morning had tumbled her in the meadow grass and had spoken frankly of male desire?
‘Yes, quite deplorable,’ Joanna continued brightly. He suspected that she had no intention of insulting him by appearing to think she did not trust him. ‘But that story, ingenious as it is, could perhaps be improved upon. It does not account for your bandaged head. How would it be if we say you had a fall – quite early on, to account for it not being fresh blood – and you thought we could carry on, but you had a worse headache than you expected, so we have been riding slowly?’
She saw his frown and added, ‘I know that you have not regarded it in the slightest, however much it is paining you, but can you not dissemble a little? And we must bicker too, brothers and sisters do that.’
‘Nonsense,’ Giles said briskly. ‘This is not a theatrical performance. I will deal with the landlord, you remain as unobtrusive as possible and we will brush through this as well as may be.’
Chapter Eighteen
Giles reckoned without an unexpected flair for the dramatic on Joanna’s part. From the moment they wearily dismounted in the yard of the Grey Horse in St Neots she began nagging gently with the air of someone speaking more out of habit than real anger.
‘I told you we should have taken the carriage, Giles, now here I am without a hairbrush to my name. What Great Aunt is going to say when we arrive on her doorstep with you looking like a scarecrow, and me hardly any better… Thank you, my man. Where is the landlady to be found if you please? Giles, stop scowling, you need to see an apothecary with that head, I do not care what you say.
‘Ah! Mrs..? Mrs Henderson, good evening to you. Now, tell me at once, do you have two bedchambers for my brother and myself? You do? Excellent. Giles, let the groom help you down, I really think you should go to bed immediately. Perhaps you should be bled as well, but doubtless the apothecary…’
The landlady blinked at the relentless, soft onslaught as Joanna walked firmly into the inn. ‘This seems very pleasant, Mrs Henderson. I will see the rooms directly. Can someone go for the apothecary at once, if you please? My poor brother – such a fall, and of course, a large man like that falls harder – he is my half-brother, as you have no doubt guessed, Mrs Henderson. Did you say something, Giles? Ah, this room will be admirable for you, dear, in you go and lie down until the apothecary arrives.
‘Now, Mrs Henderson, you are saying to yourself, what are these two people doing descending upon my inn without servant or luggage to their name? You may well ask. Our name is Pontefract, Miss and Mr Pontefract and we are on our way to visit our great aunt Julia in Sandy. Well, I sayourgreat aunt, but actually she is my half-brother’s great aunt…’
Joanna’s voice continued its penetrating prattle, clearly audible to Giles through the wall from the bedchamber beyond. He lay down on the bed and gave way to laughter, burying his face in the pillow. He was still gasping gently and mopping his eyes when Joanna peered around the door, then came in, eyeing him disapprovingly.
‘Whatareyou about, Giles? Do pull yourself together. Mrs Henderson is an admirable woman and has entirely believed our story. Oh stop it, you will set me off. She has sent for the apothecary and the maid has gone round to knock up Mr Wilkins at the haberdashery shop. Apparently he can provide such necessities as hairbrushes, tooth powder, and she gives me to understand, nightgowns. I do hope you have enough money. We must pay Mr Wilkins, and our shot here, and the apothecary, and I will have to tip the maid I have engaged.’
Giles sat up against the pillows, sobered at last. ‘You have engaged a maid? To sleep in your room?’
‘Yes. I hope you do not mind, but it seemed just the sort of thing I should do, and I can’t for a moment think Mrs Henderson will suspect anything untoward with me insisting on a girl to sleep on a truckle bed. I have assured her I never sleep alone, but always with my maid, and she appeared to think that showed a refined respectability.’
‘Excellent. But why should I mind?’
‘Well,’ Joanna broke off and blushed. ‘I thought you might think I did not trust you.’
‘But you do?’
‘Of course. Now, quiet, here comes the apothecary, if I am not much mistaken. I am afraid you will have to endure my interference, because I’m sure Miss Pontefract would want to supervise everything.’
Fortunately the apothecary showed no inclination to bleed Giles, and politely turned his “sister” out of the room beforecleaning up the cut, inserting two stitches and re-bandaging it.
To Joanna’s indignation Giles called for supper to be eaten in a private parlour and then sent her up to bed before settling down with a London news sheet and a bottle of the Grey Horse’s excellent brandy.
Despite her indignation and the presence in the truckle bed of Polly the maid, Joanna fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. When she woke with a start it was pitch dark and Polly was snoring loudly in her corner. She turned over and pulled a pillow tight around her ears, but the rasping penetrated the goose feathers with an infuriatingly regular rhythm. She found she was lying there listening, counting the seconds until the next predictable snore.
Gradually she became aware of other noises: the building cooling and settling for the night, the distant cry of a baby, the sound of a restless sleeper near at hand tossing and turning. It was difficult to orientate herself in the dark but Joanna realised that it was coming from the room next door and that the sleeper was Giles.
Was he just dreaming or had he developed a fever from the blow to his head? Perhaps the cut was inflamed. For perhaps fifteen minutes Joanna lay undecided in the dark, expecting at any moment for the restless sounds to die away as Giles fell into a deep sleep, but they did not. Eventually she slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of the room. Behind her Polly’s snores continued unabated, muffled as she cautiously closed the door and cracked open the one to the next room.
The shutter was open admitting just enough moonlight for her to see Giles laying on the narrow bed, the sheets tossed and rumpled, one pillow half on the floor. He was muttering and as Joanna hesitated in the doorway he turned restlessly, flinging out an arm. Despite the nightshirt provided by the shopkeeperhe appeared to be naked under the twisted bed linen.
She should not be there, she knew, and certainly she should not be standing letting her eyes stray over the muscular planes of his chest as though caressing him with her gaze.
There were so many reasons why she should not be there and only one possible excuse for her presence – that Giles was ill. Joanna inched across the floor, bit back a cry of pain as her bare toes stubbed against a chair leg, and finally reached Giles’s bed. She laid the back of one hand on his brow and to her surprise it was as cool as her own, with no hint of fever.
Puzzled, but relieved, Joanna reached down to pull the sheet over the distractingly bare chest and found her wrist gripped suddenly.
