Page 17 of The Seaside Homecoming
During the long journey, the two ate the food they had brought along, trying to minimize expenses, but Claire had neglected to account for perquisites for the guard and coachman. And the small glasses of cider she’d bought for her and Mary when thirst became too strong to ignore cost more than she would have imagined. She thanked God for the extra coins in interest Mr. Dumfries had provided.
Once they arrived in London, they were forced to spend thenight at an inn, because the last stagecoach to Sidmouth had already departed. To save money, Claire and Mary shared a room.
In the morning, they purchased seats on a stagecoach that would stop in Exeter and other towns along the way. The stagecoach was larger and slower than the mail coach, holding six inside passengers and a ragtag assortment of folks of every description on its roof.
As the baggage was loaded and the horses’ harnesses given a once-over, the guard lifted his horn and blew the signal to board. A tall, well-dressed man paused at the coach door, standing aside to allow the ladies to enter first. His skin stood out as a rich, dark brown amid a sea of white faces. His hair was darker yet.
An elderly, bespectacled woman with a small dog tucked under one arm teetered on the first step, and he quickly offered a steadying hand. “Allow me, madam.”
She climbed inside and thanked the man for his assistance.
A moment later her young companion came hurrying over. “Sorry, ma’am. There was a line for the privy, and worse, they were out of newspaper. Only corncobs.”
“Hush, Miss Henderson. Not everyone wishes to hear the private details.”
Feeling her cheeks warm, Claire stole a glance at the man and noticed him bite back a grin.
Inside, the passengers settled themselves on the two facing benches: Claire, Mary, and Miss Henderson on one narrow bench, the older woman, her dog, and the man on the other.
The man addressed the younger woman, offering in a polite, slightly accented voice, “I would be happy to trade places, if you would rather sit here?”
Miss Henderson only glared at him and gave a terse little shake of her head.
The horn blew again, and the coach lurched into motion, and soon they were on their way out of the city.
The pug wriggled until he loosed himself from his mistress’s arms and hopped from her wide lap onto the man’s trim one, tail wagging.
“Greetings, little friend.” He gave the dog a pat on the head.
Tongue lolling in a doggy grin, the creature panted and then gave a happy yip.
“Good heavens,” the older woman exclaimed. “Augie rarely warms to anyone so quickly. And he is an excellent judge of character!”
Claire glanced at the man, and the two shared private, amused smiles.
Beside Claire, the younger woman harrumphed, and Claire’s smile faded. What an unpleasant girl.
Then she looked over at Mary and saw that she was also staring at the man, mouth slack. Claire supposed the young maid had rarely seen a darker-skinned person. In short order, Mary shifted her slack-lipped stare to the old woman.
Claire followed her gaze to the woman’s thick spectacles, tinted a dark green. Claire had assumed the eye shades were like those she’d seen in newspaper advertisements, to be worn by sportsmen and travelers.
Mary leaned close to Claire and whispered in her ear, “Can she not see? Is that why she’s talkin’ to him?”
Claire looked again. Were the lenses meant to hide blind eyes rather than to shade them? She had not thought so, as the woman had awaited the coach alone. Then again, she’d stumbled when climbing inside. Claire gave a noncommittal shrug in reply.
The woman asked the man, “Have you ever had a dog?”
“Yes, when I was young. Though not as friendly as this fellow.”
The woman clucked her pleasure and went on conversing with her seatmate, telling him how much she was looking forward to returning home after her visit to Town.
Miss Henderson leaned across the space between the benches and said, in a poor attempt at a whisper, “Can’t you see he’s a ... not someone to speak to?”
Was a lack of eyesight the reason she was being polite to the man? Claire hoped not.
The woman replied, “What are you talking about?”
Miss Henderson raised her voice to be better heard over the road sounds. “He’s black.”
