break through the bleak sky outside.
Inside the Phoenix Inn, Abigail looked around her, breathing in the
stale air. Flames flickered in their lamps and a young serving girl
bobbed a curtsey in front of her.
“Would you like
some food, ma’am…miss?” she asked, and pointed to a table behind
her.
Cold pie,
cheese and bread had been arranged on pewter platters ready for the
tired travellers to purchase. Martha stepped forward before Abigail
could answer and enquired after a room in which her mistress may
refresh herself.
Abigail’s
attention had returned to her fellow passengers alighting from the
stagecoach. She looked for the gentleman in the caped coat who had
so kindly climbed atop the carriage in order that she and Martha
could travel inside together. Abigail saw him climb down a step,
resting his foot on the wheel then jump the rest of the way to the
ground. He was strong, yet as he landed his balance went slightly
as his leg gave way under him. He propped himself against the coach
to prevent himself falling. She was filled with guilt at the state
of his appearance. He must be ill or injured in some way – perhaps
lame even.
She ignored the
plump man of fashion and the pompous officer of the militia as they
passed her by – her existence equally ignored by them. Their eyes
were firmly fixed on the food and ale.
When the wet
gentleman entered the tavern, his greatcoat dripping with the icy
rain, Abigail was filled with feelings of gratitude to him.
“Sir… would you
allow me to purchase a repast for you as a thank you for your
kindness.” Abigail smiled at the surprised expression that crossed
his face as she spoke to him.
He removed his
hat carefully so as not to drip water onto her pelisse. A raggedy
figure who had alighted also entered the inn behind him. In the
dimness of the tavern’s light the gentleman’s deep brown eyes
looked back at her with what Abigail thought were curiosity and a
glint of humour. She could not help but admire his handsome face
surrounded by unruly dark hair.
“You are most
kind, miss, but that shall not be necessary. It was a pleasure to
get some…” he glanced at the window with its small leaded panes,
which were being lashed by streaks of heavy rain, “… fresh air. The
coach’s interior was becoming quite stuffy.” He stared somewhat
pointedly towards their travelling companions who were gorging
themselves on the cold fare by the open fire.
“Then at least
let me repay the difference of your journey’s fare. It is not right
you should be inconvenienced as well as out of pocket,” Abigail
persisted.
“Please think
nothing of it. It was the very least I could do.” He smile
pleasantly at her. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain
Joshua Rusk of the Rifles.”
Abigail did not
know how to reply to him as she had not expected him to refuse her
offers. She felt small standing next to him, and quite lost as she
realised her words had perhaps been forward and inappropriate.
The young girl
stood at the side of him. “Begging your pardon, sir… but I wanted
to say thank you for your kindness also.”
“There is no
need. Come let us eat something warm,” he looked at Abigail, “You
must excuse us, unless you would care to join us for a meal?”
“No, my maid is
making arrangements, sir. Thank you all the same.”
He looked at
the girl at his side, whose wide frightened eyes looked curiously
like a rabbit’s, and took her small pink hand and slipped it into
his. “Come, Molly, we shall eat and then find your home.”
“Miss…” Martha
bustled up to her giving the stranger a wary look. “A room is ready
for you now.”
He bowed
slightly to her before walking over to the innkeeper. Abigail saw
him down a tankard of ale and purchase some food and take the young
girl over to a quiet corner of the inn.
Martha gave
Abigail’s arm a nudge. “Talking to strange men in taverns, lass!
Whatever next?”
“You talked
with one not so long ago as I
Inside the Phoenix Inn, Abigail looked around her, breathing in the
stale air. Flames flickered in their lamps and a young serving girl
bobbed a curtsey in front of her.
“Would you like
some food, ma’am…miss?” she asked, and pointed to a table behind
her.
Cold pie,
cheese and bread had been arranged on pewter platters ready for the
tired travellers to purchase. Martha stepped forward before Abigail
could answer and enquired after a room in which her mistress may
refresh herself.
Abigail’s
attention had returned to her fellow passengers alighting from the
stagecoach. She looked for the gentleman in the caped coat who had
so kindly climbed atop the carriage in order that she and Martha
could travel inside together. Abigail saw him climb down a step,
resting his foot on the wheel then jump the rest of the way to the
ground. He was strong, yet as he landed his balance went slightly
as his leg gave way under him. He propped himself against the coach
to prevent himself falling. She was filled with guilt at the state
of his appearance. He must be ill or injured in some way – perhaps
lame even.
She ignored the
plump man of fashion and the pompous officer of the militia as they
passed her by – her existence equally ignored by them. Their eyes
were firmly fixed on the food and ale.
When the wet
gentleman entered the tavern, his greatcoat dripping with the icy
rain, Abigail was filled with feelings of gratitude to him.
“Sir… would you
allow me to purchase a repast for you as a thank you for your
kindness.” Abigail smiled at the surprised expression that crossed
his face as she spoke to him.
He removed his
hat carefully so as not to drip water onto her pelisse. A raggedy
figure who had alighted also entered the inn behind him. In the
dimness of the tavern’s light the gentleman’s deep brown eyes
looked back at her with what Abigail thought were curiosity and a
glint of humour. She could not help but admire his handsome face
surrounded by unruly dark hair.
“You are most
kind, miss, but that shall not be necessary. It was a pleasure to
get some…” he glanced at the window with its small leaded panes,
which were being lashed by streaks of heavy rain, “… fresh air. The
coach’s interior was becoming quite stuffy.” He stared somewhat
pointedly towards their travelling companions who were gorging
themselves on the cold fare by the open fire.
“Then at least
let me repay the difference of your journey’s fare. It is not right
you should be inconvenienced as well as out of pocket,” Abigail
persisted.
“Please think
nothing of it. It was the very least I could do.” He smile
pleasantly at her. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain
Joshua Rusk of the Rifles.”
Abigail did not
know how to reply to him as she had not expected him to refuse her
offers. She felt small standing next to him, and quite lost as she
realised her words had perhaps been forward and inappropriate.
The young girl
stood at the side of him. “Begging your pardon, sir… but I wanted
to say thank you for your kindness also.”
“There is no
need. Come let us eat something warm,” he looked at Abigail, “You
must excuse us, unless you would care to join us for a meal?”
“No, my maid is
making arrangements, sir. Thank you all the same.”
He looked at
the girl at his side, whose wide frightened eyes looked curiously
like a rabbit’s, and took her small pink hand and slipped it into
his. “Come, Molly, we shall eat and then find your home.”
“Miss…” Martha
bustled up to her giving the stranger a wary look. “A room is ready
for you now.”
He bowed
slightly to her before walking over to the innkeeper. Abigail saw
him down a tankard of ale and purchase some food and take the young
girl over to a quiet corner of the inn.
Martha gave
Abigail’s arm a nudge. “Talking to strange men in taverns, lass!
Whatever next?”
“You talked
with one not so long ago as I
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