Read Online Black Heather by Virginia Coffman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Virginia Coffman
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hastily. “I am aware of—of what is said.”
“And yet you allow me to share this little stroll in your company. You must be the only person in this benighted town beside my niece, Elspeth, who thinks me innocent.”
“Really, you are behaving absurdly. I am not responsible for those who share the street with me.” The lovely crispness of the morning, which I had admired a short while before, had crept in between the wide mesh of my shawl, and I was growing colder by the minute. I wanted to hurry on back to a warm breakfast at Sedley House, but I was less than halfway up the hill, and my pace had been so rapid that it would not be possible to continue with equal haste. At that propitious moment we came opposite the Owl of York, which was exuding its steamy warmth and camaraderie to all who passed.
“Do come in, pretty Kate. Be my protectress. Give me consequence by your company.”
What as Irish wheedler he was! But it was not flattering to be called the protectress of a suspected murderer who was surely of twice my proportions.
“I cannot possibly. I am awaited at Sedley House.” Even as I spoke, I thought of the cold, silent house as it had been when I left it a little while ago. Mrs. Sedley always slept late, because of her discomfort and broken slumber. As for her granddaughter, I had rather enter a lion’s den with Patrick Kelleher than sit at table with that rude young woman.
Patrick read my thoughts rather neatly. “You’ll not be telling me you prefer the cool, cutting tongue of my niece, Elspeth?”
“She is your friend, sir. You had best be grateful.”
“Grateful to further orders, my lass. Do come. See? The hostess is beckoning to you.”
I peered in beyond the passage, to where a pair of china lamps burned at either end of the taproom, and saw how the light glinted off the red - gold hair of the tavern mistress. She was a short woman of thirty or so and must once have been beautiful. She was still exceedingly pretty. It did not seem to me that she was beckoning, but she was certainly staring at me, and suddenly the street where I stood seemed to catch the full blast of the mist-laden wind off the moors.
Well, I thought, what harm can come of it? I will tell Father and Mama when I go home, and they will understand. Beside all else, I can demonstrate in this manner how competent I am to handle such awkward occasions .
I allowed myself to be ushered into the passage, which was so steamy after the brisk weather of the street that I found my nose and upper lip suddenly perspiring.
I soon saw and heard it clearly demonstrated—not that I was competent to care for myself, but, on the contrary, that Patrick Kelleher had lied to me when he had said that all the village and everyone in the public house believed him guilty of murder. Quite different was the truth. He seemed obviously a well-known and popular figure in here, at least with those who greeted him. Various black-clad men and women clapped him on the back, made as if to cuff him, and asked if he was going to drink them all under the rail.
“Jassy, set up a rumfustian f or the lad and his bonny lass,” commanded a big fellow, hammering on the rail for the attention of the red-haired woman. She glanced from Patrick to me, her tawny brows raised. I did not feel comfortable under that look or in my present situation. In the general greetings, I could see that I was presumed to be some female whom the Irishman had acquired, heaven knew where!
This was bad enough, but I began to be increasingly sure that the red-haired tavern mistress was an intimate of Patrick Kelleher and, absurdly enough, as it seemed to me, was jealous of my arrival in his company. Yielding to his taunts and coaxing had been a bad mistake on my part. I must find a way out that would not place me in an even more invidious position.
“It really is growing late. I am expected elsewhere,” I lied, begging pardon of the big men who surrounded me and appeared to overpower
“And yet you allow me to share this little stroll in your company. You must be the only person in this benighted town beside my niece, Elspeth, who thinks me innocent.”
“Really, you are behaving absurdly. I am not responsible for those who share the street with me.” The lovely crispness of the morning, which I had admired a short while before, had crept in between the wide mesh of my shawl, and I was growing colder by the minute. I wanted to hurry on back to a warm breakfast at Sedley House, but I was less than halfway up the hill, and my pace had been so rapid that it would not be possible to continue with equal haste. At that propitious moment we came opposite the Owl of York, which was exuding its steamy warmth and camaraderie to all who passed.
“Do come in, pretty Kate. Be my protectress. Give me consequence by your company.”
What as Irish wheedler he was! But it was not flattering to be called the protectress of a suspected murderer who was surely of twice my proportions.
“I cannot possibly. I am awaited at Sedley House.” Even as I spoke, I thought of the cold, silent house as it had been when I left it a little while ago. Mrs. Sedley always slept late, because of her discomfort and broken slumber. As for her granddaughter, I had rather enter a lion’s den with Patrick Kelleher than sit at table with that rude young woman.
Patrick read my thoughts rather neatly. “You’ll not be telling me you prefer the cool, cutting tongue of my niece, Elspeth?”
“She is your friend, sir. You had best be grateful.”
“Grateful to further orders, my lass. Do come. See? The hostess is beckoning to you.”
I peered in beyond the passage, to where a pair of china lamps burned at either end of the taproom, and saw how the light glinted off the red - gold hair of the tavern mistress. She was a short woman of thirty or so and must once have been beautiful. She was still exceedingly pretty. It did not seem to me that she was beckoning, but she was certainly staring at me, and suddenly the street where I stood seemed to catch the full blast of the mist-laden wind off the moors.
Well, I thought, what harm can come of it? I will tell Father and Mama when I go home, and they will understand. Beside all else, I can demonstrate in this manner how competent I am to handle such awkward occasions .
I allowed myself to be ushered into the passage, which was so steamy after the brisk weather of the street that I found my nose and upper lip suddenly perspiring.
I soon saw and heard it clearly demonstrated—not that I was competent to care for myself, but, on the contrary, that Patrick Kelleher had lied to me when he had said that all the village and everyone in the public house believed him guilty of murder. Quite different was the truth. He seemed obviously a well-known and popular figure in here, at least with those who greeted him. Various black-clad men and women clapped him on the back, made as if to cuff him, and asked if he was going to drink them all under the rail.
“Jassy, set up a rumfustian f or the lad and his bonny lass,” commanded a big fellow, hammering on the rail for the attention of the red-haired woman. She glanced from Patrick to me, her tawny brows raised. I did not feel comfortable under that look or in my present situation. In the general greetings, I could see that I was presumed to be some female whom the Irishman had acquired, heaven knew where!
This was bad enough, but I began to be increasingly sure that the red-haired tavern mistress was an intimate of Patrick Kelleher and, absurdly enough, as it seemed to me, was jealous of my arrival in his company. Yielding to his taunts and coaxing had been a bad mistake on my part. I must find a way out that would not place me in an even more invidious position.
“It really is growing late. I am expected elsewhere,” I lied, begging pardon of the big men who surrounded me and appeared to overpower
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