Read Online Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1) by Caroline Ashton - Free Book Online
Authors: Caroline Ashton
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her spine. ‘I doubt anyone will approach me uninvited.’ The flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes should ensure no-one did. She set off towards the archway at a good pace. Out of its shadow, she turned into the High Street.
Ellie’s feet refused to move. She should follow but the master had said not to leave. Patterson reappeared, a brimming tankard clasped in his fist, chuckling from his conversation with mine host.
Ellie hurried towards him. ‘Mr Patterson. Oh, Mr Patterson, sir. Miss Rowena’s gone off in the town.’
Patterson’s interest switched to her from the fresh horse a groom in Tiverton livery was leading out. ‘What?’
‘Miss Rowena’s gone off in the town,’ Ellie repeated.
‘Demn me. Whatever’s bitten the lass?’ Patterson turned to Thaddeus. ‘Here, lad, get after her. You too, Ellie. Tell her we’ll be fit to leave in five minutes. I don’t want no delaying.’
Thaddeus roused himself from watching a sweet-faced maid struggling to manoeuvre a large wicker linen basket through a door. He jogged towards the street, more than pleased to be stretching the muscles in his legs. Cramp still gripped them after hours of the coachman’s encroaching bulk on the box. ‘Come on, Ellie,’ he called over his shoulder. Blushing at his use of her name, Ellie gathered up her skirts and fled after him.
Rowena had made smart progress past the higgledy-piggledy shops lining the High Street. Their rooflines jumped up and down from building to building. Here a newly-tiled roof, steeply sloping, glowed darkly red in the sunshine. There a sagging thatch, murky and stained, looked untouched since Oliver Cromwell had chased through the town after the first King Charles. People milled around, chatting, waving, pursuing their business. Rowena’s bonnet bobbed away ahead.
‘Please, Lord, don’t let her turn into the market,’ Ellie panted, hurrying after Thaddeus.
The market cross rose proudly, if grubbily, above its surroundings on a square of steps. Rowena took one look at the rubbish and the shaky stalls clustered at its foot and swerved off the High Street. Beyond the nearest building a spire, fretted with lacy cravings and bulbous gargoyles, pierced the sky. A church. She would visit it, could visit it, in perfect safety. Such an action was above criticism. After all, she had taken lunch in a churchyard barely two hours ago. The fact that she had been under Patterson’s gaze at the time conveniently slipped her mind.
She stopped at a narrow alleyway between two buildings. Peering along, she saw it led from the street to a low stone wall round a leafy churchyard. ‘Excellent.’ She turned into the alley. A lychgate with a low, thatched roof above twin wooden gates broke the line of the wall at the end of the path. Rowena flicked the wrought iron band fastening the gates together. She swung one aside and marched into the green, dappled shade.
Her feet crunched along a gravel path leading past crosses and tombs to a carved porch. A painted noticeboard proclaimed the Parish Church of St Peter and St Paul. The dark oak door was shut. Rowena turned the heavy handle and pushed. A long aisle stretched away to the carved tracery of the rood screen. She looked up at the heavy ribs of the roof until she turned dizzy. Hands to her face, she recovered herself and walked across to the Lady Chapel. The peace under the arches of the smaller space steadied her. Her pulse began to beat as normal.
Thaddeus and Ellie arrived panting at the door.
‘What’ll we do?’ Ellie gasped, hesitating on the threshold.
‘I dunno. I suppose we’ll have to tell her it’s time to go.’
‘What if she’s a-praying?’
Thaddeus bit a knuckle. ‘We’ll . . . we’ll tell her Mr Patterson says it’s time to go.’ He stepped inside as far as the first arch. Ellie inched in his wake. They peeped round the carved stone.
‘Doesn’t look like she is,’ Thaddeus whispered. ‘She ain’t on her
Ellie’s feet refused to move. She should follow but the master had said not to leave. Patterson reappeared, a brimming tankard clasped in his fist, chuckling from his conversation with mine host.
Ellie hurried towards him. ‘Mr Patterson. Oh, Mr Patterson, sir. Miss Rowena’s gone off in the town.’
Patterson’s interest switched to her from the fresh horse a groom in Tiverton livery was leading out. ‘What?’
‘Miss Rowena’s gone off in the town,’ Ellie repeated.
‘Demn me. Whatever’s bitten the lass?’ Patterson turned to Thaddeus. ‘Here, lad, get after her. You too, Ellie. Tell her we’ll be fit to leave in five minutes. I don’t want no delaying.’
Thaddeus roused himself from watching a sweet-faced maid struggling to manoeuvre a large wicker linen basket through a door. He jogged towards the street, more than pleased to be stretching the muscles in his legs. Cramp still gripped them after hours of the coachman’s encroaching bulk on the box. ‘Come on, Ellie,’ he called over his shoulder. Blushing at his use of her name, Ellie gathered up her skirts and fled after him.
Rowena had made smart progress past the higgledy-piggledy shops lining the High Street. Their rooflines jumped up and down from building to building. Here a newly-tiled roof, steeply sloping, glowed darkly red in the sunshine. There a sagging thatch, murky and stained, looked untouched since Oliver Cromwell had chased through the town after the first King Charles. People milled around, chatting, waving, pursuing their business. Rowena’s bonnet bobbed away ahead.
‘Please, Lord, don’t let her turn into the market,’ Ellie panted, hurrying after Thaddeus.
The market cross rose proudly, if grubbily, above its surroundings on a square of steps. Rowena took one look at the rubbish and the shaky stalls clustered at its foot and swerved off the High Street. Beyond the nearest building a spire, fretted with lacy cravings and bulbous gargoyles, pierced the sky. A church. She would visit it, could visit it, in perfect safety. Such an action was above criticism. After all, she had taken lunch in a churchyard barely two hours ago. The fact that she had been under Patterson’s gaze at the time conveniently slipped her mind.
She stopped at a narrow alleyway between two buildings. Peering along, she saw it led from the street to a low stone wall round a leafy churchyard. ‘Excellent.’ She turned into the alley. A lychgate with a low, thatched roof above twin wooden gates broke the line of the wall at the end of the path. Rowena flicked the wrought iron band fastening the gates together. She swung one aside and marched into the green, dappled shade.
Her feet crunched along a gravel path leading past crosses and tombs to a carved porch. A painted noticeboard proclaimed the Parish Church of St Peter and St Paul. The dark oak door was shut. Rowena turned the heavy handle and pushed. A long aisle stretched away to the carved tracery of the rood screen. She looked up at the heavy ribs of the roof until she turned dizzy. Hands to her face, she recovered herself and walked across to the Lady Chapel. The peace under the arches of the smaller space steadied her. Her pulse began to beat as normal.
Thaddeus and Ellie arrived panting at the door.
‘What’ll we do?’ Ellie gasped, hesitating on the threshold.
‘I dunno. I suppose we’ll have to tell her it’s time to go.’
‘What if she’s a-praying?’
Thaddeus bit a knuckle. ‘We’ll . . . we’ll tell her Mr Patterson says it’s time to go.’ He stepped inside as far as the first arch. Ellie inched in his wake. They peeped round the carved stone.
‘Doesn’t look like she is,’ Thaddeus whispered. ‘She ain’t on her
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