Within moments, they were turning into the yard of the Blue Boar. Camilla let out a sigh of relief. Though she had tried not to let herself think about it, she had been worried that the stranger would not really take her into the village at all, but, realizing the dangers of her being able to identify him, would abandon her on some dark and lonely roador worse.
Now, with a cry, she jerked open the door of the carriage even before they came to a complete stop and jumped down from it. Boy, see to the horses, she called to the ostler, who had started across the yard toward their vehicle. And look to my coachman, too. I fear we may have to send for a doctor.
The ostler came to a dead halt, goggling at her, but Camilla did not notice. She was already hurrying to the front door, her only thought to get safely inside before the stranger atop the chaise could catch up with her.
As soon as she stepped inside the public room, all conversation came to a halt, and everyone swiveled around to stare at her. Camilla stopped short, dismayed at being the focus of so many sets of eyes. In her relief at reaching the Blue Boar, she had forgotten about her appearance, but now those stunned expressions reminded her of just how she looked. Her hand went to her mud-encrusted ringlets, and she glanced down at her wet gown, pressed to her body in a most improper way, one sleeve completely ripped away. A wave of deep red washed up her face to her hairline.
The keeper of the inn, a large, bluff man, started toward her from his post at the tap. Camilla saw him and was swept by relief. Saltings! How glad I am to see you!
She took a step or two forward, then stopped as he said, Here, now, miss, what do you think you be doing? Coming in here like that! This is a decent inn, it is, and weve no use
Saltings! Camilla exclaimed, shaken. Dont you recognize me? Tears of humiliation sprang into her eyes. This seemed the last straw, the perfectly awful end to a perfectly awful daythat Saltings, who had known her all her life, should mistake her for a common doxy. Was he actually going to toss her out?
The man stopped and peered at her. Do I know you?
It is I! Camilla Ferrand! Tears flooded her eyes. She could not hold them back, and they spilled over, coursing a trail through the smear of mud on her cheeks.
Miss Ferrand! he repeated, his jaw dropping. Sweet Lord, what happened? What are you doing here this way?
He went to her, gently taking her arm and steering her toward the smaller private room of the inn, then stopped. Oh, dear, no, theres a gentleman there. He took another glance at Camilla beside him, muddy and disheveled and struggling to hold back her tears, then at the rest of his customers, all staring avidly.
Well, he said with a sigh, theres nothing for it. You cant stay out here, thats for certain.
He rapped sharply on the door to the private room and pushed it open when a mans voice inside answered. I beg your pardon, sir, Saltings said, ushering Camilla inside the room. Im sorry to disturb you, but weve got a bit of a problem here. Theres a lady here, and, well, it wouldnt be right for her to be sitting outside with the common crowd, sir.
Camilla looked across the room, fighting to contain her tears. The gentleman sitting beside the firefor it was just as obvious that he was a gentleman as it had been that the stranger on the heath earlier was a ruffianrose to his feet, his eyebrows lifting in astonishment. He was dressed impeccably, from the crease of his simple yet elegant white neckcloth to the tips of his polished Hessians, and his hair was dressed in a similarly subdued yet fashionable style known as the Brutus.
He took one swift look at Camillas muddied state and said, Precisely, Saltings. You are right. The lady must have the private dining room. The only thing is, I am expecting a visitor Ah, there he is now. And looking, I might add, quite as if he had shared this young ladys adventure.
Camilla swung around at his words. You! she exclaimed with loathing.
There, in the doorway, stood her tormentor.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAN GAVE Camilla a look that left little doubt that he shared her feelings. She straightened, bolstered by his irritation. It was some comfort, at least, to see that he was as filthy, wet and bedraggled as she.
What the devil are you doing here? the man asked roughly. Am I never to be rid of you?
I might say the same about you.
I take it that you two have met, said the gentleman by the fireplace, his voice as smooth and suave as if they were all standing in a London drawing room.
The stranger from the carriage ride grunted and moved into the room. Camilla said icily, I am afraid that we were not properly introduced.
Ah, Benedict. The gentleman sighed. I fear you are ever lacking in manners. He moved forward toward Camilla. Allow me to correct his oversight. I, dear lady, am Jermyn Sedgewick. And this is, ah, Benedict, uh
How do you do, Mr. Sedgewick? I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Camilla replied formally, trying to ignore the absurdity of the polite greeting in contrast to her grubby state of dress. She cast a flashing glance toward the other man. I am sorry I cannot say the same about meeting Mr. Benedict.
Mr. Sedgewick opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He cast a grin toward Benedict. I see you have made your usual charming impression.
Benedicts only reply was a noise resembling a growl. He turned away from both of them, striding over to the fire and holding out his hands to it. Mr. Sedgewick ignored him as he spoke to the innkeeper. Well, Saltings, I think what we need here is a hot rum punch. Why dont you bring us a bowl of it? Ill do the mixing.
Of course, sir.
Saltings bowed out of the room reluctantly. Camilla knew that he had been hoping to hear the details of what had happened to her and Benedict.
Sedgewick turned toward Camilla. Now, Miss?
Forgive me. Here you have been so kind, and I havent even told you my name. I am Camilla Ferrand.
Miss Ferrand. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even under such deplorable conditions. Please come over here by the fire and warm yourself. I am sure you must be quite chilled. He guided her toward the fire and into the chair beside it.
Camilla sank into the chair, grateful for its softness and for the warmth of the fire. She leaned forward, soaking up the heat. Benedict looked at Camilla, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. He withdrew to the other end of the fireplace, turning away from her and planting his elbow on the mantel. Sedgewick glanced from him to Camilla and back again, but he made no comment. The silence stretched out awkwardly.
At last there was a knock on the door, and Saltings bustled in, followed by the tap boy, carrying the inns best silver punch bowl and a trayful of ingredients. They set their loads down on the sideboard, and Saltings fussed around for a bit before Benedict pointedly opened the door for them and gestured a dismissal.
Now, then, Sedgewick said, advancing on the punch bowl. This will fix you right up, Miss Ferrand. Normally, of course, it is not what I would consider giving a young lady such as yourself, but considering the chill of the night and the ordeal youve gone through, I think it will be just the thing to set you up.
He began to mix the punch expertly, adding rum, sugar and lemons until he decided that the hot drink had just the right taste. He handed one silver cup of the mixture to Camilla, and she took the steaming drink gratefully. She had never had as strong a drink as this, for, as Mr. Sedgewick had pointed out, it was not considered a fit drink for women. However, Camilla considered herself no slave to tradition, and she was rather pleased to have the opportunity to sample a little of the sort of drink men consumed. It had a slightly unpleasant taste underlying the fruity sweetness of the punch, but, all in all, it was not as strong or as bad as she would have thought, and it was blessedly warm. The liquid rolled down her throat, warming it all the way, and burst fierily in her stomach. She finished off the cup and decided that she felt better already.