Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

Patrick’s idea of proper travel attire for Madeline turned out to be a collection of outerwear he stole from the other clerks’ offices. Overtop her ruined dress, she wore her pale blue pelisse, a man’s morning coat that smelled faintly of pipe smoke, and a different man’s great coat that was so large she had to roll up the sleeves and lift the hem when she walked.

She had Patrick’s tragic little scrap of tartan wrapped around her shoulders and tucked into the top of the great coat, the collar popped against the chill. She completed the odd look with a pair of wool mitts and her winter bonnet that did little to keep the cold off her ears.

With each stop the coach made on the journey south, Madeline’s anxiety grew. This was madness. Why did she let Patrick talk her into this? Impetuous. Childish. Irresponsible. Dangerous. She ought to turn around. What would Rosalie say where she appeared on her doorstep? What would her mother say when she realized Madeline was gone?

It didn’t help that a journey that should have taken six hours instead took nearly eight. The weather was terrible—sleeting rain on slippery roads. They changed out the horses twice as often due to the harsh conditions and freezing temperatures.

Those two extra hours did nothing to quell Madeline’s growing anxiety. By the time she stepped out of the coach in Finchley, she was physically and emotionally exhausted. But there was no turning back now.

She stumbled her way into the Blue Lady, the little inn at the corner of the high street. She’d seen the inn in passing before, but never ventured inside. It felt daring to do so now without a chaperone. Daring, and necessary, for is she stayed outside in this chill, she would likely freeze solid.

The inn had a little front room scattered with a few tables. Only one was occupied with two men playing a game of cribbage. They hardly even glanced her way as she entered. Their table sat closest to the crackling fire. A haze of sweetly floral pipe smoke floated above their heads.

At the far end of the room, a long bar was built into the wall. A woman stood behind it, wiping bottles down with a rag. Madeline had to assume she was the innkeeper. She stepped forward, clearing her throat. “Um…excuse me? I think I may need a little assistance.”

The innkeeper pursed her lips, surveying Madeline with keen eyes, no doubt taking in her strange attire. “More than a little, I’d say, miss. You lost?”

“I…not lost, no,” Madeline admitted, her voice breathy and weak with fatigue. “I just came in on the London coach and I need to get to Alcott Hall.”

She eyed her too-large coat and fuzzy grey mitts. “They expecting you up at the great house then?”

“I…no,” she murmured. “But I know the duchess,” she added lamely.

The innkeeper hmph’d under her breath. “Everyone knows the duchess ‘round here. I dare say everyone in England knows her.”

“She’s a friend,” said Madeline. “I am her friend. She knows me well. Please, if someone could take me to the house, you’d see I am known there.”

The innkeeper’s frown deepened. “You got two legs, don’t ya? It’s not even a mile up the road,” she added with a jut of her chin in the direction of the house.

Madeline bit down on her bottom lip, fighting the urge to cry. Of course, she ought to walk. It was ridiculous to think she could travel eight hours on her own and not manage the last three quarters of a mile. And she knew the way well enough. She’d walked it many times in the summer she spent here.

How this old innkeeper would laugh when she heard the truth. Madeline didn’t want to walk because she was afraid of the dark. She’d never walked outside at night before. Not alone, certainly. And never outside the bounds of a well-lit garden. Now she was expected to confidently stride through the dark forest like Robin of the Hood? It was unthinkable.

She should have thought this through. She should have never left home. Damn Patrick and his harebrained schemes! Why was she always letting him drag her into trouble? Never again. Madeline was resolved. Patrick Blaire would never trick her into a foolhardy scheme again.

As if her inner turmoil were a book with open pages, the innkeeper read her and sighed. “Fine. Wait here, miss.” Slapping down her rag, she walked the length of the bar and disappeared through a side door. Within minutes, she came back with an elderly man in tow. “This is Harry, miss. He’ll bring you up to Alcott in his hay cart, so long as you don’t mind sharing a seat.”

Madeline shook her head. “No, I—that’s fine.” She fought her blush as she added, “I can’t pay you, sir.” The trip south had taken all the money Patrick gave her. She’d be showing up at Alcott Hall in the dark of night with empty pockets…pockets that weren’t even hers.

“Tis no trouble, miss,” the man replied with a toothy smile. “Give me a min to finish hookin’ up the gals, and we’ll be on our way. Meet me ‘round the back.”

Madeline watched the old man’s hitched gate as he hobbled off through a side door.

“Harry is good folk,” said the innkeeper. “He’ll see you get up there safe and sound. You have any luggage?”

Madeline shook her head, suppressing a shiver as a gust of wintery wind blew in through the open door. The men playing cribbage were taking their leave.

“Best head on ‘round back then,” said the innkeeper.

Madeline murmured her thanks, following the point of the lady’s hand towards a dimly lit corner of the room. She moved quickly, giving the door a tug. It inched open on squeaky hinges, revealing a narrow little hall stacked high with various foodstuffs and barrels. There was no light, only the flickering of a torch through the partially open back door.

Madeline did her best not to disturb anything, feeling with one hand while the other lifted the hem of the monstrously oversized great coat. She made it all the way to the back door before tripping on a wicker basket. Her coat snagged and she all but tumbled out into the back yard, trying to catch herself with a shriek.

“Easy there, young miss,” said Harry, reaching out a bony but strong arm to help steady her.

She blinked in the harsh torchlight, letting her eyes adjust to the new scene. The back of the inn had a little courtyard, built in on three sides with storage buildings. Across the way, a large set of double doors were flung open, leading into a barn. A pair of torches burned, casting flickering light and long shadows over everything.

The shadows were made worse by the looming presence of a massive hay cart. Well, perhaps the cart itself was of perfectly average size. But the towering pile of hay strapped down with a tarp stretched nearly as high as the roof of the barn. Out front of the cart, a pair of large draft horses stood in their harnesses. They were a beautiful caramel color, with fluffy white feet that stomped and squelched in the slick mud.

There was an odd sort of poetry to a day starting and ending with a hay cart.

“Watch yer step, missy,” said Harry, offering out his arm. “Hope yeh don’t mind a bit of squash up.”

She kept hold of her coat with one hand, linking her arm in with his as he led her through the mud towards the front of the cart.

“Old Jane says yeh got no boxes wi’ ye?”

“No,” she murmured, her jaw tight to stop her teeth from chattering.

He raised a fuzzy white brow at her. “Were yeh robbed by highwaymen?”

Madeline fought a groan., trying to think of a suitable excuse. “I…my…my effects are forthcoming.”

“Forthcoming?”

She nodded, following his lead as he gestured for her to climb onto the high cart seat. “Yes, I traveled ahead of my luggage,” she said, spinning the lie as she clambered up, careful not to snag her coat. “My trunks arrive tomorrow direct to Alcott.”

“Well then,” was his only response.

He waited a moment down in the mud while Madeline settled herself on the rickety cart seat. It was little more than a pair of roughhewn boards nailed together. She snatched for her coat tails, wrapping them around her legs to make as much room for the farmer as possible.

In moments, Harry was scrambling up with the energy of a much younger man.

Had she ever been alone with a man outside members of her family? She worried her bottom lip thinking on it as old Harry settled next to her, unwrapping the thick leather reins from their tie down. The pair of draft horses were already shifting in their harnesses.

“Get up,” he called with a soft slap of the reins.

The cart jerked into motion and Madeline gasped, gripping to the seat with one hand as the tower of swaying hay behind them rustled. The sound of heavy hooves, turning wheels, and rattling harnesses broke the stillness of the night.

“Hold up there, Harry!” called a deep voice.

Madeline nearly jumped out of her skin as the massive form of a man emerged from the darkness on her other side. She cried out, pressing back against Harry as the stranger tried to catch himself, all but falling on top of her.

“Damn—shit—who the bloody hell is this?” he grunted in that deep voice, using the seat’s back to push himself away from her.

Harry barked a laugh. “I thought yeh weren’t comin’.”

“Changed my mind,” the man replied, eyes still only for Madeline. “Harry, who is this?”