Chloe shook her head. "No, thank you. I think I'll go upstairs and lie down. I feel rather tired."
When Crispin Belmont appeared in the courtyard the following morning, Samuel called Chloe down from her room. "Ye've a visitor, miss."
"Oh? Who?" The question was lethargic and Samuel silently cursed his employer, who had to bear the responsibility for the girl's heavy-eyed pallor. She'd also returned to the brown serge, which didn't improve matters. A diversion of some kind would do her a world of good.
"That relative of your'n." He gestured with his head to the open door.
"I'm not sure I want to see him," she said, turning back to the stairs.
"Don't be foolish," he said roughly. "It'll do ye good. Can't mope around up there all the livelong day."
"I don't see why not."
"Oh, don't you?" Samuel abruptly decided that his
role as watchdog needed expansion. "Now, you get along out there, miss, an' talk to your relative. Downright rude it is to refuse to see a visitor. I don't know what Sir 'Ugo would say."
"And we're not likely to find out," Chloe muttered, but she went out to the courtyard.
Crispin had already dismounted and held a large bouquet of wildflowers. He offered them with a smile as she came up to him.
Not accidentally, he'd hit upon a happy choice. Cultivated flowers found no favor with Chloe, but the natural melange of color in the bunch of foxgloves, pimpernel, bindweed, and bugloss drew a cry of delight from her. "Oh, they're lovely. Did you pick them yourself?" "On the way here," he said. "Do you remember making daisy chains? You once made me a crown and collar."
Chloe frowned. She didn't remember-in fact, from what she did remember of Crispin, it seemed rather unlikely. However, she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt and said, "Vaguely."
She felt sufficiently in charity with him to consider inviting him into the kitchen, and then remembered Hugo's voice telling Jasper he wasn't welcome in his house. Presumably, the prohibition applied to Crispin also.
"Would you like a cup of water?" she offered, gesturing to the pump. "It must have been a hot ride." It was the only hospitality available to her, but Crispin looked as neat and cool as if he hadn't ridden the seven miles from Shipton.
"Thank you no," he said. "But I'd like to walk with you. How aboutwe take the dog across the field?"
Dante heard the magic word and emitted a short, excited bark, his tail waving.
Chloe frowned. "I'll have to ask Samuel."
"The servant? For permission?" Crispin sounded genuinely shocked.
"He runs the household," she said. "While Sir Hugo is… is away."
"Oh. Where's he gone?" Crispin asked casually, bending to pat Dante.
"Into Manchester," Chloe said.
"How long will he be away?"
Chloe realized she was not prepared to admit she didn't know. "Just a day," she said. "I'll go and talk to Samuel."
Crispin watched her run into the house and wondered why she'd reverted to the hideous serge and the clumpy boots. He didn't much fancy a walk through the fields with quite such a dowdy companion. But his instructions were clear, so he waited for her return with an eager smile pinned to his lips.
Samuel's negative had been unequivocal and Chloe returned disconsolate. "He has to obey Sir Hugo," she explained. "It wouldn't be fair to press him to do otherwise."
Crispin put a good face on it. "Let's sit in the sun, then." He led his horse over to Chloe's rain barrel and hitched himself boyishly onto the low wall beside it.
Crispin kept up a cheerful flow of friendly conversation for half an hour before taking his leave. Chloe was thoughtful as she returned to the house. There was something about him that jarred on her-a false note somewhere-but she couldn't put her finger on it, and it seemed ungenerous to look for faults when he was going to so much trouble to entertain her. And if anyone needed entertainment and something to divert her thoughts, she did.
rlugo stirred heavily in the deep featherbed. He drew in the stale reek of beer and bodies as he rolled onto his back. Groaning, he flung his arm over the soft mound of flesh beside him. Betsy snuffled and turned her plump body sideways, burrowing deeper into the feathers. Still only half conscious, Hugo smiled in vague warmth and gave her a couple of friendly pats before making more purposefully suggestive movements.
Betsy moaned in halfhearted protest but lent herself as she always did. It was her job, and this customer was gentler and more regular than most, and paid with a generous hand.
Afterward, Hugo lapsed once more into unconsciousness, coming to an hour later with a horrid jerk into heavy-limbed, aching wakefulness. Betsy had left the bed and was lighting the candles. 'Time to go, luv," she said.
Her petticoat was grubby, barely covering her ample breasts and riding high on her chunky calves, but her smile was friendly. "Got other customers. Can't make a livin' lyin' 'ere with you 'til mornin', now, can P"
Hugo closed his eyes, filled with a terrifying emptiness. If he was alone, the void would swallow him.
"Come back to bed," he said. "I'll pay you for the rest of the night."
"Can't," Betsy said firmly. "The bed's promised to Sal now. We takes it in turns, and now it's my turn for the street corners. It's not so bad in summer, but it gets right parky on a winter night." She chuckled expansively and bent to the tarnished copper plate that served as a mirror, pulling a comb through her tangles. "Fair do's, luv. Sal an' me 'ave worked it like this for a year now."
Hugo struggled up. His hands shook and the iron band around his head tightened ominously. He looked around the room with a flash of desperation.
" 'Ere." Betsy handed him a brandy bottle in instant
comprehension. "There's a drop in there. It'll keep the crawlers at bay."
Hugo downed the contents and his hands steadied, the incipient pain died. "Come home with me." There was a pleading note in his voice. "I can't be alone, Betsy. I'll pay you for the night and it'll be a lot more comfortable than street corners." He attempted a cajoling smile, but all his facial muscles were stiff.
"And 'ow'U I get back then?" Betsy frowned at him.
"I'll make sure you do," he promised. "Please, Betsy. I promise you won't lose on it."
She shrugged plump shoulders. "Well, why not. But I'll want a guinea for die 'ole night. And some extra for the inconvenience, mind."
"Whatever you say." He stood up slowly, ready for the violent swinging of the room around him. It steadied and he picked up his coat, hanging over a chair, feeling through the pockets. "Here, be a good girl and buy another bottle of that gut rot from your friend downstairs while I get dressed."
Betsy took the coin and went out in her petticoat. It wasn't her business if a customer chose to drink himself into an early grave.
Hugo pulled on his britches, concentrating hard on every little movement. If he didn't allow his mind to wander from the minute details of the present, the void wouldn't swallow him.
Betsy came back with the brandy and he took another deep swallow. He felt stronger immediately and a happy tingle of warmth spread through him, sending the demons back where they came from.
He escorted Betsy, his arm around her shoulders, down the stairs and to the mews where his horse was stabled. "You don't mind riding pillion, do you, Betsy, my love?" he said with a chuckle, slapping her ample rear in friendly punctuation.
"I don't, but the 'orse might," Betsy responded with an answering chuckle. " 'Elp me up, then."
Hugo heaved her upward and then mounted in front of her. The horse was well rested and stood firm beneath the combined weight. Hugo pulled the bottle from inside his coat and took a long pull, then clicked his tongue and nudged his mount's flanks. He couldn't remember how long he'd been away from Denholm. Several days, he guessed. But it hardly mattered.