Mina yanked her shoelaces tight as she did her best to gather the scraps of her lost dignity about her. “Go away, Jeremy,” she said in a voice that shook with anger.
He gave a low laugh. “And just how do you propose to return to The Harlot without me?”
“If I must return to that loathsome place, then I shall walk,” she told him through gritted teeth.
“If you must?” he echoed, sounding vastly amused. “My dear sister, is it possible it escaped your notice that you are now the landlady and proprietress of that establishment?”
Between her nerveless fingers, Mina’s shoelace snapped.
4
Mina hobbled around the last bend in the road and leaned heavily against part of a fallen-down stone wall. She had a blister on one heel and was out of breath from the steady uphill climb. She fanned her hot face with her bonnet, which she had finally found, lying under a wooden bench, sadly crushed and dented. No doubt it had been trampled underfoot in the hasty exodus from the church. Her hair was coming down around her ears in straggling rat’s tails and even in this light she could discern streaks of mud at the hem of her skirts. She had long since discarded the delphiniums by pitching them over a stone wall, though Effie’s makeshift scarf was still draped around her neck as likely the redhead would want it back. The silver sixpence she had tucked into her hidden pocket, resisting the impulse to fling it after her bouquet. She could not afford such gestures, she told herself sensibly, even though it did seem an unlucky charm to have about her.
Looking on the bright side, she could at least see the faint lamplight ahead of her from the inn and hear the squeak of its sign swinging to and fro. At the beginning of her climb, she had caught snatches of faint laughter and voices on the path ahead of her, but they had fallen off after a while, leaving her alone to plod on in pitch-black darkness, prey to her own fears. In the distance, she thought she could hear the crash and boom of the sea over the cliffs, but she had not yet caught a glimpse of it.
Who even knew what horrors could lie in wait for her on such a lonely stretch of road? She shivered, thinking of highwaymen and goodness only knew what. Foolish Mina, she upbraided herself, drawing her cloak tighter around her. Afraid of goblins, pixies, and ghosts when you’re a grown woman and should know it is beasts of flesh and blood that pose the biggest risk. One, in particular, sprung to mind and she dashed a forearm across her eyes.
They were tears of thwarted anger, she told herself hastily, that kept filling her eyes. Nothing else and certainly not self-pity. She had wanted to rail and scream at the aggravating Lord Faris, but of course, she had not. Sometimes being raised a perfect lady felt like a real burden. Try as she might, it did not seem to come to her as naturally as it had to dearest Mama.
She tried to imagine now, what Mama would have done if she had been left to tramp miles on foot, alone in the dark, scorned by her own wedding party, and failed. Papa would never have treated her mother in such a fashion. Indeed, he had always shown the most tender-hearted solicitude and consideration toward his spouse. But Nye was as different a man from her own father as chalk and cheese. In truth, she had no-one else to compare him to, she thought having never met such manner of man before.
She wondered what flaming redhead Effie would have done if her ‘man’ had left her like that at the altar, humiliating her in front of all gathered there. Probably screamed and cursed like a fishwife, Mina thought with envy. She would likely have flown at him and clawed his eyes out, spitting and hissing like an angry cat. How she would have liked to have done that! To have picked up her fallen shoe and flung it at his head as hard as she could throw it!
Mina’s bottom lip trembled, and she bit on it until she could taste blood. She hated him. Not Jeremy Vance, but William Nye. The sudden realization brought her up short a moment and she stood a moment shivering in the dark. Why did she blame Nye so much for the debacle? After all, he had been as coerced into their farcical marriage as she.
Maybe that was why she was so angry, she thought, comprehension dawning. She thought there should exist some fellow feeling between them, some kind of sympathy for a fellow sufferer. They had been in the leaky boat of their marriage together, until he had pitched her over the side to the sharks! Yes, that was it, she thought with a decisive nod. That was why she blamed William Nye. Squaring her shoulders, she strode onward, ignoring her sore heel and the dull ache in her chest. She needed to forget all notions of allies or friends. For these days she was quite alone and had none.
By the time she reached The Merry Harlot most of the lamps were extinguished, though she could still hear occasional bursts of merriment from the public barroom. Avoiding that entrance altogether, she skirted the edge of the courtyard and surreptitiously tried another door. For the first time that day, luck was in her favor and the handle turned. Stepping inside with a thankful sigh, she pulled it closed behind her, leaning heavily against it while her eyes accustomed themselves to her surroundings. She seemed to be in another bar, this one a more genteel version with rugs on the floor, upholstered sitting chairs and round tables. Were parlor bars a thing, she wondered with a frown? If so, then The Merry Harlot had one, although, she realized with a sneeze, it was rather dusty and seemed little used. She moved slowly across the room, bumping into little tables as she went.
The only reason she was tiptoeing, she told herself, holding her breath as creaking footsteps crossed the floor above her, was to keep things simple. All she wanted to do, was find her bags and an empty room for the night. She could reopen hostilities on the morn, but for now, she simply wasn’t equal to them. She had risen at six and it was now long past midnight. It had been a long day; she was cold and weary and wanted her bed. When her questing fingers found the door latch on the opposite wall, she slowly levered it open and gazed out into the dim hallway.
There they were! Her trunk and carpetbag had been dumped unceremoniously in the corridor. The trunk was far too heavy and would have to wait until the morrow, but she pounced on her carpetbag and brought the large, ugly piece of luggage to her chest and hugged it as though it were an old friend. She nearly wept with relief at being reunited with it, and that was when she realized she was overwrought and needed the seclusion of a quiet room to collect herself. She didn’t even care about food or washing her face. Just sleep.
Lifting the ribbons of her ruined bonnet, she plunked it on her head and caught sight of her reflection in a large etched mirror on the opposite wall. My God! She looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards! Telling herself there was nothing she could do right now to repair the damage, she headed for the staircase instead.
Three brass candleholders with snuffers were laid out on a side table next to a silver candelabra. Transferring one of the lighted candles into a holder she held it up before her and with a muttered prayer that her luck would hold, started to limp up the stairs, wincing at every step. On the first floor, she found two locked doors and one that opened onto a room strewn with personal belongings and an unmade bed. The fourth room was a bathroom with discolored porcelain tiles and a matching roll top bath with clawed feet. Next to it was a smaller hip bath which would not take so long to fill and a handsome washstand. Opening the last room on that floor, she heard two sets of loud snores and beat a hasty retreat.
There was nothing for it, she would have to go up another flight of stairs. Her heart in her mouth, Mina mounted the steps until she found herself on another landing. This floor seemed a good deal livelier than the first. The first room, she did not try for she could hear a fully-fledged row erupting between its occupants.