Page 48 of A Lady's Past
“May, what did the Frenchman look like?” The rumble of excitement started in Jacques’s gut.
She pulled a sour face. “Tall as the doorway with brown hair and eyes, though not kind eyes like yours. He was a wicked one, I could tell. Made Mr. Innis wait on them, I did.”
“A wise decision. Have you seen either of them since?”
Across the common room, Preston spoke with Mr. Innis before heading toward Jacques and the server.
“That’s why I stopped you, sir. I saw them before I came to work today. They were in Billy’s cart and turned into Sally Wendell’s boardinghouse just before dark.”
“Who is Sally Wendell and where is her boardinghouse?” It took all of Jacques’s restraint to keep from jumping for joy.
May shrugged. “Sally is a widow. Keeps a clean house and boards travelers who don’t want all the hubbub of the inn.”
Preston heard only the last bit but must have guessed from Jacques’s expression that the news was promising. “Where is the boardinghouse?”
“It’s just up the lane a mile or so. The drive is on the left when you pass through town.” May blushed up at Preston. She didn’t likely speak to dukes very often in her capacity as a server at the run-down Wastrel Inn.
Mr. Innis looked over and frowned. He started toward them, but a couple of drunks stopped him with some foolery.
“May, you have been a great help.” Jacques handed her a pound sterling. “I would hide this away before your employer arrives, and not speak of this to anyone.”
She gaped at the coin in her palm before ferreting it away in the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you, sir. You can’t know what that will mean to my family.”
Extricating himself from the drunks, Innis finally arrived by the stairs.
Preston said, “Miss May, the food was very good. Thank you.”
Puffed up like a pigeon, Innis grinned. “I’m so glad you liked it, Your Grace.”
“It has revived us, Mr. Innis. In fact, we are ready to be on our way. Of course, we’ll pay you for the room.” Preston handed Innis some coin.
“But, Your Grace, you should rest, and this is far too much for one room.” Innis looked genuinely confused by the amount of money in his hand.
“Consider it extra for such fine brandy and soup.”
Jacques handed the remaining brandy to the innkeeper, smiled at May and followed Preston out of the Wastrel Inn.
Their horses had been fed and watered, but it would be foolish to ride them hard after such a long day without rest. Mrs. Wendell’s boardinghouse was not far. They rode the horses down the road at a walk, and ten minutes later they turned down the lane May had indicated.
“How do you suggest we approach? Shall we storm the front door or sneak about?” Preston kicked his horse into a slow trot to pull up beside Jacques.
“I suggest we knock on the door,” Jacques said. “We may have a better chance with the proprietress if we are direct and polite.”
“And if Caron is within?”
“Then we storm the house and capture him. If he should die in the process, I would not mourn his loss.” Jacques let the rage roll through him before discarding it for a calmer head.
“No. I don’t imagine you would.”
The looming stone house was surrounded by woods. The snow-covered yard showed several carts, horses and people had been through in the last few hours. They couldn’t know if any of those cart tracks belonged to Mr. Farmer.
They tied the horses to a long post near a walkway paved with small stones. Those stones made it difficult to approach without making any noise. Perhaps that was wise on the proprietress’s part.
Preston rapped the knocker.
Brisk footsteps echoed inside before a woman in her midthirties opened the door. “How may I help you gentlemen?”
“Are you Mrs. Wendell?” Preston put on the smile he used whenever dealing with women he wished to charm. It had been a while since Jacques had seen the expression.
