Page 15 of Fair Weather Enemies
“That there is Mr. Gormley. He makes a run from here to Carlisle every week and is known to accept passengers for no fee other than services rendered. The old man is quite daft but harmless.” He lowered his arm to fish a shilling from his pocket and flipped it toward Jane. She snatched it from the air, much to her surprise. “You’ll know what to do with that when the time comes.”
Without another word, Mr. Pugh pivoted on his heels and strode away. Jane watched him go, wondering what had just transpired.
“Very nice, Jane.” She looked aside to find Adam applauding her. “I believe you just made a friend. Or brought home a stray. Difficult to tell.”
She smiled primly at him. “I am not surprised that you don’t know the difference between a friend and a mongrel. What few friends you possess fit neatly into the latter category.”
“Jane!” he exclaimed with mock aggrievement, while clutching his heart theatrically. “How can you utter such disparagement of yourself?”
“Myself? Hah. As I have told you repeatedly, we shall…”
“Never be friends. I know. I know.”
“Very well. As long as you know. Now, I suggest we beg a ride from Mr. Gormley before you forget that as well.”
“After you, Jane.”
As she began threading her way through the flowing throng toward the wagon, Aunt Hester sidled up beside her and leaned close.
“You are awful, Jane.”
“I’m sorry, Auntie. He appears to bring out the worst in me.”
“Oh, I’m not criticizing you, dear. In fact, I wish I possessed half your gumption. Then perhaps I would be more than just a poor old widow.”
Jane shook her head gravely. “Careful what you wish for. You see where my reckless words have gotten me.”
“I certainly have,” said Adam as he stepped past her. She shot him a glare that he could not see. He raised a hand in greeting. “Mr. Gormley, my good man.”
The grizzled man heaved a bale into the wagon before scrutinizing them as one might peruse an approaching mob armed with torches.
“They sent you, didn’t they?”
Adam cocked his head. “Mr. Pugh?”
“No. Not Mr. Pugh. Them.”
Jane stepped before the man. “Who do you mean by ‘them’, Mr. Gormley?”
The older man beckoned with a finger and bowed his head discreetly. She leaned nearer.
“You know,” he whispered. “Them. The angels.”
Adam huffed. “The angels? Why that’s not…”
“Of course,” Jane interrupted. “The angels sent us, suggesting you might entertain passengers.”
Mr. Gormley smiled. “Wonderful. I knew it. And, yes, I do entertain passengers as long as they abide by the rules.”
“The rules, sir?”
“Yes. One, don’t speak to the pigs about politics or religion. It upsets them.”
Commotion from inside the wagon suddenly became clear to Jane. The man was hauling swine. He pressed on without apparently noticing her dawning dismay.
“Two, be prepared to fight off brigands so I might be free to drive the wagon.”
“Brigands?”
