The Spare (6 page)

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January 10

Sebastian's carriage drew up before the Crown's Ease, which, so he'd been told, was Far Caister's only inn. A sign hung over the street: a jester leaping through the center of a crown. The innkeeper, standing with one hand on his substantial waist, filled the doorway, watching with quiet eyes as Sebastian descended with McNaught behind him.

"Good afternoon, sir," Sebastian said. He took a breath and waited for the pain to recede. "How's your ale?"

The innkeeper moved out of the doorway, inviting them in with a sweep of his hand. "Good as any in Britain, my Lord."

"A pint then, of your best." Sebastian went inside, McNaught following.

A clean establishment, he noted. The better part of the ground floor was a tavern with, at this hour of the day, only a few patrons, some plainly travelers stopping for a bite to eat before continuing their journey, waited on by a young barmaid. He picked out the locals easily enough. Old men, mostly, enjoying drinks near the fire. There would, of course, be a cellar room for men who made their livings with their hands and backs. For them, rough benches and long tables and a wench who didn't object to supplementing her income in the horizontal. He sat by the window, hat on the table. McNaught made his way farther inside with express orders from Sebastian to find out exactly what the people of Far Caister thought of his brother and of Miss Olivia Willow.

Sebastian looked out the window. The inn, situated on a rise, overlooked part of Far Caister. Streets took the path of least resistance to geography, following no logical plan but convenience of construction. Buildings of dappled stone and neatly maintained roofs of thatch or slate sported doors painted in bright colors, blues and reds or greens. Charming and rustic, but hardly appealing to a man like Andrew.

"Be snowing soon," the innkeeper said, placing a mug before him.

"I haven't seen snow since I joined the Navy." He lifted his ale. "To His Majesty King George III."

"His Majesty. And to your health, my Lord."

"And yours, Mr.… ?"

"Twilling. Titus Twilling, my Lord."

"Your health, Mr. Twilling."

"What do they do for winter if there's no snow?"

"Hurricanes, monsoons and rain." Sebastian sipped his pint again because he knew Twilling wanted his opinion. "Excellent." And it was. Warm and rich, with just a hint of bite at the end. "Local brew?" A boy, fifteen or sixteen, strode into the inn, arms swinging. He stopped short and snatched a cap from a head of jet hair.

"Far Caister's best." The innkeeper caught sight of the boy. "Mickey. Come here, son." He put an arm around the boy's shoulder. "My eldest, my Lord. Michael F. Twilling."

Sebastian nodded. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Twilling."

The boy clutched his cap to his chest and bowed. "My Lord." His feet looked too big for his body, his legs too long, arms and elbows awkward. He wouldn't want to be that age again for all the gold in Christendom.

Twilling chucked his son under the chin and got a narrow-eyed look in return. "He's a right smart, boy. Our own Miss Willow told me so herself."

"Did she?"

"Been teaching Mickey his letters and numbers." Plainly, Twilling was proud of the boy and in high awe of Miss Willow. "And the other children of Far Caister, too. He's a head for figures, Mickey does. Miss Willow borrowed books from Pennhyll for him, she thought he had that much promise. Now he helps me with the accounts. Able, lad. Right able. High spirits, he has, but a good boy."

Mickey squeezed his cap. "Is that your hound outside, my Lord?" He was well-spoken, without much of the local accent.

"Yes."

"He's fine, my Lord. Fine."

"Thank you."

"Do you hunt with him?"

"Not yet." Sebastian considered the boy and tried to remember if he'd ever been so raw in his life. "Do you mind, Mr. Twilling, if I have a word with young Master Twilling? A moment only, and then he may go about his duties."

The innkeeper nodded. "Mind your manners, Mickey F."

"Aye, sir." He turned to Sebastian. "My Lord?"

"Sit down, if you like." The boy shook his head. "Miss Willow taught you your letters and numbers."

"She did, my Lord." Mickey pressed his cap to his heart, his cheeks flushed from something more than cold. Adoration, Sebastian thought. Well, he was at that age, after all, when women fascinated and enthralled and utterly awed. He did remember that. The shaky, thrilling, bumbling first encounter. A pretty woman like Miss Willow, with her grace and manner would seem a goddess to a boy like Mickey, the subject of fevered male fantasy. "And others of us from Far Caister, too."

"I hope you study diligently."

"Aye, my Lord."

"Did you often see her with my brother?"

"No, sir."

"He never visited during your lessons?"

"Once, sir."

"Then you did see her with him."

"But he came with the vicar, Mr. Verney. And left alone, my Lord."

He made an effort to soften his voice. "Do you think Miss Willow was fond of him?"

"We all thought she would marry him, my Lord." His eyes flashed. "And that he wanted to marry her."

"How could that be when he was already married?"

Mickey squeezed the life out of his cap. "He wasn't then. It was after Miss Willow was hurt he up and married Miss Alice. Mrs. Verney, now, of course."

He hoped he gave no sign of his momentary confusion. "Miss Willow and Mr. Verney courted?" He curled his palms around his mug.
Never loved and never in love
, she had said. And here a broken romance. Broken why? On account of Andrew? Or something else? "They did not marry, though. What happened?"

Mickey shrugged.

"Had Mrs. Verney a better fortune?"

"Miss Alice? Not much, sir."

"Then why do you suppose? You may be frank with me."

The boy's eyes narrowed. He squeezed his cap, chewing on his lower lip. "He was afraid she'd be crippled like her mother, that's what I think."

"Ah." He wondered if Mickey was right. Had the good vicar of Far Caister thrown her over when it seemed she might not fully recover her health? Craven if true.

The boy returned Sebastian's solemn gaze. "When I heard what happened at Pennhyll that night, that she might die, I prayed for her." He straightened. "I prayed for her, my Lord, and she didn't die. And she wasn't crippled like her mother, either."

"What do people say about that night?"

Mickey shook his head. " 'Twas a terrible thing, my Lord. Some say the Black Earl did it."

"What do you think?"

He shrugged. "No one from Far Caister could have done it, that's sure."

"Does Miss Willow still teach you?"

"We're on holiday while she's at Pennhyll. Did you really capture twenty pirate ships?"

"Twenty at once?"

"Aye, sir. And sail them all against the Spanish."

"There were five. We sank one and lost another to fire. I got men on the others once we had them in hand and sailed to Tortuga where we settled a disagreement with a few Spaniards."

"But they were pirate ships?"

"They were."

"I wish I'd been there to see it."

"How often does Miss Willow hire a horse from you?"

The boy lifted one shoulder, wary now, seeing danger before him, which piqued Sebastian's interest. Twilling was right. Mickey was a bright boy. "Once in a while."

"Regularly?"

"No, sir. Just sometimes."

"Where does she go?"

"I don't know, my Lord."

"How long is she gone?"

"She always comes back the same day." He clutched his hat by the rim, turning it in a circle.

"When did she last hire a horse?"

"T'other day."

"When, exactly?"

"Wednesday, my Lord."

"And you've no idea what she does nor whom she visits?"

"No, sir. It's her own business when she rides out, sir."

"Indeed, that is so." Sebastian took a crown from his pocket and gave it to him. "Thank you. Good day to you, Master Twilling."

"Miss Willow is a good teacher. She's kind. And a lady." The boy placed the coin on the table. "I'll never say otherwise."

"Nevertheless, thank you for your candor." Miss Willow, it seemed, possessed a talent for inspiring strong emotion in men of all ages. "May I trouble you to fetch my valet for me? You'll find him downstairs, I believe." He pushed the coin toward the edge of the table. "For your trouble."

Mickey bowed. "My Lord." He left the coin on the table.

The innkeeper reappeared after his son left. Sebastian, with a contented sigh, for the ale was excellent, pushed his empty pint across the table. "I thank you, Mr. Twilling. You have a fine establishment."

"Honored to serve you, my Lord."

When McNaught appeared from the back of the tavern, Sebastian rose. Inside the carriage, with the curtains drawn, McNaught patted his belly and said, "A charming village."

"What did you learn?"

"Your brother was well-liked."

"Mm."

"They're in high awe of you. Fighting off pirates at every turn, making men tell all their secrets with nothing but one look from eyes like daggers."

Sebastian snorted. "What of Miss Olivia Willow?"

"She is much admired." McNaught ticked off his findings, listing little Sebastian had not himself learned or surmised.

"Yes," he said when McNaught concluded with the story of Miss Willow's broken engagement. "The good vicar of Far Caister who could have married Miss Willow and did not." He frowned. "See that Mr. Verney and his wife are invited to Pennhyll this afternoon."

"My Lord."

With a sigh, he tried to ease his position, but there was no comfortable way to sit. "I cannot imagine Andrew giving up London for Far Caister." His ribs ached with a fierce heat. "Unless, of course, there was a woman involved."

"You need rest, my Lord."

"No, I don't."

"I'll prepare a tonic as soon as we're home."

"Splendid." But he didn't smile when he said it.

Later that afternoon, Sebastian waved off another offer of bread and butter from Diana. The taste of McNaught's potion lingered. The vicar and his very young wife made an interesting pair. Mr. Verney must have been nearing forty, a bit round about the middle, his hair thinning. But he had a ready smile and intelligent eyes. Clearly, he held his wife in great affection. And why not, when Mrs. Verney was a pretty woman with blond ringlets and brown eyes who adored her husband? She was not, however, Miss Willow's equal in manner or deportment, that he must allow. Mrs. Verney lacked something when compared to Olivia Willow. Grace, he thought. Intelligence. Wit. Quality, and all that one meant by the word.

"Shall we walk in the gallery?" Sebastian asked. James could be counted on to entertain Miss Willow while he cornered the vicar, and Diana and Mrs. Verney seemed to have hit well together. At first opportunity, Sebastian stepped next to Mr. Verney and said, "May I ask you about my brother?"

"A fine man," Verney said. "I was proud to know him." The clergyman's spirit might be in the heavens, but the rest of him stood on terra firma. A match between Miss Willow and the vicar was not as farfetched as he'd originally thought. Verney had to know Miss Willow was superior in every way that mattered. So why had he settled for less? Perhaps Mickey was wrong and the choice had not been his. He slowed, Verney alongside him, until the others were several feet ahead. "Andrew and I wrote each other, of course, but I've been at sea all these years. It was a shock to learn of his death, coming so soon after our father. To say nothing of the manner in which he died."

"Of course, of course."

"I feel I didn't know him at all."

"How may I help you, my Lord?" He smiled in an encouraging manner. "Spiritual guidance? Or something else? Surely not guilt over his passing?"

He paused before a gold-framed saint. He knew enough about art to recognize a Giotto when he saw one. Why would any man lucky enough to engage Miss Willow's affections not do whatever it took to keep them? She would have been an admirable wife for a man of Verney's station in life. In fact, he strongly suspected she would have been a far better match than Verney would otherwise have hoped to make. Mrs. Verney was proof of that. Why her when he might have had Miss Willow? He wondered which of them broke it off. With a glance at Verney, he said, "What was he like? What sort of man had he become?"

"One we all admired."

"I understand he took an interest your school."

Verney's eyebrows lifted. "He did. I approached him about subscribing the school, helping us find a location other than Miss Willow's parlor, contributing to expenses and the like, and engaging Miss Willow as our permanent instructress. He not only agreed, he condescended to observe a class. I can tell you, the children and Miss Willow made us proud that day."

"You worked closely with her on the endeavor." Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled, the clergyman at his side. Had Verney ever kissed Miss Willow? Had he known the feel of her mouth or the texture of her skin? Bastard if he had and then jilted her. Fool if he had.

"Once the subscription committee agreed on the particulars, indeed, I did." He sighed. "Our grand plans came to naught after your brother passed on. But Miss Willow continues to teach the children when she can." Sebastian could see what was coming a mile off. He waited while Verney, with a grin, said, "With your help, we might revive the idea of a permanent school. And do a good turn by Miss Willow, who surely deserves a steadier income than she now has for her efforts."

"Yes." Sebastian remembered to smile. "A school seems a worthy cause. I'm sure whatever my brother approved is more than satisfactory."

"You won't regret your generosity." His eyes twinkled. "I'll inform the committee straight away. What a celebration we shall have. A happy day for us all. Ah, but you asked to speak about your brother, not be dunned for every charity in the parish. What else may I tell you?"

"To be honest, what you've told me so far, sir, does not sound like the brother I knew. He was a man of many parts, but I cannot imagine him taking an interest in your school." He slowed because his body protested the distance of their walk. "My father despaired of him."