Wrede, Patricia C - Mairelon 01 (11 page)

           
Dinner
was waiting, and if the stew was thick enough to cut with a knife and the
potatoes in it were so well cooked that they came apart at the touch of a
spoon, Kim did not mind at all. Mairelon was either pickier or preoccupied; he
settled himself on the bottom step of the wagon with a full dish and a spoon,
but ate so slowly that Kim was halfway through her second bowl before he
finished a quarter of his own.

           
When Kim
paused long enough to notice this curious behavior, she glanced at Hunch. He
was frowning and nibbling delicately on the left half of his mustache whenever
he looked in Mairelon's direction. That was enough for Kim. She moved to a
conveniently situated rock, rattled her spoon against the side of her dish, and
when Mairelon glanced up, said, "What's got you so nattered, then?"

           
"Henry
Bramingham," Mairelon said. He took a spoonful of stew and looked down at
his bowl with a frown of annoyance. "It's gone cold."

           
"If
you'd of eaten it right off, you wouldn't of noticed," Kim said without
sympathy. "Who's this Bramingham cove?"

           
"Henry
Bramingham is the son of Charles Bramingham and Harriet St. Clair
Bramingham," Mairelon answered. Hunch made a strangled noise, and Mairelon
looked up.
"Yes, exactly."

           
"Exactly what?"
Kim said, thoroughly exasperated.

           
"Exactly
the problem," Mairelon said. "Harriet, you see, is the sister of
Gregory St. Clair. And the Baron has, shall we say, very little liking for your
obedient."

           
"E's
the one as called in the Runners," Hunch said darkly.
"
And
gave 'em Master Richard's name."

           
"So
we think," Mairelon said. "He's also something of a wizard, and well
known for his interest in unusual magical objects. If young Henry turns the
platter over to his uncle, and I can think of no reason why he shouldn't, our
chances of recovering it are small."

           
"So?"
Kim said. The two men looked at her, and she shrugged. "I don't see what's
the good in your havin' this platter you're so set on. If the Robin Redbreasts
catch you with it, they'll be sure you cracked the crib and took it. I thought
that was what you didn't want happenin'."

           
"You're
right, but unfortunately there's no other way of finding out who really took
the Saltash Set in the first place," Mairelon said. "If we can get
all the pieces together, Shoreham and I can use one of the Ribensian Arcana to
locate the person who stole them, but it won't work unless we have
everything."

           
Kim
shrugged again. "It's your neck. Which direction are you goin' to stick it
out in next?"

           
Mairelon
grinned.
"The inn at Ranton Hill.
I think I can
pick up some gossip and get some idea of how things stand at the Braminghams',
how recently Lord St. Clair has visited, that sort of thing."

           
"Not
tonight," Hunch said firmly. "And this time you ain't a-going off
alone, not if I 'ave to 'ide every pair of breeches you 'ave."

           
Mairelon
looked startled, then thoughtful. "Yes, I think it will do very
well," he said after a moment. "You can poke about in the stables and
kitchens, Kim can sit in the public room, and I'll see what the news is in the
private parlors. Someone's bound to know something, and this way we don't stand
a ghost of a chance of missing it."

           
"Why're
you so sure?" Kim asked.

           
"The
country inn is the heart of every village, or at least its ears and
tongue," Mairelon explained. "Think of it as a London public house,
only more so."

           
"If
you say so," Kim said dubiously. "Just what am I goin' to have to
do?"

           
They spent
the next hour or so discussing the exact methods each would use in their
descent upon Ranton Hill's inn, what stories they would tell, and what clothes
to wear to be convincing. Mairelon declared that he would pose as a fashionable
Town buck, victim of a carriage accident while driving down to a friend's
country house. Kim would be his Tiger, despite her protests that she knew
nothing about horses and would be unable to convince anyone that she was what
she pretended to be. Hunch was a groom who had been traveling with the baggage
coach; he would lead the horses from the wagon, claiming that they belonged to
the ostensibly demolished phaeton. Mairelon's confidence overrode his
companions' misgivings, and by the time the fire began to die everything was settled.

           
Ranton
Hill consisted of three shopfronts, two houses, an inn, and a stable. The
buildings looked to Kim as if they had huddled together for protection from the
empty farmland all around them. Not that the land was, technically, empty, but
some low stone walls, a few trees, and a couple of sheep did not go nearly far
enough, in Kim's opinion, toward filling up the space.

           
In
addition, the village was so quiet that as they approached along the rutted
dirt road Kim began to wonder if it was peopled by ghosts. The sound of the
wind, the squeak of the harness leather, and the crunching of their feet and
the horses' hooves against the road were the only noises. She was a little
reassured when a dog began to bark as they reached the first house, summoning a
stable hand in a well-worn smock from the rear of the inn.

           
Mairelon
gave the man an offhand nod and disappeared into the inn. Kim looked after him,
shifting her weight from foot to foot while the stable hand and Hunch eyed each
other measuringly.

           
"What
happened?" the man said at last, making a gesture that included the horse,
Kim, Hunch, and the vanished Mairelon.

           
" 'E
tipped 'is phaeton over trying to feather a
corner," Hunch said with fine contempt. "Leastwise, that's 'ow I make
it
.
'
E
says a coach-and-four ran 'im off
the road."

           
The
stable hand spat.
"Another one o' them wild uns.
He stayin'
the night?"

           
" 'Ow
do I know?" Hunch said. "Even if 'e'd
told me, 'e's just as likely to change 'is
mind
as
not."

           
"That's
the Quality for you," the stable hand said, and spat again. "Well,
bring your horses around back, no reason they should suffer for their master's
stupidity."

           
The man
started walking as he spoke. Hunch tightened the makeshift leads attached to
the horses' halters. The animals bobbed their heads, slightly out of sequence,
and began to move. Kim shifted her weight again, wondering whether she should
follow or wait and wishing Mairelon had told her a little more about the duties
of a Tiger. She was just about to start after Hunch and the horses when
Mairelon stuck his head out of the door of the inn.

           
"Kim!
There you are. No need to stand about; the luggage won't be along for a couple
of hours at least. Come inside and wait where it's warm."

           
Kim nodded, glad to have some direction at last.
As she
started into the inn, she noted that the village was showing a few signs of
life at last: a large, round woman had emerged to sweep the step in front of
the mercer's shop (and get a look at the new arrivals), an open carriage was
descending a distant hill toward the town, and a second dog had joined the
barking of the first, prompting a volley of curses from an unseen person on the
second floor of the inn. The last thing Kim saw before the door of the inn
closed behind her was a large jug hurtling out of the window in the general
direction of the dogs. The crash was audible even after the door closed.

           
Mairelon
was standing just inside the door, in a short hallway at the foot of a steep
flight of stairs. Beside him, the innkeeper darted uncertain looks at the
mud-splattered boots and breeches of his newest guest, clearly trying to decide
whether this was truly one of the Quality or only some jumped-up Cit trying to
pass himself off as gentry. Kim could almost sympathize. Mairelon's cape was
well cut but, to her experienced eye, a little shabby and out of fashion, and
the mud made it difficult to determine whether his boots were similarly well
used. Had she been looking him over on the
London
streets, she would have given him a casual glance and gone on hunting for a
better pigeon to pluck.

           
"Get
yourself something to drink while you wait," Mairelon said, seemingly
oblivious to the innkeeper's worried frown. He tossed Kim a coin that glittered
silver in the air, and the innkeeper's expression lightened. Kim suppressed a
smile and bobbed her head respectfully as Mairelon turned to the innkeeper.
"Now, since we're agreed, I'll just go up and clean off a little of this
dirt."

           
"Very
good, Mr. de Mare," the innkeeper answered. "Your lad can go on in
there, my wife will be glad to see to him. Now, if you'll just come this way .
. ."

           
Mairelon
followed him up the stairs without a backward glance, leaving a trail of damp
and dirty footprints. Kim snorted softly. At least she would be able to find
his room if she needed to. She looked down at the coin Mairelon had tossed her.
It was a new shilling, more than enough for a pint of ale and perhaps a roll.
She flipped it into the air, caught it, and went into the public room to listen
to whatever local gossip there might be.

           
The room
was nearly empty. Two weather-beaten men in farmers' smocks glanced up from
their mugs as she entered, and a small, brown-haired man in the corner jumped
nervously and then relaxed. Kim took a seat beside the door, where she could
get a good look at everyone who might come in and still watch the rest of the
big, square room. Once she was seated, she discovered that her view of the yard
outside was limited to a slantwise glimpse of a corner, but she dismissed that
limitation with a mental shrug. Nothing was perfect, and her job was to watch
and listen to the coves inside, not the goings-on outdoors.

           
A large,
grey-haired woman who was presumably the innkeeper's wife appeared a few
moments later, carrying a tray of mugs. She replaced the farmers' drinks
without comment,
then
looked over at the nervous man
in the corner. He shook his head, then nodded and beckoned. "Make up your
mind, Mr. Fenton," the woman said as she set a mug in front of him.
"I haven't the time to be mucking about back and forth to the kitchen
twelve times an hour, not for the likes of you."

           
"My
money's as good as anyone's," the small man said. "And if you
'forget' to let me know when my . . . associate arrives, I'll see you regret
it."

           
"Keep
your hair on," the woman advised. "Nobody's come asking for you, not
even Mr. Frederick. And what
he's
thinking of, letting you off your work
like this--"

           
The small
man flushed. "I have my half-day free, the same as anyone."

           
"Only
more often," the woman shot back, and the two farmers chuckled audibly.
"I'm surprised he doesn't turn you off, but there, he's always been the
sort to put up with more than he ought."

           
"Mr.
Meredith is kind enough to give me an extra holiday occasionally," the
small man said, and Kim thought he sounded even more nervous than before.

           
"Yes,
because you ask him straight out! You're abusing Mr. Frederick's trust, you
are, and you ought to be ashamed."

           
"That's
'Mr. Meredith,' to you," the small man said with an attempt at a haughty
sneer.

           
"Ho
! 'Mr. Meredith,' to me that's known him since he was a lad?
Next thing you'll be telling me what to call my husband! Drink up and hold your
peace,
Mister
Fenton, or we'll see, that's all."

           
With this
obscure threat, the woman picked up her tray and sailed back toward the door.
She stopped long enough to give Kim a mug of warm, dark ale and collect the
shilling, but Fenton did not take the opportunity to renew hostilities. He
seemed content to glower over the top of his mug, alternating between dark
looks at the grey-haired woman and equally dark but more apprehensive glances
in the direction of the window overlooking the yard.

           
The
innkeeper's wife
left,
and the farmers continued to
sit in companionable silence. For lack of anything better to do, Kim studied
Fenton while she sipped her ale and waited for someone else to come in and
start another conversation for her to listen to. He was brown-haired and
thin-faced, and he had an indefinable air about him that marked him as
London-bred. From the conversation she had overheard, Kim guessed that he was
in service with Mr. Meredith. A footman, perhaps; he was too well dressed to be
a groom or stable hand, and not well enough turned out for a butler or valet.

           
Kim had
just reached this conclusion when the serving room door flew open to reveal a
dark-haired young man in fashionable riding clothes. He surveyed the room with
an air of brooding intensity, then strode to the corner table and flung his
gloves down in front of Fenton. "You sent me a message," the young
man said.

           
Kim choked
and slopped ale over the side of her mug. She recognized the young man's voice
instantly; it was Jon, the most zealous of the druids she and Mairelon had
observed the previous evening.

           
"I
don't know that I would put it that way, Mr. Aberford," Fenton said,
giving a significant glance in the direction of the farmers. "Merely,
there are some things I think you ought to know."

           
"If
your intention is to sell me the information that your master doesn't have the
object he was commissioned to bring me, your luck is out," Jon said with
gloomy relish. "I already know."

           
Fenton's
shoulders hunched together as if he were bracing himself for a blow. "How
did you find out--"

           
"He
told me himself, last night. Blithering idiot! What possessed him to play whist
with Henry Bramingham, of all people?"

           
"Ah,
I believe there was a wager involved," Fenton said. His shoulders relaxed,
but he did not look at all happy.

           
"Well,
he certainly didn't
give
Henry the Dish!" Jon snapped.

           
"Of course not, Mr. Aberford.
I, ah, thought you ought
to know, that's all. So if--" Fenton broke off in mid-sentence, looking
out the window. He jumped to his feet, his face a pasty white color, and bolted
for the door. Jon sat staring after him in simple astonishment, taken too much
by surprise to remember any of his brooding airs.

           
Fenton
reached the door just as it opened to admit an enormous man in ill-fitting new
clothes.
" 'Ere
, now! Watch what you're
about!" the man said in a deep, slow voice as Fenton skidded to a stop in
front of him.

           
"Sorry!"
Fenton gasped, then dodged under the big man's arm and vanished.

           
" 'E's
in a bit of a rush, ain't 'e?" the big man
commented to the room at large.

           
Kim rose
quietly as the newcomer lumbered into the room and slipped out the still-open
door of the serving room. There was no sign of Fenton in the hall, so she took
a quick look out the front door to see if she could tell what had driven him to
make such a dramatic exit.

           
The yard
was full of activity. A landau had pulled up in front of the inn, its top open
despite the cool weather. A handsome and vaguely familiar young man sat with
his back to the coachman; facing him
were
an extremely
elegant woman in her early forties and a stunningly beautiful blonde girl of
perhaps seventeen. A second young man, whom Kim recognized at once as the bland
and somewhat foolish Freddy Meredith from the druids' meeting, had pulled a
large, placid bay horse to a halt at the edge of the innyard. He was sitting in
the saddle as if stunned, gazing in admiration at the blonde. Standing next to
him (or rather, next to his horse) was a shabby, sour-looking man, and Kim
found herself first blinking, then squinting in surprise, and then sternly
suppressing a strong impulse to take to her heels as rapidly and
unceremoniously as Fenton had done.

           
Jack
Stower! What was Jack Stower doing in Ranton Hill? Fortunately, his attention
was fixed on the rider, and Kim had time to pull her head back into the inn.
She shut the door far enough to hide her face and forced her frozen wits into
motion. Dan Laverham
couldn't
have sent Jack after her; she hadn't known
herself where she was going when she left
London
.
Jack was on some other errand, then, and all she had to do was keep out of his
way so that word of her presence in Ranton Hill wouldn't get back to Laverham.
To do that, though, she needed to know what Jack was up to, so that she could
avoid him. Hoping that no one would come into the hall to find her in so
odd-looking a position, Kim opened the door a crack and peered out, listening
with all her might.

           
"He's
your man," Stower was insisting to Freddy Meredith.

           
Freddy
did not appear to hear. "Bramingham!" he called with every appearance
of delight.
"Didn't expect to find you here."

           
The young
man in the carriage twisted to look over his shoulder. "Freddy? Good Lord!
I mean, what are you doing out at this hour?"