Page 26 of A Hint of Scandal (The Mismatched Lovers #2)

T he Malt Shovel Inn, when located, appeared to be an establishment of less than salubrious appearance, despite the vicar’s description of it as respectable, and was clearly frequented in the main by an eclectic mix of impoverished students and surly looking locals. A volatile mix of Town and Gown if ever there was one. Not that Max had ever been here himself in his student days. He wasn’t at all sure he should be taking a gently bred young lady into the gloomy interior of this inn.

Heads turned in their direction as if drawn by a powerful magnet. A group of students, identifiable from their habitual and possibly inflammatory sporting of their gowns, were gathered at a large table by the small-paned window at a game of dice, a game which halted as half a dozen pairs of eyes ran over Serafina’s slim form. Three men who might well have been merchants of some kind sat in a shadowy corner, heads together as though arrested in some clandestine deal. Two other men looked up with unwelcoming scowls on their jowly faces from their card game, pewter tankards on the table in front of them. The landlord, a youngish man who had nevertheless lost almost all his hair leaving only a few straggly strands that for some reason he’d combed over the top of his shiny pate, fixed them with the sort of glare that said they weren’t welcome here.

The only inhabitant of the inn who took no notice of their arrival was the brindled hound lying in front of the smoky fire.

Max had fought his way around Spain, Egypt and Portugal though, and wasn’t about to be intimidated by the landlord of a backstreet English inn. With a guiding hand on Serafina’s back, he marched up to the bar. It was only a few planks of seasoned timber laid upon barrel tops. Best to spend some money in here first. “Good day to you, innkeeper. A pint of your best cider for me.” He looked at Serafina with his eyebrows raised, waiting for her to tell him what she would drink.

After a moment she must have realized what he meant, for she shook her head as though in a hurry. “Nothing for me.” Despite her assurances of being made of strong stuff, she’d clearly never been in this sort of establishment before. Perhaps she was wise in her decision not to partake of any fluid from the innkeeper’s none too clean receptacles.

The landlord supplied a pewter tankard of the requested beverage, and Max took a long draught of it then handed over a few coppers in payment. “Excellent stuff.”

Mollified a little, the landlord gave him a nod. “Thank’ee, sir.”

The clientele, such as it was, had lost interest in them by now and returned to their previous occupations. No sign of anyone who might be George Paynter though. None of them looked old enough to have acted as witness to a marriage twenty seven years ago.

He was just about to broach the subject when Serafina got in before him. “I wonder if you might be able to assist us,” she said, bestowing what must be her most innocent and sweet expression on the landlord. “We’ve come here looking for a Mr. George Paynter. The vicar of St Michael’s directed us here.”

The landlord made a pretense of straightening his few strands of hair before answering. It seemed Serafina’s polite enquiry might have worked. She might not be as pretty as Letty or Arabella, but any young lady with a smile like hers could be assured of gaining whatever she was asking about.

“Well, miss,” the landlord said. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Thass him over there in that high backed seat by the fire. Everyone knows not to sit in that seat—it’s been his since before my old dad died.” No wonder they’d not noticed him before, as his seat almost completely hid him from view.

“You’re Robert Trubshawe’s son then?” Max interjected before Serafina could. She was rather taking over this enquiry. Not that he really minded. It was a much more enjoyable enquiry thanks to her participation.

Young Trubshawe nodded. “Aye, I am that.”

Serafina seemed disinclined to small talk, for she was already heading over to the fireside. Max followed, nursing his tankard. This time the dog did open a sleepy eye for a moment, but only to close it again and go back to sleep. Not much of a guard dog.

Serafina took the only other seat, as high-backed as Mr. Paynter’s, so Max took up a position behind it, feeling somewhat secondary. For some reason though, he didn’t mind.

From the stubble of white hair that covered his head and his equally white beard, George Paynter looked to be at least seventy years old. His skin had a deeply corrugated appearance to it that spoke of years spent out of doors, although a distinct pallor also hinted that those years had been some time ago now. He peered at them out of faded blue eyes that were also decidedly bloodshot. However, he appeared to be reasonably sober.

“What are you drinking, Mr. Paynter?” Serafina asked.

The old man blinked at her. “You offering?”

She nodded. “My companion will fetch you a tankard of whatever it is you like best.”

A chortle emitted from the old man. “I like best a whisky, my dear, but I don’t think I’d best have a tankard of the stuff.”

Max nodded to the landlord who poured a generous measure into a small glass and brought it over. George knocked it back in one. “Thass better. Thank’ee kindly. Now, no one goes round giving out free drinks lessen they wants something. So what is it you fine folks want of me?” He fixed them with a keenly intelligent eye.

Once again, Serafina got there first. “You were a witness to a wedding at St Michael’s some twenty seven years ago, were you not?”

His already heavily wrinkled brow furrowed still further, but his eyes, bloodshot or not, held distinct canniness. “Aye, I was that.”

She kept going. “Do you remember it?”

He nodded. “I do that. What’s it to you?” A grin crept over his face revealing his startling lack of teeth. The one he still owned in his upper jaw stood out like a sentinel. “Do you want me to do it again? For you two? I’m a bit over the hill nowadays, but not averse to standing up as witness for a wedding. Got paid well for that first one, mind, so I’ll be wanting the same again.”

A blush rose up Serafina’s cheeks. “No. We don’t want to marry today. But we do want to know what you remember of the wedding twenty-seven years ago. If you can recall the details.”

The man was a drunk though. Would he be able to recall anything that would help them? Was he even telling the truth when he said he remembered something that had happened that long ago?

But the old man was to prove a surprise. “I c’n remember it like it was yesterday,” he said, with another practically toothless grin. “Not going to forget being paid ten whole guineas for half an hour’s work, now am I? Me and young Bob’s old dad did it. Got ten guineas each out of it. The young man as wanted us to act as witnesses were in a tidy hurry to get the job done, and seemed to have plenty of money to splash out.” His eyes rose to meet Max’s and he winked. “Looked a lot like you, sir, if I may say so. A lot.”

Serafina twisted in her seat to look up at Max. “Did Julian look like you? When he was young?”

Max nodded. “He did. Not now of course. But my mother has always said how alike we are. That I remind her of Julian when he was my age.”

She turned back to old George. “Did you know the gentleman’s name?” Perhaps she still didn’t quite trust his memory.

George frowned again, as though this question annoyed him. “’Course I did. He was getting married, weren’t he? You have to give your name when you gets married or you ain’t married. But I can’t rightly recollect it now, I’m afraid.” He paused. “But what I do know is that he weren’t one of the regular students what comes in here. He was a young lord of some kind. Don’t ask me what though.”

“A viscount,” Max said. “He would have been Viscount Lavington then, as my father was still living.”

“Thass it,” George said with relish. “That were his name.”

So it looked indeed as if the young man who had married back then had been Julian. But what about the woman?

Serafina nodded to George. “And what about the young lady he was marrying? Do you remember anything about her?”

Again George grinned. “Not likely to have forgotten her, neither. She were a sight to behold. Prettiest girl I ever did see. All golden ringlets and frills and furbelows for her gown what she was wearing.” The grin became a puzzled frown. “But I don’t think she was no lady. He’d not have been marrying her in such a hurry with me and old Robert as witnesses if it hadn’t been a bit dodgy. I reckon she were a bit below him, so to speak, and he didn’t want his family to know. Not till it was done and dusted, that is.”

“Can you recall exactly what she looked like?” Serafina asked. “What color were her eyes, for example? Anything distinctive about her?”

The old man frowned in concentration. “You don’t often see a girl that pretty, I can tell you. Like I said, prettiest thing that ever come in here, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’m pretty sure as her eyes was blue. Matched the dress she were wearing, I remember noticing. The dress were blue like you see on them flowers out in the cornfields—cornflowers, they’re called, and I remember thinking as how everything matched on her, from her blue bonnet and shoes and gloves, to her bonny blue eyes. Yes, I’m certain sure they were blue now I thinks about it.”

“Do you remember how tall she was? Her build, perhaps?”

The old man looked up at Max again and Max straightened. Although he was taller than Julian now, before his brother had succumbed to illness, they’d been of a height. “Up to your shoulder, sir, I’d say. Maybe a bit above. Tall for a leddy.”

About the same size as Serafina then, who, for a woman, was on the tall side.

Max put his hand on her shoulder. “We have a good description now, and I think Mr. Paynter guessed rightly when he said she was from a lower social order to Julian. An actress would be. Ladies do not take to the stage.”

Serafina nodded. “Thank you so much, Mr. Paynter.” That smile came out again. It rendered her face beautiful in a different way to the beauty of girls like Letty and Arabella. As though her inner core of goodness had manifested itself on her face. She looked back up at Max. “I think my friend will stand you another drink for your useful information.”

Obedient, Max nodded to the landlord who brought another generous tot of whisky to the old man’s corner. Max handed over some more coins, drained his cider, and leaving the old man to his tot, they left the inn.

The sun shone down on the narrow cobbled street. “Food,” Max said, with determination. “But not in The Malt Shovel I fear. A more salubrious establishment on the main street, I think. You must be hungry and tired. I know I am.”

Serafina slipped her hand into his arm as though it had always been meant to be there. “An admirable idea. I have never fainted in my life, but if I go much longer without sustenance, I fear I might join the ranks of the young ladies I’ve always despised. Lead on.”

And so they repaired to the main street and went in search of the not too distant Star Inn , where Badger had already stabled the horses and a fine dinner and their rooms must be awaiting them.