Page 80 of Ondine
At a bench in the rear of the White Feather, Jake sat lazily sipping a tankard of ale, legs pulled up, his back comfortably resting against the wall.
He grinned, watching the activity in the room; a dice game in one corner, cards in the next.
Men drank and laughed, and the tavern maids, their wondrous bosoms well exposed, laughed in turn and served more ale.
A haunch of venison roasted on the open flame, creating a tempting aroma.
It was cozy and warm, a fine shelter from the blustery cold that encompassed everything beyond the doors.
All in all, Jake thought, smiling as he saw that Molly was fixing him a plate of the venison, spooning rich gravy over the meat, he’d made out rather well on this particular adventure.
The lord of Chatham was busy at an anvil, while Justin and Clinton were on the prowl in London.
All he’d had to do was to endure the days with his eyes open and his ears tuned—a most convivial assignment!
As it happened, Molly seemed to enjoy the warmth of his heart and minded not his gnome’s face, so leisure had become a handsome sport, and he would most certainly be sorry to leave this place behind.
Molly placed his food before him, blushing like a bride, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “Ah, what a lass ye are, Molly!” he told her, placing the coin for the meal between the lovely plump pillows of her breasts. She flushed again, lightly slapping his hand.
“Now, ye eat that, sir, while it’s still hot and good! And watch yer hands amongst the management!”
Jake broke into easy laughter, for the management was willing to sell most anything.
But he cast a wink Molly’s way and dipped a hunk of bread into the gravy, savoring the taste.
For whatever else might take place here, none could deny that the White Feather boasted a fine cook and warm filling food.
“A taste to savor, Molly, lass!” he said approvingly, and added, “Only ye, yerself, lass, have the power to please the palate greater!”
“Ah, get away with ye, ye silver-tongued flatterer!” She stooped to give him a quick kiss, but Jake tensed suddenly, his eyes upon the tavern door.
It had swung open suddenly, taken from the hands of the latest customer by the force of the winter wind. Gusts swept into the place, carrying a sprinkling of snow.
Yet it was neither gusts nor the snow that Jake noticed, but the latest patron of the tavern.
It was the lady Anne.
Clad from head to toe in an encompassing cloak, all that one could see were her beautiful dark eyes, but Jake knew those dark eyes, aye, he knew them well!
Some young hearty called out against the cold, yelling that the door be closed.
And then Jake saw that Anne was not alone; a great hulk of a man entered behind her, silencing the shouts by his mere appearance.
His size and height signified a dangerous fellow, strong, and accustomed to using the sword and pistol in his belt.
“Hardgrave,” Jake muttered in shock against Molly’s lips.
Molly mumbled something, freeing herself from him in a fervor. “Now, Jake, a pinch on the rump be one thing, but—”
“Molly! Molly!” he brought his voice to a urgent whisper, needing to hold her near until he could shift around, placing his back toward the two who had just entered. “Molly, girl, do ye love me?”
“What is this, Jake?” she demanded suspiciously.
“Molly, do ye love me—just one little bit? ’Cause if ye do, then I need yer help now.”
Molly frowned, but seemed to sense his tension. “All right, then, Jake, me love, what is it?” she asked in return, whispering as he did.
“Those two—the lady and gent what just came in—ye must wait on them, Molly, and ye must listen sharp to what they say.”
Molly looked around to regard Hardgrave and Anne curiously. They were seating themselves at the long bench across the fire from Jake. Hardgrave cast his gloves upon the table, looking around the room with distaste. “Eh, innkeeper! Service here!”
“Why, he’s not even sitting yet!” Molly said indignantly. “Must be some great lord or t’ other.”
“Molly, go ta him, please! Like a good lass. Hurry, now! And keep silent ’bout me, now!”
Molly hesitated just a second, then went scampering over to the table with her head humbly low.
Jake shrank as close as he could to the wall, straining to listen, then realizing that he didn’t really have to. The tavern din, silenced when the door had burst inward, slowly rose again. Lord Lyle Hardgrave seemed to have no thought of being overheard.
“What have you got for wine here, girl?”
“None, this night, sir. We’ve ale—”
“Bring your best, and mind you, it must be your best. Give me no pig swill, or you’ll wear it over your head, mind you!”
“Aye, the best!” Molly said, bobbing a curtsy.
He went on to command a plate of venison and warned her that it must be fine, else she would wear gravy.
Molly bobbed again. Lady Anne shook her head impatiently at the prospect of food, but would certainly take ale instead of wine.
Molly hurried away from them to fulfill the order, and the lady Anne chuckled at Hardgrave’s displeasure.
“Lyle—what would you here? The place is a country sewer, no more! Were you expecting a list of specialties from the vineyards of France?”
She laughed with delight at her own joke, and Jake saw that she seemed exceptionally excited this night, diamond-eyed with pleasure.
“We should have dined in London,” Hardgrave complained with a grunt.
“How can you think of food at such a moment!” Anne snapped impatiently, but her humor seemed quickly restored, for she smiled like an angel when Molly returned with bread and ale; she told Hardgrave she found the service ample.
Molly curtsied and scurried away once again. Jake watched her at the fire, fixing Hardgrave’s plate. He frowned, unable to hear the words at the next table as Hardgrave suddenly lowered his voice.
Anne laughed again, a tinkling, melodious sound that worried Jake gravely—more gravely than the fact that the two of them were here! It could be no accident. This was none of those places of ill-repute that the nobility were known to haunt!
Molly set the plate before Hardgrave, hovering there as long as she could, but then Hardgrave seemed to lose patience with her.
“What are you, girl, a moth? I’ve the food before me—now get your rump gone!”
Molly left him, disappearing into the kitchen, returning with another foaming tankard for Jake, though he had ordered none. She was a bright girl, that Molly, for she had used it only as an excuse to whisper into his ear.
“I cannot linger, Jake, perhaps if I stand by the fire—”
“Nay, Molly. I can hear them fine, mostly, meself! Go about yer work, love!”
She nodded, astutely leaving him so he would miss nothing more.
“Will you hurry with that!” Anne urged Hardgrave. “I don’t want you about when Deauveau arrives!”
“And why not?” Lord Hardgrave asked Anne, smacking his lips over his venison, washing it down with a swig of ale and a sigh. He wagged a greasy finger at Anne. “Why do you wish to meet him alone to begin with—”
“Oh, we have been through this!” Anne said impatiently.
“You will grow impatient; you will be—uncouth! This is a business deal we make here. I wrote the message, did I not? And we received an immediate response! Lyle, he is a man—and I best deal with men! Now, shall we have this go smoothly, or no?”
Hardgrave muttered something that Jake could not hear, no matter how he tensed and strained.
Yet already it seemed that the blood had gone cold in his body and raced like icy streams throughout him.
Deauveau! Some kin of Ondine’s—the uncle or the cousin—was coming here to meet with this most untrustworthy pair, spelling trouble if not complete disaster.
Hardgrave stood suddenly in anger, wiping his mouth against his shoulder sleeve, yelling once again for service. Molly came to him quickly.
“Clean this mess away, and be quick with it. Bring a fresh tankard of this donkey piss you call ale!”
“Aye, milord, right away!” Molly promised.
Lyle Hardgrave stared down at Anne. “I’ll be outside; the fresh air will be welcome.”
“Don’t be—obvious, Lyle! I don’t want him seeing you tonight! Not until we’ve fathomed his thoughts!”
Hardgrave strode out of the place, his grip on the door so severe that it seemed not even the wind dared best him.
Anne remained at the table, her lovely face shadowed by the hood of her cloak, her head lowered, yet her smile still visible. She studied her small, delicate hands with idle pleasure while she waited, sipped more ale, tapping a foot against the floor.
Jake waited more impatiently than she. He felt himself like a wire, drawn too taut, near to breaking.
Men continued to laugh, wenches to flirt, dice to fall. The fire snapped and crackled, smoke and warmth filled the room. The passing minutes did not seem to disturb Anne; she waited serenely.
Jake jumped and cringed inside with each sizzle of the blaze, keenly aware of everything and suddenly too hot.
The lady Anne looked up. He pressed himself more closely against the wall, so closely he might have become a part of it. But she did not see him; she seemed only mildly interested in what went on around her.
Finally, when Jake thought he might well go mad, the door opened again. A man entered. He was no young man, but one of middle age, yet still straight as a poker and handsome of face and form.
The uncle, Jake decided. There was no question that this was the one who was to meet Anne. He was finely dressed, wearing dull soft gray, but his breeches were of velvet and his overcoat was fur lined at collar and cuffs.
It did not take him long to discern Anne from the rabble within. He came straight to the table and stood before her, eyeing her carefully. Anne returned his scrutiny with amusement.
“You are the lady who sent the message?” Deauveau asked at last.
“I am.”
“How can I trust you?”