A Crime of Manners Read Free Page B

sure she dressed in the first stare of fashion, and...
    “Oh, Knight,” Lady Fuddlesby said, pressing her fingers to her temples, “I fear I am bringing on one of my headaches with all this thinking.”
    Knight sauntered over to her ladyship’s bed, jumped up on the pink coverlet, turned around clockwise three times, lay down, and closed his eyes.
    “My dear boy,” Lady Fuddlesby crooned as she crossed the room and prepared to lie down next to the sleeping cat, “you always know what to do. A nap, of course, is just the thing to put me to rights.”
     

Chapter Two
     
    It is a sad fact that not all journeys to London go as smoothly as that of the Duke of Winterton and Sir Polly Grey.
    Henrietta, with Megan along to lend her consequence, set out from home on a sunny, if cold, March day. There was no one to see them off except Cook. Mrs. Lanford was already down at the stables with the Squire, feeling her part in her daughter’s removal to Town was complete after writing to Lady Fuddlesby.
    In keeping with the fickle English weather, on the second day of their travels the skies clouded and snow began to fall. At first it fell in thick white flakes that melted as they reached the ground. By late afternoon the wind picked up and the snow changed to a swirling mass that obscured the view from the windows of the squire’s traveling coach.
    “Do but look, miss.” Megan’s eyes were round with fright. “I wonder how Ben can see where he’s drivin’ us.”
    Henrietta wondered the same thing but was not about to voice her fears in front of the maid. “I am certain we shall be perfectly safe, Megan.”
    Henrietta could see her breath in front of her when she spoke, the cold having claimed the interior of the coach. Both girls were dressed warmly and wrapped in carriage rugs. Henrietta wore a dark blue wool pelisse over an old-fashioned gown of paler blue. Her hair was tucked up under a matching bonnet that framed her face.
    As the women stared out at the storm, the coach pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Henrietta saw Ben’s ruddy face at the window and she lowered the glass, letting in a gust of snow.
    “I can’t go on much further, miss. The snow’s not  deep on the roads yet, but I can barely see as far as the horses’ heads. I know of an inn up ahead and that’s where we’re goin’, with your permission,” he said, tugging a forelock.
    “I shall be grateful if you can get us there, Ben,” Henrietta said, shivering.
    The coach set off again, and a short time later Megan exclaimed, “I can make out some lights. I’m that glad, miss, as I can hardly feel my feet from the cold.”
    They pulled up in front of an establishment that proclaimed itself to be the Pig and Thistle. Several carriages were in the yard, other travelers lured by the promise of relief from the elements. When Ben came back to help her down, Henrietta made note of an especially fine coach with a crest on its door. Ben went to see to the horses and avail himself of some gin and hot food while Henrietta, Megan behind her, went inside.
    The warmth of the inn was almost painful to Henrietta’s numb hands and feet. Looking inside to the crowded coffee room, she could see a large, welcoming fire burning brightly. The atmosphere was as festive as the gathering of people under a common adversity can be. The fact that everyone was drinking heavily added to the air of gaiety.
    She stepped up to the counter and briskly addressed the wiry landlord. “Good afternoon. I require a room for myself and my maid for the night.”
    “I’ve no rooms left ’cause of the storm,” he said sternly, looking at her provincial pelisse with disdain.
    Henrietta could scarcely believe her ears. What on earth were they to do?
    Across the coffee room, Viscount Baddick sat with Mr. Andrew Snively. Mr. Snively was one of those creatures just on the fringe of Society. His acceptance came chiefly from the fact he was cheerfully willing to sit down at the