Maggie MacKeever Read Free Page A

and Hebrew, divinity and moral philosophy. “Tell you what!” said Peregrine. “Something has to be done about this pickle of yours.”
    “Oh!” Startled, Miss Minchin dropped the remainder of the muffin to the ground. The greedy rooster speared it on his beak and withdrew with his trophy behind a nearby bush. “Do you think you might help me?”
    No such notion had occurred to Mr. Smithton, who was not accustomed to expending energy upon aught but himself. But he was not accustomed, either, to pretty damsels who gazed upon him as if he were a Good Samaritan. This novel experience—and, perhaps, the excellent quality of the innkeeper’s ale—recalled to him a circumstance that he had hitherto forgotten.
    “Wouldn’t say I could if I couldn’t!” Peregrine said expansively. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, except I was so surprised to see you, it flew right out of my head. Thing is, there is a room to be had. Mine!”
    The expression that Peregrine had interpreted as admiration was in fact skepticism, and astonishment replaced it now. “Your room?” Tabby inquired warily.
    Perry was embarrassed by her suspicions. “Good Gad! I ain’t going to be in it. Going back to town with some friends. No point in hanging around, since Vivien didn’t show.”
    Miss Minchin displayed the quickness of wit that Mr. Smithton remembered. “A friend failed to keep an engagement with you?” she asked.
    Peregrine was indignant. “I’d hardly suggest you take the room if Vivien was going to be here, would I? Even if he was to be in the neighborhood. ‘Twas he who hired it, you see. Had some notion of making a sporting cove out of me. A fellow don’t like to tell his friends that they have windmills in their heads, so here I am. Though Vivien may be a bosom bow of mine, for you to rub shoulders with him—take my word for it, Miss Minchin, it wouldn’t be the thing!”
    Tabby was amused by the vehemence of her companion’s reply. “Is he very wicked, your friend?”
    Peregrine recognized that note of interest invariably aroused by his friend Vivien in members of the fairer sex. Damned if he knew how Viv did it. Despite Perry’s own lack of inclination in that direction, he couldn’t help being a little envious of his friend’s success.
    But little Miss Minchin wasn’t in Vivien’s style at all, which was no doubt to her credit, and her curiosity must be nipped in the bud. “Very wicked,” Peregrine said sternly. “On the pathway to perdition. Positively preoccupied with sin.”
    Miss Minchin wrinkled her nose. “I don’t scruple to tell you I’m glad I shan’t have to meet your friend!” she said frankly. “He sounds quite dreadful. So you think you might arrange for me to have your room?”
    Mr. Smithton thought this was a nacky notion. “Don’t see why not! Viv never showed up, probably because his fancy—er.” Perry was neither so want-witted nor so foxed as to discuss his friend’s penchant for fancy pieces with a young lady of gentle birth. “Er! So I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it, since I’m leaving and Vivien ain’t here. Eh?”
    Tabby saw any number of reasons why she shouldn’t stay, unchaperoned, in an inn filled to the rafters with sporting gentlemen, in a room bespoken by a rake-hell. She also saw that she had little choice. It wouldn’t debauch her to spend one night here, surely. On the morrow she would resume her journey to Brighton, and no one would be the wiser. “What a splendid idea, Perry! I wish your friend no ill, of course, but how glad I am that he failed to meet you here!”
    Mr. Smithton was glad also; it warmed his heart to be able to do old Tolly’s niece a good turn. Particularly since Miss Minchin was probably the only female in England who failed to appreciate Vivien. It was all that education, Perry decided. Miss Minchin had been too busy with Greek and Hebrew and moral philosophy to develop the usual female addiction to romance. He liked