The Sinners Club Read Free Page A

found raving mad in a ditch.
    The distances were deceptive, and it took his horse far longer than he had anticipated to reach the edge of the small village, which barely qualified as such, apart from its too large church and old inn. The lights of the only hostelry, The Queens Head, appeared in the gathering dust, and Jack let out a relieved breath. The monarch whose faded redheaded portrait hung outside the inn was good Queen Bess. It was a fitting choice for a region that had lost its power when the old queen died and trade shifted to Liverpool, Bristol, and the New World to the west.
    He rode into the stable yard and shouted for an ostler. A young boy appeared and obligingly held the horse’s head as Jack dismounted.
    â€œDo you have rooms to let, lad?” he asked, his voice cracked with cold and lack of use.
    â€œYes, sir. I’ll take care of your horse. You go on in.”
    Jack bestowed a small coin on the boy and headed into the house, which was blessedly warm. The taproom appeared empty, but when he banged on the bar, a man who bore a striking resemblance to the boy who’d taken his horse emerged from the cellar and looked Jack over.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, sir?”
    â€œGood evening, my name is Smith. I’d like a room and a good dinner.”
    â€œThat we can do, sir. Will Ferrers, landlord, at your service. Do ye have any baggage?”
    Jack pointed outside. “It’s with my horse.”
    â€œTom will bring it in for ye then. Would ye like a drop of warm ginger punch before ye go up?”
    â€œThat would be most welcome. It is rather chilly out there.”
    The landlord warmed a bowl over the fire and the fragrant scent of ginger, rum, and honey tantalized Jack’s nose. Tom burst into the room with Jack’s modest baggage and was bidden to take it up to the best bedchamber.
    Jack followed soon after, a pitcher of warm punch and a flagon in one hand. At the top of the stairs, he bumped into a comely woman he assumed was the landlord’s wife, which was a pity because he reckoned she’d make a cozy armful on a cold night.
    â€œI’ve aired the bed for you, sir, and made up the fire.” She hesitated by the open door. “Will you eat up here or come down to the parlor?”
    â€œI’ll come down.” Jack bowed low, and her eyes widened. “Thank you, ma’am.”
    She patted her lush bosom. “I’m no ma’am, sir. I’m Mr. Ferrers’s sister. His wife is busy in the kitchen cooking your dinner.”
    â€œHow kind of her.” Jack smiled slowly. “Then I will definitely come down so that I can give her my thanks.”
    She batted her eyelashes at him and proceeded down the stairs, her hips swinging while Jack watched appreciatively. His smile faded as soon as he shut the door and viewed his comfortable surroundings. He sternly reminded himself that in his current persona, he couldn’t take advantage of any woman, even a willing one. It would not be in character.
    With a groan he sat down and pulled off his boots unaided. As he hadn’t traveled with a servant of any description, it was a good thing he was used to doing for himself. He poured a mug of the hot punch and drank it as quickly as he could, murmuring his appreciation as the spirits warmed and soothed the back of his throat.
    Within half an hour he was in the best parlor in front of a crackling fire, eating a remarkably good dinner. The landlord offered him a decent bottle of claret and Jack accepted, with the proviso that his host join him. After a shared bottle, Mr. Ferrers was inclined to be more confiding, which suited Jack perfectly.
    â€œSo what brings ye to our village, sir?” Ferrers asked as he opened the second bottle.
    â€œBusiness, Mr. Ferrers, business.”
    â€œOut here? Are you a land agent, or a buyer of wool?”
    â€œNo, I’m a private secretary.”
    â€œAnd what does that entail?”
    Jack