Lady with a Black Umbrella Read online

  And it would be silly, Daisy had continued to explain to both ladies, to load themselves down with servants only to have to send them all home again when they reached her Aunt Pickering’s in town. One could not expect her uncle to take on a whole new battalion of servants and feed them too. Enough that she must call upon him to extend his hospitality to two nieces for the Season.

  “If you would just wait, Daisy dear, for my brother-in-law to reply to your letter, you would probably find that he will send a carriage and servants too. And then you would not have to travel in that shockingly ancient traveling coach of your grandpapa’s,” her mother had suggested timidly.

  “Your mama is right, dear,” Mrs. Ambrose had said, nodding. “You were invited last year, it is true. But perhaps it will not be convenient to your aunt and uncle to have you this year. It is very unwise for two young ladies to travel all the way to town when they are not at all certain of their welcome.”

  All of which warnings and advice Daisy had swept aside with her usual forceful energy. Rose was nineteen already, indescribably pretty, boundlessly rich, and without any better matrimonial prospects than a match with Mr. Forbes or Mr. Campbell, gentlemen farmers both, blameless solid citizens both, and both entirely unworthy of her sister’s hand. Rose must go to London. Rose must meet a lord worthy of her and make a dazzling match. She must live happily ever after.

  Papa had been dead for two years. Mama would not venture farther than two miles from the door of the house where she had been brought as a bride almost thirty years before and remained ever since. There was only Daisy, five-and-twenty years old, who had singlehandedly organized their lives and run their home and modest estate and guarded her father’s enormous wealth gathered during twenty years of quite ungentlemanly business dealings in coal. Only Daisy to see to it that her beloved Rose’s life did not dwindle into a dull and ordinary one as a gentleman farmer’s wife.

  So they were on their way to London, Rose to make her come-out, Daisy to chaperon her, the faithful Gerry to convey them there in the enormous creaking, shabby coach that two fashionable louts who should have known more about good manners had hooted over in contemptuous mirth the day before when they had stopped for luncheon. Papa, for all his fabulous wealth, had scorned to spend any of his hard-earned riches on anything as inessential as a coach. Or on anything else for that matter, Daisy thought without rancor. Poor dear Papa had been a nip-farthing. A miser. No matter. There was all the more to provide Rose’s enormous dowry.

  Today, thank goodness, Daisy thought, they would finally arrive at their destination. It was true that she had not waited for her Uncle Pickering’s reply to her request for hospitality. Once an idea was conceived in her head, she was far too impatient to wait around for a few weeks while someone else made up his mind to pick up a pen and dip it in an inkwell. But there would be no problem. Both her aunt and her uncle had begged her and Rose to come to town the year before after they had left off their mourning. At that time Daisy had declined, finding herself too busy settling her father’s affairs and running his estate. She had not had the leisure at that time to realize that Rose’s needs were greater and certainly more urgent than any other.

  Daisy sighed as she gazed sightlessly down at the stablehands mucking out the stalls. She smoothed lemon oil over her face as she had been doing every morning she remembered to do so, which was not very often, since she was seventeen and Mrs. Hancock, the then rector’s wife, had recommended it for freckles. She still had not quite lost her faith in the remedy, even though she had never succeeded in dimming the freckles that dusted her nose especially during the summer. If she could only remember to use the oil daily, her complexion would be flawless.

  Servants at inns really did have a way of making their contempt felt without a single word or gesture that one could grab hold of and take public exception to. This room, for example, and the parlor next door. They were surely not the best accommodations the inn had to offer. She had not been beyond the two rooms since their arrival late the afternoon before, but there had not been the noise and bustle she would have expected from a busy inn. There must be several empty rooms. And she did not believe that all the rooms were as small or as shabby.

  Daisy glanced back to the high, lumpy bed, in which her younger sister still slept soundly. Rose had slept all night. How could she have done so on that mattress? And she would probably sleep for another few hours. It was still dreadfully early. It really was not worth getting dressed yet, Daisy thought glumly, continuing to smooth the oil over her face.

  At least she was not the only person on God’s earth to be up and about. A stagecoach had just departed, having taken up a full complement of subdued, sleepy-looking passengers. And of course there were plenty of servants busy in the stables. And a gentleman standing below her window, apparently waiting for his curricle to be brought forward.

  Daisy could not see the gentleman very clearly. He was covered entirely by a greatcoat that looked heavy enough to bow him down to the ground. Except that he was not bowed down. He bore himself well, she noted with some approval. His beaver hat hid both his hair and his face from her view. But he looked very fashionable. And his curricle was certainly a smart conveyance, for all it was impractical with its seat that would accommodate no more than two persons. And his team was smart enough to make her itch to throw on some clothes so that she could descend to the yard to take a closer look. Alas, she must not do so. She was a lady on the road to London.

  He might be seventy years old. He might be pockmarked and have ears that stuck out like cup handles and be the owner of a bulbous and broken nose. He might be any number of undesirable things. But from where she observed him she could dream. He was a handsome and fashionable lord. An eligible handsome and fashionable lord.

  The inn suddenly caught fire and he turned, saw that there were ladies above him, and came charging to the rescue, taking the stairs three at a time. And he carried out in his arms a fainting but unharmed Rose. And they took one look at each other and Daisy knew that she did not even have to go on to London in order to find her sister an eligible husband. They could turn around and go back home and arrange the wedding there.

  Instead of which, in reality, dreams aside, he was about to take himself away in that fast and sporting curricle, and a few hours later she and Rose would resume their lumbering journey after him or perhaps in the opposite direction. She had never been given much to dreams. They had nothing whatsoever in common with reality.

  And then Daisy became aware of several strange happenings. The door below her opened and two other men stepped out. The ostler, who had been dawdling over the curricle, drew it and the horses back from the open yard. And one of the stablehands, the one who had been almost out of sight right inside one of the stalls, put down his fork and stepped out into the yard. Perhaps not such strange happenings in themselves. But all four men—Rose’s dream rescuer, the two who had come through the door, and the erstwhile stablehand—immediately put themselves into fighting posture. Daisy recognized it well. As who would not?

  But who was about to fight against whom? She frowned. It was three against one. That was as plain as the nose on her face. And the three were no gentlemen, either in looks or in behavior. Three against one!

  Daisy turned sharply from the window as Rose’s gentleman sent the first two reeling backward and turned to defend himself against them. He clearly had not seen the third scoundrel creeping up behind him. She strode to the door of the bed-chamber without a thought to her appearance, turned back only long enough to grasp hold of the large umbrella of her father’s that had sheltered her from many a storm when Mama’s and Rose’s more elegant confections had been utterly useless, and that had beaten off many an animal from its less fortunate prey.

  “Innkeeper,” she called as she ran down the stairs. “Innkeeper!”

  That individual emerged from the kitchen as she reached the bottom stair, the cook and Bessie close behind him. All stopped to gawk at her as if they w
ere characters in a well-rehearsed farce.

  “There is a gentleman at the back being thrashed by three bullies,” Daisy announced, pausing only long enough to see if the innkeeper would take charge of the situation. In her experience, if Daisy did not take charge, no one did.

  This occasion was to be no exception.

  The innkeeper shrugged. “What do you expect me to do about it?” he asked, not bothering to address Daisy with any term of respect.

  Daisy did not pause to answer the question, which was doubtless rhetorical anyway. She strode on to the door leading to the stableyard and went through it without checking her stride or pausing for breath or for a consideration of strategy. All three bullies were now attacking the gentleman. And soon Daisy was attacking the bullies, voice, free fist, and black umbrella all leading the charge.

  And one of the bullies actually dared to turn his face to her and grin in a half-toothless way. Daisy in a rage poked at his middle with the point of the umbrella, not even caring if she caught him in a more strategic place.

  “Be off with you, you bully and scoundrel!” she heard herself shriek before she realized she was alone on the battlefield, victor of the hour, the enemy having taken to its heels.

  The gentleman was still there too, of course, dazed, battered, hatless, and bleeding. Impossible to say if he were the young, handsome man of her dreams. His face looked rather like a slab of raw meat. But his hair looked youthfully blond and far too thick anyway to be the thatch of an old man. His one working eye was regarding her with what she took to be undying gratitude. The poor gentleman. If she had not come to his rescue when she had, he surely would be stretched on the cobbles by now, senseless and decidedly more bloody than he already was.

  Daisy lowered her weapon and regarded him with deep maternal compassion. “There, there,” she said, “you will be all right now. They will not harm you anymore.”

  Chapter 2

  The back door of the Golden Eagle Inn spilled out its innkeeper, its cook, one barmaid, and two chambermaids into the stableyard, the stables two stablehands and two grooms. Viscount Kincade found a handkerchief at last and mopped at the blood on his face. Daisy Morrison lowered the black umbrella, until its point rested on the cobbles before her feet, and continued to look with concern at the victim of the bullies whom she had just put to rout.

  “You need cold water for your cuts and bruises,” she said briskly, “and some raw steak for your eye. I am afraid it is going to be very swollen and very black. Innkeeper, some steak for the gentleman’s eye if you please. And a bowl of cold water for his face, girl,” she added to Bessie.

  Lord Kincade, taking the handkerchief from his nose and finding it bright with fresh blood, was surprised to see both individuals turn as if they were about to obey the strange apparition who stood in their midst, apparently unaware or unconcerned that she was clad only in a nightgown, shimmering oil, and an umbrella.

  “You may stay where you are,” he said, wincing at the pain the effort of his words cost his cut and swollen mouth. “I believe my curricle is ready.” He glanced coolly at the groom who held his horses’ heads, and risked excruciating agony by lifting one ironical eyebrow, “And I now understand the, ah, slight delay in its preparation. I shall be on my way.” He turned back to the innkeeper. “My reckoning will still be paid, since I imagine that you have not been fully satisfied by the alternative method of payment that you decided upon. And you too, Bessie. You gave admirable service, my girl, and earned your pay. Admirable! Ma'am?” He bowed to the apparition. “My compliments.”

  “You are never leaving in that condition,” she said, picking up the umbrella, tucking it under her arm, and taking a few steps closer to him. “Why, your poor face is all blood and bruises. And there is blood on the capes of your coat. You must positively come back inside. I have a private parlor. I shall bathe your face myself.”

  Lord Kincade bowed again. “My thanks, ma’am,” he said. “Fortunately the wounds are all superficial, and I would prefer to put as much distance between this place of hospitality and myself as I am able.” He turned purposefully to his curricle.

  “But you must wish to discover the identity of your cowardly assailants,” she said. “Innkeeper, you must assist this gentleman. The good name of your house depends upon your doing so.”

  That individual shrugged expressively. “I can’t help it if the gentry bring their quarrels to my house with them,” he said. “Why should my good name suffer?”

  Lord Kincade vaulted into the high seat of his curricle, disguising from the spectators the severe pain in the ribs and stomach that the effort cost him, dabbed once more at the blood on his face before putting his handkerchief resolutely away in his pocket, and turned to bow one more time at the female, whose appearance was beginning to make the stablehands snigger and Bessie smirk with contempt.

  But before he could utter one final word of thanks, another female came hurtling from the inn. She was decently covered by a long dark-blue cloak and half-boots, though her blond curls looked suspiciously riotous. She was holding out a gray cloak before her and looking considerably agitated.

  “Daisy!” she called. “Oh, Daisy, put your cloak on, do. Whatever can you have been thinking?” She was blushing with mortification.

  Despite his pain and his anger, Lord Kincade looked closely and appreciatively at the new arrival. She was somewhat taller than the female she called Daisy and undoubtedly younger too. And whole universes more pretty. In fact, she was quite undeniably lovely, disheveled hair and all. His almost certain knowledge that she had tumbled out of bed only minutes before set his eyes to straying down her body.

  “Oh, goodness gracious me,” the other female said, holding her arms out to her sides, the umbrella clutched in one hand, and looking down at herself. “What a sight I must be. Thank you, Rose. How thoughtful of you.”

  Lord Kincade touched his hat to both as he flicked the ribbons and set his horses in motion. Perhaps Bessie’s energetic exertions in his bed had put him into such a deep sleep that he thought he was awake. Perhaps his purse was still inside his valise. Perhaps his ribs ached only from Bessie’s head resting on them. Perhaps there was no oily faced female. And no black umbrella. And no flushed and tumbled and beautiful lady hiding her charms behind a blue cloak. And perhaps he had not just lived through surely the most embarrassing and uncomfortable hour of his life.

  He set his horses’ heads for London and home, looking about him for a stream or some source of water with which he might clean himself up sufficiently not to put a scare into the first tollgate keeper he encountered.

  “Come inside, Daisy, do,” Rose Morrison urged, taking her sister by the arm and trying to coax her in the direction of the inn door. “You must be dreadfully cold.”

  Daisy ignored the pressure on her arm. She turned to face the innkeeper. “How very peculiar,” she said. “The gentleman clearly needed to have his face attended to. I hope he did not have broken ribs in addition to all those cuts and bruises. It was really a very cowardly attack. Three against one. And two of them were holding his arms while the other was punching him.”

  The innkeeper shrugged as he turned back to the door. “I have work to do,” he said. “I cannot be bothering my head over every mill the gentry choose to indulge in.”

  “Ah, but three of them were not gentlemen,” Daisy said, “but common thugs. Two of them came from inside this very inn, my man, and the third from one of your stables. And kindly have the courtesy not to turn your back on me while I am talking to you.”

  The innkeeper stopped in his tracks and turned to face her.

  Bessie put her hands on her hips and looked as if she were beginning to enjoy the scene.

  “I do beg your pardon, my lady,” the innkeeper said, making Daisy an exaggerated bow. But I have guests inside who will be wanting their breakfasts soon. Now, if you will excuse me

  “I most certainly will not,” Daisy said.

  Rose tugged at her arm. “Do come,
Daisy,” she begged.

  “At the very least your stablehands should be questioned,” Daisy said. “They must have realized that a stranger was working among them. If he was a stranger, that is. And I would like to know your part in what has occurred in the inn in which I am paying for services and hospitality. The gentleman’s words seemed to suggest that he suspected you of having a hand in what happened to him.”

  The innkeeper took two strides toward the upright little figure of Daisy Morrison, who stood her ground on bare feet, though she now looked almost respectable wrapped inside her gray cloak.

  “How do I know that you will not go rattling off in that old coach of yours without paying your bill either?” he asked menacingly. “A man has to make a living. Do you think that having thugs give a customer a thorough drubbing in my yard here would satisfy me for the loss of a night’s reckoning? I work for money here. Punches don’t pay the servants’ wages nor provide the food for the next night’s guests.”

  “Are you telling me that the gentleman was unable to pay his reckoning?” Daisy asked as Rose dropped her hand to her side, realizing the hopelessness of her mission. “But I recall his saying that you would receive payment. A gentleman’s word is to be trusted, surely?”

  The innkeeper sneered. “That is the last I will ever see of that particular gent or his money,” he said. “Had his purse stolen indeed! Does he think I was born yesterday?”

  “And you feel no shame,” Daisy said, regarding the man with severity, “doubting the word of a man you probably have never seen before or heard any ill of, and knowing that he only narrowly escaped a severe beating on your very premises?”

  “I’ve never seen him before,” the innkeeper agreed, “and have no wish to do so again. I was warned that he would try to slip out without paying his reckoning. He did the same last night to the gentlemen he was playing cards with. Lost, he did, and made excuses not to pay up until this morning. Well, that gentleman can kiss his winnings good-bye too. His servants told me all about our fine gentleman. All I can say is, it’s a great pity you came along when you did and frightened those fellows away with your appearance.”