She winked at Catherine, and Catherine, supposing that she was a married woman now and supposed to find such humor amusing, tried to smile.
A few minutes later, Catherine was following Clare across the main street and down an alley to where she supposed Myrna lived. Catherine was not certain what her husband would be doing there, but she was prepared for anything. Like the rest of the village, the alley was clean and the houses small and well kept, but there were fewer shops now, and Catherine saw more children and dogs in the street. They continued walking until they finally reached the end of the alley, and this section was dark and shadowed.
Catherine felt a shiver of fear as she watched Clare point to an old wooden house with sagging windows and roof. The face of the house seemed sinister, the door a yawning cavern ready to swallow her. It reminded her of home. But she took a deep breath and followed Clare inside.
Chapter Sixteen
Catherine ducked under the low opening to the house and squinted in at the darkness. Her nose twitched at the greasy smells of old food and the musty smell of sickness. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she was able to take in the small room with its hearth, rough dining table, and several children seated splayed-legged on the hard floor. Clare greeted the children by name and explained that they were her siblings and cousins.
Catherine gave them each a smile and watched as they smiled back and then returned eagerly to the porridge in their bowls. How she wished she had brought something for them. They were obviously not starving, but she knew what it was to go hungry, even if just for a few days. She would not have anyone suffer the pang of emptiness she remembered often feeling in her belly as a child.
Then Clare motioned her toward another area of the house, where a curtain had been strung to give the occupant a bit of privacy. As Catherine watched, the curtain parted and a familiar face looked out at her.
“Lord Valentine,” she said in surprise.
He looked just as surprised to see her. “Catie, what are you—?” He seemed to fumble for something, and she realized he was looking at his pocket watch. “Damn, I didn’t realize the time.”
And then Catherine heard another voice, a female voice, though weak and frail, say, “I’ve kept you too long again, Master Quint. I’m sorry.”
Quint turned back to the woman, whom Catherine could barely make out in the darkness behind him. “Don’t talk rubbish, Myrna. It’s not every day I get to see you. Besides, now you can meet my new bride.” He gestured to Catherine, and she stepped closer, brushing by the coarse curtain as she ducked into the alcove where the woman lay. She was Catherine’s mother’s age but shrunken by illness and confinement.
The woman reached up and grasped Catherine’s hand, and she knelt beside her. “She is just as pretty as you described,” the woman said to Valentine. “And what a sweet face.”
Catherine smiled. “Thank you. I hope I have not disturbed you.”
“Ha! I am glad to meet you. Your new husband here can talk of nothing else. I see you brought my daughter with you.”
Clare stepped forward, and the woman gestured to her. “Going out again, are you?”
“Not if you need me here, Mother.”
“No, go out and have a good time. All of you. I’m tired now and will sleep.”
Catherine nodded, rose, and backed out of the small alcove. It was then that she noticed a large basket filled with food in the corner of the room. The basket looked familiar.
Her husband said his good-byes, swinging the children into his arms and around in a dizzying dance, before escorting Catherine from the house. When they were in the alley again, she turned to him, “That basket of food in the corner. You brought that from Ravensland. I remember seeing it in the curricle.”
He looked down at her. “I did. Myrna is an old friend. She’d been sick for many years, and I promised my mother I would care for her. I send food and pay her rent, and I visit whenever I am in the village.”
He took Catherine’s arm and led her back toward the main street.
“You are very kind,” she murmured. “You buy me dresses, you visit sick women. What other secrets do you hold?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” he said with a smile, as they reached the main street. Taking her elbow, he directed her along the buildings until they reached a cheery pub with men and women from the village streaming in and out. The owner’s wife greeted them warmly, saying, “Milord, it is so good of you to come and sup with us. It’s a bit busy today. Would you like me to seat you somewhere quiet?”
Valentine nodded. “Please. Then bring us two glasses of wine and some of the crusty bread you make so well.”
The woman smiled with pleasure at the compliment, seated them at a table in the back, and having delivered them two glasses of wine, scurried away to see to the bread and a bowl of her best stew. Valentine sipped his wine and sat back. Catherine marveled that he looked as comfortable here as he did on the back of a horse or in his well-appointed office.
She looked about the pub and noticed that while the locals were interested in them, they did not stare or ogle. They weren’t about their business, only tipping their hats or nodding politely when she caught their eye.
The pub itself was large and cozy, with rows of tables and benches and several smaller tables and chairs in the back, where she was seated. The ceilings were high and the walls filled with paintings. Catherine looked at the walls beside her and saw that they were actually seated beside a curtain leading to another room. The curtain was parted slightly, and she could see a bed and a chair on the other side.
“They rent that room out for the night,” Valentine told her. “I don’t imagine the occupants get very much sleep, but it’s better than nothing when you can’t afford one of the rooms upstairs.”
Catherine looked away from the curtain and went back to sipping her wine.
“Did you have a good afternoon?” he asked, after they sat in silence for some time. “Were the gowns Mrs. Punch selected to your liking?”
