* * *
“Cooke, this is the right way?” Pencot asked for the hundredth time in only a matter of hours. “Yer sure of it?”
“Aye, sir,” he answered, seemingly still certain but then again, there was no way to tell when it came to his addled mind. He might as well be certain it was noon when the sun was barely above the horizon.
Pencot sighed. “I believes ya, it’s just that we’ve been riding for over a day. There’s no way ya ran this far, boy!”
“Oh, but I did! I told ya, I slept in the ditch one night and I got up early in the morning to follow after ‘em.” Cooke smiled reassuringly. Suddenly, his expression brightened. “Look! I remember it now. Thar’s where I stole some eggs from a farm to eat somethin’ before I kept runnin’! ‘Tis only another hour to the fancy house, right ‘ere on this same road.””
“Excellent work! Then perhaps we must hurry back and tell Prince Aaron. In any case, we shouldn’t linger long here in case anyone remembers ya, eh?” Pencot said, feeling somewhat relieved now that something was familiar to the young man.
“Oh, ‘tis good thinkin’. Yer always lookin’ out for me, Pencot. I thank ya dearly for it, ya know,” Cooke said somberly. “I know I’m not one ‘o Prince Aaron’s smart fellows. I’m only here so I can knock down a door or trample a fancy man who do naw pay up.”
“Tis untrue, Cooke!” Pencot protested, though he knew the poor man was right. Still, there was no sense letting on that it was an accurate assessment. “Yer quite valuable to the whole operation. Why, I’d naw be surprised if Prince Aaron couldnaw get along without ya. After all, look what ya did here! If naw for you, none of us would know where to even go lookin’ fer Lady Beatrix.”
“I ‘spose yer right,” Cooke admitted sheepishly, “but I cannaw help but feel like everyone else is always knowin’ stuff and I’m just left standin’ around like a dull boy. I wish I was smart like you and Aaron.”
“Ya don’t need to worry yerself about bein’ smart when yer as strong as an ox and as loyal as the best breed of dog. Prince Aaron and the lot of us, why… we’d all be taken up by the coppers long ago if not for yer brute strength and yer bravery! Now, let’s keep a good eye out to make sure we ain’t spotted.”
Cooke nodded. “Probably best to keep quiet too, then.”
“Aye, it is,” Pencot said, looking at him pointedly.
“Do ya think someone might hear us from here?”
“Aye, I do. So let’s be quiet. All right?” Pencot held a finger to his lips and shushed the man. Cooke returned the gesture, but frowned.
“I wonder why peoples put their finger to they mouths to show yer to be quiet,” he said out loud. Pencot shook his head.
“Cooke, ya have to be quiet now. All right?”
“Oh aye. I forgot. That’s all. I’m always forgettin’ stuff, ain’t I? I donaw mean to, I just can’t seem to hold on to a thought fer too long. This one time—”
“Cooke! Now. You must be silent NOW.” Pencot glared at him, jerking his head to show they were rounding the curve dangerously close to the farm. Cooke had already admitted to stealing from their place once before.
“Oh. Right,” Cooke whispered, his eyes widening fearfully. He took a breath as though to say something else but Pencot walloped him on the shoulder soundly. “Right. No talkin’ now.”
They trotted on purposefully, attempting to appear as two men traveling with intention. When they finally managed to put the farm behind them, Cooke turned to Pencot with a smile but the older man shook his head.
“I’m not sure it’s safe. The farmer… why, he could have… well, he might have spies out in the wood! There could be men comin’ after us right this very minute. We’d best keep quiet for some time to come. All right?”
* * *
Beatrix took extra care preparing for dinner that evening. Birdie had already brought her a gown the likes of which she had never seen, not even in a shop when she’d been to London once or twice. Its lace was so delicate she almost didn’t trust herself to slip it on without tearing it, and its rows of silk ribbon roses shimmered faintly when she held it towards the light.
Why are you so skittish? Beatrix thought, brushing out her hair gently before Greta would come to style it.This is only another meal, and after this evening, this will all be a memory.
Still, Beatrix was perplexed to find that her heart was torn. She desperately wanted to be away from this place so that she could return to her father. He must be standing on his ear at her lengthy absence! But at the same time, she grieved slightly for what she stood to lose. A man she considered her equal in wit and concern was a rarity, one that Beatrix knew she might never chance to encounter again.
“Miss? Are ya ready for us?” Greta asked, opening the door slightly.
“Do come in!” she answered, jumping slightly at the sound of the maid’s voice.
Greta and Birdie entered, each carrying a covered tray. While Greta set about curling the loose tendrils of Beatrix’s long hair with her hot irons, Birdie helped her into her gown and began hemming its long, layered skirts.
“Aye, there’s not much I must do for it,” Birdie said, eyeing it with an appraising glance. “It does fit ya like it was sewn for ya just this mornin’!”
“Where did the Marquess acquire it?” Beatrix chanced to ask, hoping she sounded merely curious.
