“Something like that.”Lord Fairfax’s deep rumble of a voice was so close she felt his warm breath tickle the fine hairs on her nape.“That table has been reserved for the same person for one hundred and seventy-three years.”
She raised her eyebrows.Surely he was jesting.
Fairfax pulled a chair out for her and she sat down, and he took the seat around the table corner from her.
“It’s true, Miss.”From the other side of the table, the serving maid stacked the dirty dishes in one hand.“Sidney Godolphin wrote his best poems right at this very spot.”She jabbed one index finger on the other table, then continued wiping up with a damp cloth.
“Local history says he was wounded in battle and carried to the front steps of the inn, where he died from his wounds.He comes back to visit from time to time.My uncle has seen him.”The serving maid tucked the rag back in her apron pocket.“One stormy night my uncle was sitting where you are, playing cribbage with his friend.They started arguing over scoring points when they suddenly noticed a gent with a big white feather in his hat, scribbling away at this table.While they was staring at him and trying to figure out who he was, he gathered up his papers and walked past them, straight through that wall.”She pointed to the brick wall behind Sophia.The solid brick wall, with no doors or windows.
She hurried off to the kitchen just as Mr.Huntley pulled out a chair for Mrs.Digby and they sat down.
“Acquainting Miss Walden with our local lore?”Mrs.Digby said.
“I wrote an essay about Sidney Godolphin after my first visit here,” Mr.Huntley said.“My literature don was quite impressed.”
“He was impressed that you finally wrote about someone other than a composer,” Fairfax said.
“Music lyricsareliterature.”
Fairfax opened his mouth, no doubt to continue this age-old debate between them, when the serving girl returned to take their orders.
When it came Sophia’s turn, she looked at Mrs.Digby.“You’re most familiar with this establishment.What do you recommend?”
Mrs.Digby suggested the same meat pie she had ordered for herself.The serving girl soon brought out tankards of ale, and while they waited for their food, they chatted more about the poet who haunted the inn as well as other local specters.He and the Gray Lady were far from the only ghosts in town; it seemed every building more than a hundred years old had a spirit that visited now and then.
What surprised Sophia was that no one seemed surprised.Ghosts popping in and out were just part of the scenery, no more remarkable or cause for comment than storms or a statue in the town center square.“Everyone accepts ghosts as being real?Even Mr.Middlebrook, the vicar?”
“He speaks about spirits every Sunday in his sermons.”Mrs.Digby smiled over the rim of her tankard.
“In the context of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Fairfax said, lowering his chin and looking at his aunt sideways.
Mrs.Digby shrugged, her eyes twinkling with a suppressed smile.
The serving girl brought their food, and they were all quiet for several minutes as they dug into their meal.
Sophia almost moaned in delight.No inn she had ever dined at had food this tasty.It was as good or better than Mrs.Bickford’s cooking.The pastry was flaky, the meat tender and juicy, and the vegetables were still recognizable.Most importantly, she managed not to dribble any gravy on her dress.Doing so while Fairfax included her in the conversation would have been beyond mortifying.
The ale was as delicious as the food, with a fruity overtone she had never noticed before, and found utterly delightful.
“They brew it here themselves,” Lord Fairfax said, after he swallowed the last of his tankard and gestured toward the kitchen for a refill.
Mr.Huntley nodded enthusiastically.“The first time I ever got drunk was when we snuck in—ouch!”He glared at Fairfax as he lowered one hand below the table, apparently rubbing where Fairfax had kicked him.
Mrs.Digby snapped her eyebrows together.“Boys!”she quietly hissed.She took another sip of the ale in question.“That information does not ever need to get as far as your father.Either of them.”
Sophia could not help smiling.Of course Mrs.Digby knew whatever her nephew and his friend had got up to, undoubtedly when they were visiting on holiday from university.Or perhaps even Eton.
Fairfax stayed behind to settle their bill with the innkeeper.The rest of them strolled out to the courtyard, enjoying the sunshine while awaiting their carriage.Sophia studied the orchestrated chaos of horses and carriages and people going to and fro.
The young man who seemed to be directing the chaos looked like a younger version of the innkeeper she had glimpsed in the kitchen.Both were imposing, large men, one with a full head of gray hair, while the son’s hair was still dark brown.
“Get the lead out of yer arse,” he shouted at a young groom who was slowly leading a horse to the stables.The gentleman who had just dismounted hurried into the inn without a backward glance.
“Aye, sir,” the groom replied, doubling his pace.
“Good for nothing, useless piece of shite,” the supervisor grumbled as he went to help unhitch a carriage where the groom was struggling with a buckle.
“I see Clyde is as cheerful as ever,” Fairfax said, coming up behind them.
