Fair Weather Enemies Read online

  Jane shook her head. “That will not be necessary, Mr. Thistlethwaite. However, you may do us another favor.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You can take us to Castle Hewen.”

  The drunk shook his head. “Cannot.”

  “Cannot? Why?”

  He cocked his head at her as if she were daft. “B’cause it’s nearly dark. Can’t see the castle in the dark.”

  “Good point, sir. Then you can take us there at first light.”

  “Cannot.”

  “Again, why?”

  “I will still be too drunk at first light. Later is better.”

  She sighed. “Very well, Mr. Thistlethwaite. Then perhaps you might direct us to the nearest inn.”

  The man poked a finger upward. “That I can do. Jus’ step outside, turn right, and walk ten miles to Carlisle.”

  “But sir, we just came from Carlisle.”

  Thistlethwaite frowned. “Too bad, that. Then perhaps you can do as I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of his forthcoming suggestion. “What do you do?”

  He swept a hand to encompass the tiny pub. “I sleep here most nights. In my chair. On the floor. Sometimes across a table. It matters not.”

  “And the proprietor allows this?”

  “He cares not. Watch.” Thistlethwaite cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ho, George. Do ya care if these fine folk sleep on the floor?”

  The man behind the bar looked up with a frown, grunted unintelligibly, and went back to cleaning glasses. Thistlethwaite smiled.

  “See. He cares not.”

  With that, the man leaned his head on the table and began snoring within moments. Jane looked up to find Adam with a wistful smile gracing his features.

  “What is it, sir?”

  “It seems you have negotiated free boarding for the evening. As such, we may dine more elegantly than expected. I believe I smell the aroma of roast lamb drifting from the kitchen.” He lifted his chin to the proprietor. “Is that not right, good sir?”

  The man mumbled again and nodded.

  “Excellent. After supper, the men and women will retire to our respective corners. In the meantime, I suggest a few hands of whist. Who’s game?”

  Jane clapped her hands together. “I am. I prefer nothing more than humbling my archest enemy at cards. Mr. Ashford, prepare to be savaged.”

  He laughed softly. “I look forward to it, Miss Hancock.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hailing from a landed family had provided Adam many benefits unavailable to most Britons. A large house. Excellent fare. Fine clothing. A quality education. However, chief among those benefits was a plush bed for sleeping. Similar beds appeared wherever he traveled, lovingly cradling his slumbering form. As a result, he found himself surprisingly unable to move after waking from a night on an unyielding pinewood floor. A groan escaped him as he stretched his spine and rolled to hands and knees.

  “Do you require assistance, Mr. Ashford?”

  He lifted his eyes to find Jane smiling down at him, displaying no ill effects from her stay on the floor. Pride drove him quickly to his feet, despite his suspicion that several of his vertebrae shattered in the process.

  “I am perfectly fine. Although I thank you for your concern over my health.”

  “I was not concerned for your health, sir. However, if you expire, I may be forced to drag Beelzebub all the way to Penrith. I prefer that you handle the job, as your brute shoulders seem more suited to the task than do mine.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Brute shoulders, you say?”

  “Like those of a field hand. Not slender like those of a proper gentleman. Do you, in fact, work the fields, Adam?”

  Her smirk indicated the improbability of such a thing. He smiled as he considered her coming surprise.

  “Every harvest since I was twelve.”

  As he had anticipated, her superiority slowly faded when she realized he wasn’t joking. The puzzlement that seized her features left an enticing crease above the bridge of her nose.

  “You work the fields?”

  “Of course.”

  She paused before expelling a pent-up question. “Why? You are a gentleman. Gentleman do not perform physical labor.”

  He nodded to validate her question, but his jaw squared as pride bubbled up within. “Because, Miss Hancock, those fields have belonged to my family for generations. My father insisted I work the harvests to earn the right to care for those fields. After his passing, responsibility for the land fell to me. Because of his wisdom, I know and cherish every inch of those fields and would do anything to protect them. Anything.”

  His unforced confession surprised him. Why had he bothered to share with his chief adversary what he had not told even his closest friends? Something about Jane invited his confidence, a fact he found astonishing. His surprise, however, seemed nothing compared to the haunt that grew in Jane’s eyes. The promise of tears made them shine like wounded beacons. After a moment, she tucked her chin.

  “I did not understand.”

  “Did not understand what?”

  She lifted her chin to gaze at him again. “I did not understand the extent of what you stand to lose.”

  He should have reveled in her hurt, should have exalted in her shame. Instead, a desire to lift her spirits overcame him. He forced a smile and flexed his shoulders one at a time.

  “Regardless, now you know the truth. Now you know why I possess such a repulsive physique.”

  A budding smile seized her mouth, lifting the ends of her lips. “I never used the word repulsive.”

  “Abhorrent, then?”

  “No.”

  “Ugly?”

  “No. None of those.”

  He flexed his shoulders again. “You did, however, use the word brute. Surely, you do not hold brutishness in high regard.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I am a miller’s daughter, sir. Brutishness offends me not at all. In fact, I find it rather…”

  He waited only a moment before cocking an eyebrow again. “Rather what?”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “I find it rather unnecessary for us to continue this course of conversation. It moves us no closer to the prize.”

  “I might disagree with that,” he mumbled. However, she appeared not to hear as the creaking door caught her attention. Hester had just entered the pub with Barlow at her heels lugging a pair of buckets.

  “Good morning, niece. Mr. Barlow has kindly fetched a bucket of water with which we may wash and refresh ourselves.”

  “What is the purpose of the second bucket?” Jane asked. Barlow answered by setting one down, walking to the slumbering Thistlethwaite, and flinging the contents of the second bucket onto the man. Thistlethwaite roared to his feet, sending his chair flying backward.

  “Heavens to Mary and Joseph and all the saints! Why’d you do that?”

  Barlow shot Thistlethwaite a steely glare. “Because, sir, my previous attempts to wake you by gentler means proved futile, and the day is wasting. You left me no choice but to resort to violence.”

  Thistlethwaite wiped water from his eyes as it dripped from his soaked hair. “You should have just poured me a beer. I wake to that without fail.”

  “We require you sober, Mr. Thistlethwaite.”

  Confusion crept over the local’s face. “Why? Do I know you?”

  Adam stepped toward him. “Of course, sir. We spoke at length last evening.”

  “About what?”

  “About giants. Specifically, the Giant of Hewen Castle. You promised to take us there this morning.”

  “Ah,” he breathed. “I seem to remember that now.”

  “Wonderful. We would greatly appreciate your taking us to the castle, then.”

  Thistlethwaite shook his damp head. �
��Cannot.”

  “Dare I ask, why?”

  The man stared at Adam as if observing the very picture of idiocy. He clasped his hands together. “I cannot take you to the castle because the castle no longer exists. Hasn’t for two hundred years.”

  Adam massaged his temples with frustration, attempting to assemble a response suitable for mixed company. Before he could complete the prickly task, Jane squeezed past his elbow.

  “Mr. Thistlethwaite.” She spoke with a gentle patience far superior to anything Adam could muster in the moment. “What happened to Castle Hewen?”

  He shrugged. “The good people of Hesket and surrounding areas liberated the stones for more practical uses. Such as houses, fences, and the like.” He glanced around the room. “In fact, I believe this very pub owes much of its existence to the demise of the castle.”

  “So, there is nothing left at all of the castle?”

  “A kind of nothing, miss. Just a shallow hole in the ground and a few scattered stones.”

  Jane frowned at Adam. “What do you think? Might the gol…the object of our search be buried in the hole?”

  He considered the question before shaking his head. “Not likely. The letter contains too many further instructions. However, the hole may offer context for deciphering the next lines. Particularly the mention of hallowed ground. Perhaps we should go there.” He looked to Thistlethwaite. “Can you take us to the hole marking the former location of the plundered castle?”

  Thistlethwaite shrugged again. “I could. However, if it is hallowed ground you seek, I suggest you visit the giant’s grave.”

  Jane spun again to face him. “His grave? You know where the Bad Baron is buried?”

  “Of course. Even the village idiot knows that.”

  “You will take us there, then?”

  He shook his head. “Cannot.”

  All four of the treasure seekers simultaneously blurted, “Why?”

  Thistlethwaite’s eyes widened at the unexpected vitriol. He straightened, gripped a still-empty pint glass, and hugged it to his chest. “Because the grave is in Penrith. That’s twelve miles away with nary a drop of spirits along the route. I prefer to remain here near the kegs, if you don’t mind.”

  “Very well,” said Adam. He noted the bite of his reply and breathed once to tamp down exasperation. “Then perhaps you may provide us directions.”

  Thistlethwaite brightened. “That I can do. Go to St. Andrew’s Church in Penrith. Find the priest who oversees the place—a Mr. Fudge. Ask him to show you the grave. Then spit in his eye.”

  Adam suppressed a sigh. “I don’t suppose you mind telling me why I should spit in his eye?”

  “Not at all, sir. He is my cousin, and he owes me money.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Recent dismal memories plagued Jane as the company trekked along the Roman Road toward Penrith while leading a rebellious horse. Her eyes swept across the remains of one ruined field after another, dire monuments to the wave of failed crops plaguing Britain. Three consecutive disastrous harvests had pushed the country toward the brink of hunger and social unrest. More personally, it had shuttered her family’s milling business and placed her at the mercy of Mr. Rutley. Worst of all, the stress had claimed her father’s life only six months earlier, leaving Jane to shoulder the burden for her only remaining kin, Aunt Hester.

  She looked ahead to find her indomitable aunt walking alongside Mr. Barlow, talking, laughing, and otherwise reveling in the journey. Jane wondered how Aunt Hester could so easily dismiss the stark reality of their situation. She glanced back at Adam. He appeared to have sensed her melancholy and had refrained from engaging in conversation. He must have taken the glance for an invitation to converse.

  “What consumes you, Jane? You’ve said nothing for miles.”

  He tugged the horse vigorously to draw alongside her. She waved an arm toward the field adjacent the road. “I wonder what will become of those who rely on this to survive. I wonder how their children will fare against the teeth of winter.”

  “I don’t know.” He gazed at the field with her. “However, the poor weather cannot last forever. Every famine of the past eventually gave way to plenty. It will do so again. Your mill may yet survive.”

  She cocked her head and frowned. “What do you care of my mill? Has not your family schemed for decades to bring it to ruin?”

  “I do not deny that. However…” He failed to complete his thought.

  “However, what?”

  He expelled a weary breath. “However, now that your family is near ruin, I find myself oddly dismayed by the prospect.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Excellent question. I cannot be certain. But my parents and grandparents carefully cultivated me to battle the Hancocks. In the absence of an enemy, what would I do? I seem unprepared for any other course.”

  His admission took Jane by surprise. Not only was it unexpected, but it paralleled her own struggle. Without thinking, she blurted, “You will find a way. Have faith.”

  He glanced at her with arched eyebrows before staring ahead. She immediately second-guessed her outburst. Why had she offered encouragement? His family had brought hers to the cusp of extinction. Should she not rejoice in his misery? She escaped confusion the only way she knew how—by thoroughly changing the subject.

  “Speaking of finding a way, Adam, I pray this giant’s grave will point us to the next destination.”

  Adam nodded, and his solemn expression relaxed. “If we are fortunate, the giant’s grave will feature a beanstalk from which we may survey the land. Surely, the gold may be seen from there.”

  “But did not Jack’s giant whet his appetite with the bones of Englishmen? As we are all English, it seems we would constitute a tasty meal. Perhaps we should avoid beanstalks altogether.”

  “Prudent advice. Very prudent. However, as the giant is dead, I suspect we may outrun him.”

  She allowed a giggle to escape. “I may outrun him, sir. However, as you must drag Beelzebub, I fear for your safety.”

  “Not a problem. I would simply release the horse to the giant.”

  “I see. Two birds with one stone. You would rid yourself of a ridiculous horse while escaping certain death. But what would polite society think about your mistreatment of the poor animal?”

  As if on cue, Beelzebub lunged for Adam’s hat. He managed to rescue it from the horse’s teeth with minimal damage. After brushing saliva from the hat’s crown, he replaced it on his head. “I believe polite society would both understand and applaud my actions. You aptly named the beast.”

  “I suppose you may be correct, though I’m not a good judge of my betters. I long ago abandoned attempts to predict their whims. They seem to prize what I do not and disdain what I cherish. I am often confounded by them.”

  He peered at her until she grew uncomfortable. Then he said, “Do you consider me one of them? One of your confounding betters?”

  She regarded him with mute surprise. In truth, he seemed different to her now than even a few days earlier. An inexplicable tremor swept through her. She dismissed the sensation and smirked instead. “You are definitely not my better, Mr. Ashford. However, you are one of them.”

  “Oh!” He swept his hat dramatically from his head and bowed mockingly before replacing it. “Perhaps the right honorable Miss Hancock would deign to instruct me, a wretched member of the thems, in the art of what to cherish.”

  “Really, Adam, I…”

  “No, Jane. I insist. You may begin by telling me what you cherish in a man.”

  She considered protesting, but his theatrics awakened her mischief. “Very well. I will educate you only because I pity you. I prefer a mousy man, slender as a maypole, with a long nose that whistles when he breathes. And a stern nature that offers firm condescension to any who dare stray from their assigned place.
Oh, and he must possess a suitable vice or two, such as gambling or shouting at children or chasing light-skirts. Above all, he must be as rich as Croesus and twice as arrogant. I fear I could not love a man who did not possess all of these qualities in abundance.”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed as she spoke, but he grew a half smile. “I see. Where you might find such a commendable man, I do not know. Perhaps in one of London’s finest gutters.”

  “Or in any noble house.” With as much hauteur as she could muster, she said, “What of you? What do you prefer in a woman?”

  “Let me see.” He placed a finger to his chin and glanced skyward. “She must be frivolous and giddy, with a laugh that can be heard across two counties. The more earsplitting, the better. And she must be able to maintain a steady diatribe of nonsense from sunrise to sunset so that I need say nothing. But most of all, she should faint dead away at the mention of intolerable subjects, such as blowing one’s nose or having original thoughts.”

  His description produced in her a muffled laugh. “Oh, what a virtuous woman you describe. A veritable ‘Proverbs’ woman. However, you appear to have omitted one desirable trait.”

  “You don’t say. What trait is that?”

  “Apparently, you prefer women who do not kiss donkeys called Romeo.”

  “You bring that up again. Did I not already apologize?”

  “You did, but you have not yet suffered sufficiently.”

  This time, he laughed. “I accept your point. I will henceforth pull my manure cart with a greater sense of misery.”

  She marveled briefly at Adam’s self-deprecation. A week ago, she had believed him to be an arrogant dandy, incapable of admitting any flaw. However, the man walking beside her seemed nothing like that. He was more dedicated than dandy, more humble than haughty, and more genuine than gentleman. His lingering proximity set her sensibilities on edge, even as butterflies erupted in her stomach. She found the sensation unsettling but not unpleasant. She glanced up at him with curiosity.

  “What about Miss Rutley, then? She seems willing to pay you attention.”