mount, he got moving.
***
“Ethan?” said the looming black figure. “Ah, I’m crazed to open the door, I am.”
“Yes, ma’am. Ethan Trask, from over at Sir Alexander’s place? I’ve been here with my ma, years ago.”
“What in the Lord’s name are you doing out tonight? You weren’t mixed up with that gang of…?”
“No, ma’am. Trying to stay away from the troubles.” Ethan took the lantern from Lucy and opened it a hair, so that dim light fell over them. “Got ladies with me. It’s… it’s quite a tale.”
The club was lowered, and the figure stepped back. Charlotte saw that it was a broom held by a stocky village woman. Her face remained in shadow. The broom handle dropped farther. “Did those idiots hurt you?”
“No, we’re all right.” The noise of the mob had receded down the road. Ethan opened the lantern farther, and the woman looked them over. Charlotte couldn’t imagine what she thought of her dirty, bedraggled evening dress and disintegrating slippers, of her snarled hair. “Come inside.” She turned; they followed her into a neat cottage, a fire burning low in the stone hearth.
“I’ll just see to the horse first.” Ethan went out as their hostess lit a lamp. Wooden chairs stood on either side of the fireplace, and an iron pot hung over the coals. To one side of the room was a table piled with embroidery and fancywork, which no doubt represented her livelihood.
The village woman put her broom aside and turned, hands on hips. Her face was ruddy, with crinkles around the eyes that suggested she smiled more often than not. She wore a neat plain gown and white cap and might have been fifty.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” Charlotte didn’t think her legs would hold her any longer. She dropped into a chair without permission, then put her face in her hands. Lucy came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. The three women were still until Ethan came back, closed and barred the door. “All right,” said the village woman then, “whatever are you doing outside in the dark on this night of all nights?”
“It was in the nature of an emergency, ma’am,” replied Ethan.
“That I can believe.”
Charlotte raised her head. “I don’t even know where I am.”
“This be South Wingfield, miss—a law-abiding village until this night.”
“Those men…”
“Say fools, rather.” The woman sighed. “Though God knows they’ve been driven to it.” She shook her head. “No one will listen to them now.”
“We’re on the way to Sir Alexander’s house,” said Ethan. “But I reckon we can’t go until it’s light.”
She nodded. “There’ll be soldiers out as well. And they won’t be asking your business before they wade in.” She sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I fear they’ll all be hanged. And my nephew’s gone with them. He wouldn’t be told, knows it all at seventeen. Ah, Lord save them.” She walked over and sat heavily in the other chair.
She looked so tired and worried that Charlotte’s own problems receded. “Sir Alexander would help him,” she said, having no doubt, with all he had told her, that it was true.
The woman’s gaze was penetrating. “He does try; I’ve heard that.” Her hostess’s eyes ran over her gown again. “Excuse me, miss, but what are you doing here?”
Charlotte hesitated, not knowing what to say. Even now, she was reluctant to expose Lady Isabella to a stranger. Ethan and Lucy deferred to her for an answer.
The woman waited a moment, then leaned over the hearth. “Well, it’s none of my affair. And maybe I don’t even want to know. You’re welcome to rest here. And in the morning you can be on your way.” She took a ladle from a hook and stirred the iron pot. “Are you hungry? I’ve some soup.”
At the tantalizing odor stirred up, Charlotte’s stomach growled loudly. She hadn’t eaten in… she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.
The woman laughed. “Seems so.” She took a pottery mug from the mantel and ladled a thick broth into it. When she handed it over, Charlotte sagged with relief. Aching all over from her forced journey, her mind still less than sharp, she was in desperate need of a safe haven. She took the soup with grateful hands that shook only a little. “Thank you.” Slowly, she sipped. There was chicken and barley and carrots; it tasted heavenly.
“This is Mrs. Finlay,” Ethan said as she served the others. “Ma’am, this is Lucy, and… Miss Charlotte.” The woman nodded. Lucy dropped