The Mysterious Merriana Read online

  The Mysterious Merriana

  Carolynn Carey

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Excerpt—The Untamable Antonia

  About the Author

  Also by Carolynn Carey

  The Mysterious Merriana

  Copyright © 2016 by Carolynn Carey

  Excerpt from The Untamable Antonia copyright © 2016 by Carolynn Carey

  All rights reserved.

  By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, now known or hereinafter invented, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.

  All characters in this book are a result of the author’s imagination and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Nor are they remotely inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are total invention.

  Cover design by Dar Albert

  Chapter 1

  December 1811, the English countryside

  The Drake and Cock was not an inn that catered to the Quality, nor did the two unlike brothers who passed as innkeepers have much use for the ton, with one notable exception. Still and all, the inn served its purpose, set as it was a bit too far off the road and shrouded by massive and ancient oaks that groaned in the summer like live things dying and rustled in the winter like dead things waking.

  The occasional unimaginative guest might describe the inn as gloomy, but dismal was a word more often used to describe its atmosphere. While some guests bemoaned the inn’s lack of a private parlor and the fact that it boasted only six small bedchambers, others deplored the quality of its food. The best that had been said of the Drake and Cock was that it was dilapidated rather than disreputable.

  In spite of this spate of missing amenities, the Drake and Cock was seen as the perfect stopover by his lordship, Justin Foster, fifth Earl of Cardleigh, late on a December afternoon when a northern wind lashed the lingering oak leaves and scattered flecks of snow like a giant’s dandruff over the brown countryside.

  Justin drove his curricle and two perfectly matched greys up to the inn’s inadequate stable and tossed the reins to a waiting stable boy.

  “Give them good care, Billy,” he called to that lad as he jumped down from his perch. “And an extra measure of feed. We’ve quite a ways to go in the morning. Are Tom and Luke inside?”

  “That they are, Lord Cardleigh. They’re expecting you. Got a fire going in the taproom and a new kitchen girl who can cook a chicken that’ll melt in yer mouth.”

  “A decent cook at the Drake and Cock?” Justin’s elevated eyebrows expressed his doubts about that claim, but the stable boy gave no sign of taking offense.

  “Aye,” he replied with a wide grin. “Don’t nobody believe me when I tell ’em. Don’t reckon your lordship would care to place a small wager on whether I’m right?”

  Justin grinned back. “Almost, Billy, you convince me that it’s true. I’ve never known you to lay a wager unless it was on a sure thing.”

  “A shilling?” the boy inquired hopefully.

  Laughing, Justin shook his head. “This new cook must truly be a paragon of the culinary skills if you’re willing to risk a whole shilling. But my father taught me long ago to beware of Captain Sharps. You’d best save your bets for some country local who’s not up to snuff.”

  The boy shook his head in feigned disappointment, then turned to the horses. “Best hurry in, yer lordship,” he called over his shoulder as he began the job of rubbing down one of the purest-bred horses that had ever graced the stable of the Drake and Cock. “I wouldn’t put it past Tom and Luke to eat up all the victuals before you get inside.”

  “Thanks, Billy,” the earl replied as he flipped the boy a coin. “And if the Drake and Cock’s new cook is as good as you say, I may give you that shilling for providing me with such relief of mind.”

  With a final wave, Justin turned from the relative warmth of the stable. He pulled his multi-caped driving coat close against the biting wind and quickly strode across the frozen yard to a sagging oak door where he knocked sharply three times and then, after a pause, a fourth time.

  The door was opened in a couple of seconds and, from within the dim hall, a hearty welcome sounded. “Good afternoon, Justin. Good to see you.” The fellow stepped aside so that his formidable frame no longer filled the doorway, then he waved Justin inside. “Any trouble getting here?” he asked.

  “None,” Justin replied. “But it’s damn cold, Tom. Billy said you have a fire going. I’d welcome warming beside it with a glass of your smuggled brandy.”

  “Luke’s got a glass already poured for you. Come on in. Between the fire and the brandy, we’ll get you thawed out in no time.”

  A few minutes later, Justin had seated himself in front of the hearth, stretched his legs out in front of him, and propped his boots upon a wobbly footstool near the fire. The two innkeepers sat on either side of him as the three sipped their brandy in the companionable silence of old friends. It was not long, however, before Luke—who was as small as his younger brother was large—clanked his glass down and rose to stride back and forth before the fire. With neither the size nor the easy disposition of his brother, he could be still for only seconds at a time.

  “I don’t feel good about this, Justin,” he stated as he paced. “We don’t know much about this fellow who’s coming to join you, despite our best efforts to investigate him. We know only that he’s from the French aristocracy and that he claims to know the north of France like the back of his hand. But I don’t trust Frenchies, as you know. We’re at war with the Frogs, for God’s sake, and I wouldn’t want to bet my life on any Frenchman’s ability or trustworthiness, and that’s exactly what you’re doing, you know.”

  “Others besides you have investigated him, Luke,” Justin replied, “and I have no choice but to trust him. I can speak French, but not like a native, and I don’t know the country or the customs where I’m going. If he can guide me, I’ll be in and out that much sooner. Still, old friend, rest assured that I’ll keep a close eye on him. I’m not one to give my trust indiscriminately.”

  “That I know, Justin, and it’s of some comfort to me. But even men who don’t easily trust have been stabbed in the back or betrayed because they couldn’t see every direction at once. That’s why I think you should take me or Tom with you.”

  “Impossible,” Justin said immediately. “Neither of you can speak a word of French. Even if I’m accepted as a Frenchman, how do I explain an English-speaking traveling companion?”

  “Simple,” Tom spoke up. “We pretend to be deaf and dumb. That way, we don’t have to talk.”
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br />   Justin shook his head. He appreciated Tom’s and Luke’s concerns, but he couldn’t allow them to jeopardize the mission. The man he was going to France to retrieve had been spying for the English for some time, but he’d sent word that he’d come under suspicion and he needed help getting out of France.

  The rescue wouldn’t be easy, but the War Office had promised Justin help in the form of a Frenchman who knew not only the language but also the area where the agent was hiding.

  Now, watching Luke and Tom exchange skeptical glances, he swallowed a sigh and forced a smile. “I appreciate that both of you are willing to join me, but you may be needed here. I’ve advised more than one of my colleagues that they can leave messages for me at the Drake and Cock.”

  The two nodded their heads, but their frowns deepened. To avoid more discussion, Justin quickly changed the subject.

  “Where, may I ask, is the infamous hospitality of the Drake and Cock? Here I sit, hungry enough to eat both drake and cock, and I’m offered neither. Billy said you have an amazingly good cook. Or did I just imagine that he was imparting such unbelievable news?”

  Luke grinned sheepishly while Tom jumped to his feet and headed for the kitchen. “We’ve got the gal working on something special for you, Justin,” he called back over his shoulder. “You won’t believe it when you taste her cooking. I don’t know how such a chit of a girl learned to cook so good, but I’m just thankful the good Lord saw fit to send her our way.”

  As Tom disappeared through a door that led toward the kitchen, Justin turned to Luke. “Considering,” he said with a slight frown, “that the Drake and Cock has the worst reputation for food in the whole of England, how did you come by this treasure of a cook?”

  “Dumb luck,” Luke stated. “The poor thing stumbled in here one morning, half starved and more than half frozen. She said she was a farmer’s daughter from north of here and had run off to keep from being made to marry some neighbor who was old enough to be her granddad. She was on her way to London but had no money. She asked to work for us for a bite to eat that day. Tom put her to cooking our breakfast, and we both thought we’d died and gone to heaven. She made an omelet that would make you kill your granny for a bite. We’ve kept her on since. I’m hoping, it being so cold right now, that she’ll at least agree to stay ’til spring before setting out for London again.”

  “If she’s that good,” Justin said, grinning, “maybe you or Tom should marry her and keep her here for good. Perhaps business would pick up at this dilapidated pile of kindling you two call an inn.”

  “I ain’t never wanted business that bad,” Luke said. “But she’s a pretty little thing. Maybe I can talk Tom into marrying her.”

  “Marrying who?” Tom asked as he came back into the room bearing a large tray covered with a variety of dishes. He slammed the tray down on a nearby table and glared at the two grinning men before him. “Marrying who?” he asked again.

  “One of the royal princesses,” Luke responded with a sly smile. “Justin says they’ve been inquiring about you.”

  Tom ignored his brother’s barb. “If you’re talking about our new cook,” he said, “you can forget it. She’s pretty as a picture but much too little for me. Why, if I gave her a friendly hug, I’d probably break two or three of her ribs. You’re more her size, brother. Why don’t you marry her?”

  “Why either of you think she would consider marrying you is beyond my comprehension,” Justin grumbled as he moved from his chair by the fire to the table where Tom had placed the tray. “Here I am, starved half to death, while you two so-called innkeepers argue over who’s going to marry the cook.”

  The brothers grinned sheepishly and then hurried to lay three place settings with their best plates and their least-bent cutlery. In their haste, they never noticed Justin’s raised eyebrows as they uncovered dish after dish, exposing chicken sautéed in butter and covered with a burgundy sauce, two rabbits browned to a crisp and smothered with onions, beef steaks floating in oyster sauce, a cheese soufflé that looked as light as any Justin had ever seen in the best hostelries in Paris, numerous bowls of vegetables, and crepes filled with various jellies.

  “Strange,” he muttered to himself, but the brothers had already seated themselves and started dipping into the dishes, so he hastily took his seat lest he miss out on the food. Several excellent bottles of wine accompanied the meal, and in little more than half an hour, the three men were not only replete but also half foxed.

  “Now,” Justin said as he leaned back in his chair, a mellow look on his face, “I can’t help wondering about that cook of yours. You say she’s from the north, but—”

  “Quiet,” Tom interrupted. “Someone’s knocking.”

  The three listened as the summons sounded again—two knocks, a pause, and two more knocks. “That’ll be Billy,” Luke muttered as he hurried toward the door. “Wonder what he can want?”

  Billy was frowning as he stepped into the room and approached Justin. “Amos Harvey from up the road a piece—he’s Farmer Harvey’s son—just rode in to say there’s a man at their place—Frenchman by the sound of him. Him and his horse broke their legs while headed this way. Mr. Harvey shot the horse. The Frenchman’s laid up in Mrs. Harvey’s spare bedroom, and the doctor says he can’t be moved for three or four weeks. The Frenchman sent Amos here to get word to you.”

  Justin turned away with a curse while Tom frowned at his stable lad. “Did Amos say how the man and horse came to have broken legs?” he asked.

  “Amos says the Frenchman claims there was a piece of rope tied across the road. He didn’t see it until it was too late to stop. But when Farmer Harvey and the doctor went to check the road where he went down, there was nothing there. They think he didn’t want to admit to riding his horse into the ditch.”

  “That’s just as well,” Justin said as he turned from his contemplation of the fire to face Billy again. “Let them continue to think that. Tell Amos to tell his parents that Tom and Luke will be coming by in a day or so to see the fellow and to drop off some money to help provide for his care.”

  Billy merely nodded and hurried out. As soon as the door shut behind the boy, Luke turned to Justin. “What do you do now?”

  “I go alone, of course. There’s nothing else to be done.”

  Luke sighed, then nodded. “In that case, you had best go to bed so you can get some rest before morning. What time do you want to leave?”

  “By seven, I think. I should be able to reach the coast by three in the afternoon, and that’s when I’m to meet the captain.”

  Tom rubbed the back of his neck, then grimaced. “You realize, Justin, that if they stopped the Frenchman, they’ll likely try to stop you.”

  “Possibly,” Justin agreed. “If they know about me. Perhaps the Frenchman’s full mission wasn’t known.”

  “How any of it was known beats me,” Luke grumbled. “Only me and Tom knew at this end, and you’re well enough acquainted with us to know that we didn’t slip up. Could it have been someone at your end, Justin?”

  “It could have been, but I doubt it. Few people knew, and those few I trust implicitly. I think it must have been the Frenchman who failed to keep his tongue between his teeth, although failing to do so put his life in danger. Still, there’s no use speculating now. I still leave early tomorrow and, as you suggested, Luke, I’d better get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, friends.”

  Before half an hour had passed, Justin was lying in the bed of the inn’s best chamber, but he wasn’t resting. Something nagged at his mind. He wasn’t worrying about what had happened to the Frenchman. That was past, and worrying wouldn’t change it. No, something else was bothering him—a detail he felt he’d forgotten in the excitement. It tantalized him, flitting just beyond the grasp of his memory, so he lay awake, trying to remember whatever it was that he had once thought important.

  Then, just as sleep was about to claim him, he remembered. The food. No English farmer’s daughter could cook like
a sophisticated French chef. Justin climbed out of bed, pulled on his trousers and boots, then tugged a shirt over his head before easing out into the corridor and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

  Chapter 2

  In the inn’s kitchen, Merriana de Mérchan sighed softly as she placed one more large kettle in the cooling dishwater. She had risen at dawn to begin preparations for that evening’s supper, and she was now nearing exhaustion. Her feet hurt, her legs ached, and her eyes smarted from the smoke that billowed from the giant fireplace whenever the unpredictable December wind decided to change directions.

  Merriana flinched as the heavy kettle slipped from her soapy hands and sloshed dishwater down the front of her gown. The damp fabric of her thin dress plastered itself against her bodice, but, for all the discomfort, at least she was not chilled. The inn’s small kitchen was cozily warm, and she was soon humming, quite unconsciously, a little ditty her paternal grandmother had written. It was a simple little song, rather amateurishly composed, but it had a catchy tune and always came unbidden to Merriana’s mind whenever she was afraid or, as she was tonight, extremely tired.

  It was not that she was unaccustomed to hard work, Merriana reflected as her memory reverted, for what must have been the thousandth time in the last few weeks, to another kitchen—one on the outskirts of Paris in the popular inn where she had been raised. There had been warmth there, and laughter, and Jacques—always Jacques—worrying, comforting, shielding, and teaching. A Parisian kitchen, she knew, was hardly a conventional schoolroom for the daughter of a French comte and the niece of an English duke, but it had been filled with love and gentle tutelage—as well as safety—until Jacques had at last deemed it possible for her to undertake the uncomfortable and hazardous flight to England.

  “At least,” she murmured to herself, “tonight I am warm and well fed and not, thank God, frightened anymore.” She was thankful, too, that the skills she’d learned by helping Jacques now enabled her, when she had been rendered destitute through a series of mishaps on her clandestine journey out of France, to find honest employment. Still, she did wish that Tom and Luke could afford to hire a pot boy. She’d enjoyed only a bit of help that entire day when Tom had sat at the kitchen table for half an hour and peeled potatoes while explaining why this meal was so important to him and Luke.