thrilling, as she opened a door on one of the upstairs galleries surrounding the courtyard. "Many a guest has seen the young lass herself, passing through the bed chamber all in her robes and crown, her head bent with the weight of it."
The room's wooden panels were dark with age and had been snacked upon by worms in the not too recent past, but it was easy to imagine their former grandeur. "I wish we could stay," Dean said, looking up at the ceiling. Or maybe he didn't wish it.
The roof was low for modern tastes—Dean could have reached up and easily touched one of the heavy beams framing it—and it was all too easy to imagine Lady Jane's panic as her world closed in on her. He shifted his attention to a portrait of the young queen hanging on the wall, a poor reproduction of one he'd seen in London. "How old was she?"
Rob stretched out a finger, gently brushing the painted face. "Fifteen when she became queen, sixteen when they executed her."
"Good lord." Dean shivered. "Imagine your fate sealed at such a young age."
"Yes." The other man's voice sounded flat, and Dean remembered that Rob had been just fifteen when his uncle had caught him kissing another boy, and set his own future in motion.
"Rob..." But his companion was already deep in discussion with Mrs. Austin, her white curls bobbing as she threw herself into another tale.
They took a meal downstairs in the public room, part of a wing that had been added since the dawn of the current century. The larger scale of the room and profusion of windows were refreshing
after the medieval closeness of the Queen's Suite in the gallery upstairs, and the food well prepared. Dean nibbled on his second drumstick while the landlady, who had taken a shine to Rob, told him about other hauntings in the vicinity.
"Oh, and don't forget the Amberley Inn, down on Minchinhampton Common."
Mrs. Austin refilled their pewter mugs with a sound local ale. "They hanged young Tom Long there at the Cross, and his sweetheart waiting for him back at the inn all unknowing. On moonlit nights he comes back there to see her, the landlord's daughter."
"Hanged him?" No gentle nudge this time; Rob kicked Dean sharply under the table to forestall an incipient snicker. "And what did poor Tom do to deserve that?"
"A highwayman he was, but his Bess would have reformed him, if he'd lived long enough," the woman said comfortably.
"A highwayman," Dean muttered. "Hell and damnation, I suppose we'll have to.
Erich's been heading down the Bristol road, and was then going to cut back east for Bath, but if we head a bit southeast instead and go down through Tetbury and Chippenham it'll be about the same in the end. It's a shorter route but the roads aren't as good. Madam? Could we make Minchinhampton Common tonight?"
"Oh, aye. It's not more than ten—well, twelve, say—miles. Certainly no more than fifteen."
"Fifteen is pushing it," Rob said. "Never mind, we should just stick to the better roads anyway."
"Nay, twelve is more like it," Mrs. Austin said. "It's just a mile or two south of Stroud. Even if you walked you'd likely make that before full dark."
Rob didn't say anything, but his face radiated hope. It really wasn't such a hard decision to make.
"All right," Dean said. "We'll drop in on young Tom tonight, and stay over at the Amberley. But tomorrow, I swear—we'll be on the road at dawn and won't stop until the horses drop dead from exhaustion."
Chapter Ten
The ginger-hackled gent?" Frances, the serving girl at the Black Bear in Tewkesbury, widened her eyes at the proffered sovereign. "That's his lordship the Earl of Carwick, miss—ma'am." It was hard to tell the woman's age beneath her grey veil.
Odd, that. Not that it didn't make sense for a woman to go about veiled, especially if she were traveling alone, but this lady took her privacy especially seriously. Perhaps she was dreadfully scarred, or marked by the Devil with a harelip. She peered intently, but to her disappointment
The room's wooden panels were dark with age and had been snacked upon by worms in the not too recent past, but it was easy to imagine their former grandeur. "I wish we could stay," Dean said, looking up at the ceiling. Or maybe he didn't wish it.
The roof was low for modern tastes—Dean could have reached up and easily touched one of the heavy beams framing it—and it was all too easy to imagine Lady Jane's panic as her world closed in on her. He shifted his attention to a portrait of the young queen hanging on the wall, a poor reproduction of one he'd seen in London. "How old was she?"
Rob stretched out a finger, gently brushing the painted face. "Fifteen when she became queen, sixteen when they executed her."
"Good lord." Dean shivered. "Imagine your fate sealed at such a young age."
"Yes." The other man's voice sounded flat, and Dean remembered that Rob had been just fifteen when his uncle had caught him kissing another boy, and set his own future in motion.
"Rob..." But his companion was already deep in discussion with Mrs. Austin, her white curls bobbing as she threw herself into another tale.
They took a meal downstairs in the public room, part of a wing that had been added since the dawn of the current century. The larger scale of the room and profusion of windows were refreshing
after the medieval closeness of the Queen's Suite in the gallery upstairs, and the food well prepared. Dean nibbled on his second drumstick while the landlady, who had taken a shine to Rob, told him about other hauntings in the vicinity.
"Oh, and don't forget the Amberley Inn, down on Minchinhampton Common."
Mrs. Austin refilled their pewter mugs with a sound local ale. "They hanged young Tom Long there at the Cross, and his sweetheart waiting for him back at the inn all unknowing. On moonlit nights he comes back there to see her, the landlord's daughter."
"Hanged him?" No gentle nudge this time; Rob kicked Dean sharply under the table to forestall an incipient snicker. "And what did poor Tom do to deserve that?"
"A highwayman he was, but his Bess would have reformed him, if he'd lived long enough," the woman said comfortably.
"A highwayman," Dean muttered. "Hell and damnation, I suppose we'll have to.
Erich's been heading down the Bristol road, and was then going to cut back east for Bath, but if we head a bit southeast instead and go down through Tetbury and Chippenham it'll be about the same in the end. It's a shorter route but the roads aren't as good. Madam? Could we make Minchinhampton Common tonight?"
"Oh, aye. It's not more than ten—well, twelve, say—miles. Certainly no more than fifteen."
"Fifteen is pushing it," Rob said. "Never mind, we should just stick to the better roads anyway."
"Nay, twelve is more like it," Mrs. Austin said. "It's just a mile or two south of Stroud. Even if you walked you'd likely make that before full dark."
Rob didn't say anything, but his face radiated hope. It really wasn't such a hard decision to make.
"All right," Dean said. "We'll drop in on young Tom tonight, and stay over at the Amberley. But tomorrow, I swear—we'll be on the road at dawn and won't stop until the horses drop dead from exhaustion."
Chapter Ten
The ginger-hackled gent?" Frances, the serving girl at the Black Bear in Tewkesbury, widened her eyes at the proffered sovereign. "That's his lordship the Earl of Carwick, miss—ma'am." It was hard to tell the woman's age beneath her grey veil.
Odd, that. Not that it didn't make sense for a woman to go about veiled, especially if she were traveling alone, but this lady took her privacy especially seriously. Perhaps she was dreadfully scarred, or marked by the Devil with a harelip. She peered intently, but to her disappointment
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