Beauty and the Spy by Julie Anne Long

Author:Julie Anne Long [Long, Julie Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446616867
Published: 2009-08-12T23:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Twelve

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It was two hours to Gorringe over extravagantly rutted roads, which Kit suspected might be as effective as moats for keeping visitors away from the town. The journey might have gone more quickly on horseback, but he wasn't sure his ribs and arm could withstand the ride, and he preferred the relative shelter of a coach to making open targets of both himself and Susannah, since he was convinced someone was determined to hurt her. He was armed with a pistol tucked into his boot, another inside his coat alongside a sheathed knife, and the supreme confidence that he could best almost anyone—or two, or three—who attempted to accost them, despite the fact that his arm was freshly out of a sling.

At last, a short stone bridge arcing across a stream took them into the town, and Gorringe bloomed into sight before them.

Gorringe was a lovely surprise. Small, clean whitewashed houses, huddled together like gossiping neighbors along a cobblestone road that clattered very agreeably beneath the carriage wheels. Flower boxes burst with bright summer blooms; a few shops—a bookshop, a tavern, a cheesemaker—appeared on the main road. Against all odds, Gorringe seemed a neat and thriving little town, very self-contained and peaceful in its way.

"Does anything look familiar to you?" he said to Susannah. She'd gone very still, tense. She gripped the edge of the seat.

"I wish I could say yes," she answered hesitantly. "It's lovely, isn't it? It looks as though one could be happy here."

The wistfulness in her voice cut him. He'd always had the luxury of knowing he was part of an ancient lineage, that he had cousins and uncles and aunts and spread all over England. Many of his ancestors were complete reprobates, but those were offset by numerous noble Whitelaw achievements and a sprinkling of genuine heroes. He had two sisters, who both loved and annoyed him and were loved and annoyed by him in turn, a father, and a whole treasury of memories of his mother.

A flash of jeweled colors winked on the edge of his vision, and this was how he found the church: It presided over the small homes from the center of town, solemnly medieval and yet surprisingly elegant, inset with stained-glass windows. The windows were a bit of a surprise, as so many had been destroyed years ago, when the church was eager to eradicate all traces of popery. Hence, images of the Virgin Mary and the saints were scarce. Perhaps these windows had been spared because their subject matter was more neutral.

"I thought we'd begin with the church. They may have records of your birth, Susannah, if you were born here."

She didn't answer him. He could see the anticipation in the set of her jaw, in her pale lips. Her fist was closed possessively over the miniature of her mother. He said nothing more; he knew she was too tightly wound to welcome reassurances right now.

They proceeded up a path that cut through a tidy churchyard featuring headstones both ancient and new.

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