Claire Thornton by Gifford's Lady

Author:Gifford's Lady [Lady, Gifford's]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

There was only one straight-backed chair in the room. Abigail sat on it, waiting for Gifford. After a few minutes it was clear why he’d decided to sleep beside her. The chair was hideously uncomfortable, and rocked on uneven legs whenever she made an unwary movement. But she didn’t want to sit on the bed, it was too suggestive.

No one had come near her since he’d left. She’d been half-expectant, half-fearful a maid would come. Perhaps Gifford had given orders that she wasn’t to be disturbed. She wanted him to come back. She couldn’t walk around the inn wearing her makeshift toga, and she didn’t know what was happening. She felt very vulnerable. She also felt hungry.

But even though she was impatient for his return, her heart jumped with nervous excitement when she heard his voice at the door.

‘Come—come in,’ she stammered.

‘Breakfast,’ he announced, bringing in a heavily laden tray.

‘I am…I am a little hungry,’ Abigail said.

She noticed immediately that his hair was damp, and that he was wearing a coarse linen shirt which wasn’t quite big enough for him.

‘Good.’ He put the tray down on a roughly hewn dresser. All the furniture in the room was well cared for, but not well crafted.

‘How is Anthony…Mr Hill?’ Abigail asked anxiously.

‘Tired. Probably a little weak—though he’d deny that!’ Gifford replied, smiling. ‘But otherwise he’s doing well.’

‘I’m so glad. It would be terrible if he was badly hurt because of me.’

‘Not because of you,’ Gifford retorted. ‘Unless you fired the pistol.’

He rearranged the furniture so he could sit on the bed near Abigail with the tray between them.

She carefully extended a hand from beneath her toga-sheet to accept a plate of bread and butter and cheese from him.

‘I’ve sent Ned to Bath to fetch your clothes,’ said Gifford. ‘I did think of asking if any of the women here have a dress you could wear. But I thought you might not be quite comfortable with that. If you wish me to do so…?’

‘No! No!’ Abigail said hastily. The idea of revealing to a stranger that she had nothing appropriate to wear was unthinkable. ‘What—what have you told them—about me?’ she asked more hesitantly. ‘Here, at the inn. And—and…did you send a message to Bath with Ned?’

‘I told the landlord that you’re my wife. That we were attacked by highwaymen—when Anthony was shot. And that you were so frightened by the incident that you need to recover quietly in your room,’ Gifford replied. ‘I sent a letter to Malcolm with Ned. May I pour you some tea?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Abigail said, awkwardly adjusting her sheet. She wasn’t finding it easy to eat and manouevre her plate one-handed and was afraid if she didn’t hold on to the sheet with her other hand her carefully constructed toga would come adrift. ‘I can’t think how the Romans conquered an Empire!’ she said in exasperation.

Gifford’s lips twitched. ‘Perhaps they didn’t wear togas all the time?’ he suggested. ‘Let me take your plate. Now, you take the teacup—leave me the saucer.

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