Briarly Hall : Morning at the Highway Inn by zanya Artwork by avmurray at FanArtReview.com |
An icy cold January morning dawned at the Highway Inn. An easterly wind blew the loose snow into drifts. Coachman Harry tended to the Cleveland Bays in the livery stable. Jessie, the oldest of the Bays was limping on her left hind leg. Harry had bathed it the night before. He didn't wish to trouble the Squire with these day-to-day matters. Besides he had noticed the Squire's irritation on the previous night, being obliged to stay overnight at the inn. Harry hoped his master would be in better spirits, come the morning. Bays, being a restless equine breed, needed to be on the move. Sir Alfred was awakened by a brusque knocking on his bedroom door. 'Sir,' the innkeeper called out. 'Letter, for you, Sir, at the Inn this morn.' 'Ok, ok,' Alfred barked. 'Leave it in the dining room. Shall collect it anon.' The innkeeper plodded back to the kitchen, in his striped apron, to oversee the preparation of victuals for breakfast. A pungent smell of sausage and sweetmeat hung in the air. Ceramic pots of freshly brewed tea stood ready on the tables. As the entrance door was thrown open, snow flurries blew indoors, melting and forming little pools of water. Alfred paid scant attention to his toilette in these austere surroundings. He made his way to the dining hall. Shivering in his tawny great coat, he seated himself by the front window which looked out onto the courtyard. Horse manure lay like ink blobs on the pristine snow. Clumps of bloodied bird feathers protruded at intervals from the white landscape. Rubbing his hands to warm the blood, Alfred tucked into flannel cakes and sausage meat. The kitchen maid carried a steaming pot of breakfast tea and plonked it at Alfred's elbow. 'Sir, how do you like to drink your breakfast tea, black, or with milk from the Jersey cow?' Maid Dorothy enquired. Sir Alfred was preoccupied. His attention now drawn to the men in morning coats and bowler hats, accompanied by ladies in carriage coats and mufflers as they hustled along to their waiting coaches. Some, in keeping with bourgeois mores, wore veils, concealing their eyes and upper facial features. The sky overhead was a steel grey with a promise of further snow falls. Alfred watched the exiting travellers with keen interest, hoping to catch a glimpse of La Marquise, if she had indeed been an overnight guest at the Inn. Alas, La Marquise and her middle-aged male companion did not appear among the departing guests. It was no more than a trick of the fading, late evening light. I was probably mistaken, Alfred mused. He lifted his napkin dejectedly and brushed the crumbs of the Flannel cake from his breeches. The sealed letter, delivered earlier, which lay beside his breakfast cup, fell to the floor. Fiddlesticks, who could possibly wish to contact me here at this remote inn?, he wondered. Lady Betsy will undoubtedly be concerned for her husband's welfare in these treacherous conditions. Just then his gaze fell on the familiar seal of the Maison de Marquis de Chantonnay, Provence. His heart missed a beat. Fumbling to open the letter, he eventually undid the seal. La Marquise's calligraphy was unmistakeable, the flourish with which she penned the first letter of his name warmed his middle-aged heart. Cher Alfred. To see you at Highway Inn is merveilleux. Quelle joie! I must return to La France for important business. Bisous. La Marquise Sir Alfred's eyes scanned the letter for more information, for hope, for a flicker of tenderness. He was disappointed. Not a hint of rapprochement since their last fractious rendez-vous. What was he to make of this missive?. Alfred sat transfixed. He recalled warmly the glimpse of La Marquise, the previous evening. The familiar contours of her gallic face, the silky, olive skin, the chestnut eyes and the sweeping curled locks. Her male companion, by contrast, seemed gaunt and preoccupied. Alfred glanced at the wooden clock on the dining room wall. He had two and a half hours to make the London train. In these weather conditions the journey would indeed be hazardous. He hastened to rejoin Harry. The Bays shivered in the cold wind. Alfred buttoned up his great coat and climbed into the cold, snow-covered carriage. The door was difficult to close. Finally he managed it. The carriage had been in the family since his father's childhood.How he loved those Sunday afternoon outings with his father, Lord Philip, when they both rode together to join the pheasant shoot. The carriage was clearly showing signs of wear and tear. However, the Manor at Briarly Hall was in need of serious refurbishment. Lady Betsy, fretted a great deal about their future, now that both of their children had reached adulthood. Son Charles was showing signs of being a laggard, showing little or no interest in the estate since reaching the age of majority. Wandering around Europe squandering his inheritance seemed to be his main focus. Mathilde, his only daughter, despite attending annual balls in the country estates had not as yet received an offer of matrimony from an appropriate suitor. Alfred often found himself at loggerheads with his daughter. Feisty and self-opioned, Mathilde spoke her own truth, scoffing at the notion of being merely the wife of some suitable, middle class male heir. Large snowdrifts meant long delays. 'Harry, Harry,' Alfred shouted,' turn the Bays around, we must return home before dark as we are not now going to connect with the departure time of the London train'. Alfred felt for Harry at times like this when events didn't turn out as planned. Harry was such a dedicated and loyal equerry. 'At your service, Sir, as you wish,' Harry retorted, while carefully facing the Bays once again in the direction of home. The clip-clop of horses hooves was muffled on the snowclad landscape.
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