Free The Miser's Sister by Carola Dunn

it.”
    “Do you wish to return and ask him?” queried Ruth.
    Faced with retracing her steps and confronting a bad-tempered brother who might well refuse her request, Letty subsided. Ruth realised with dismay that she had been overly optimistic in expecting her sister to walk all the way. She must hope they might meet a farm cart that would give them a ride for a few miles.
    They passed through St Teath without seeing a soul, let alone a helpful carter. However, before they had walked far down the narrow, high-hedged lane to Port Isaac, they heard the rumble of wheels behind them.
    “Ho, my pretties!” shouted a jovial voice. “Hop up along and ride with me. ‘Tis a powerful steep hill for a pair o’ dainty wenches.”
    From the smell of his vehicle, the grinning carter had taken a load of fish to market. Letty wrinkled her nose, but accepted a helping hand to climb up. Ruth would far rather have walked, only she could not leave her sister alone. She scrambled in and settled herself between a pair of brand new lobster pots.
    “Thank you,” she said. “We are going to visit a Mr Polgarth. Do you know him?”
    “Oh aye. Him and his hot air balloons and Crazy Auntie.”
    Ruth, who had heard all about Auntie from Oliver, was undismayed.
    “Ye’ll be relatives?”
    “No, we are just going to stay for a few days until a friend comes to fetch us.”
    “Come from Camelford, have ye? Well, ye must’ve, for that’s the only ... ” Taking his eyes from his huge horse, the carter scrutinised them. “T’ain’t, either,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “Zo ye’ve finally up and left, little lady. Nay, don’t be afeard, I’ll not tell.”
    He turned back to guiding his horse, who seemed to know the way well enough. From time to time he could be heard to mutter such things as “zin and a shame”, “mad miser”, and “Trelawney’s curse.” Ruth took the latter to be a reference to the first earl’s part in hanging the Cornish hero after the Monmouth Rebellion.
    Letty soon recovered from her unwonted exertions and began to grumble, sotto voce , about the smell, which seemed indeed to grow overpowering. She suggested that they resume their walk, but Ruth was anxious not to offend the carter who had recognised them.
    “You have made your bed, now you must lie in it,” she whispered sharply.
    “It’s none of my making,” retorted Letty. Fortunately, at that moment they rounded a bend and below them spread the grey slate roofs of Port Isaac and the stormy green sea. Absorbed in the sight, Letty dropped her quarrel.
    Soon they pulled into the courtyard of the Scrimshaw Inn. The carter, it appeared, was the son of mine host, a spry old fellow with crabapple cheeks.
    “Gave these young women a ride from Camelford, Pa,” he announced, with a heavy wink at Ruth. “Boy! Show the way to Auntie’s, and mind you’m polite!”
    “Thank you very much,” said Ruth gratefully. He winked again with a conspiratorial grin, and she managed a creditable wink in return, which sent him into guffaws.
    As she turned to follow Letty and the boy, Ruth heard him say to Pa, “She’m a proper lady, the little brown un.”
    “How can you be so familiar with an odious yokel!” hissed Letty as they hurried after the urchin.
    Ruth did not trouble to answer, and Letty was soon too busy wondering at the maze of Port Isaac to say more. They were breathless when they drew up before a neat, whitewashed cottage. Their guide banged heartily on the door, and then dashed off the way they had just come. Before Ruth had time to do more than wish she had been able to give him a penny, the door opened.
    A buxom maid in a white cap and apron scrutinised them. She was evidently about to ask their business, when over her shoulder appeared an elderly face, spectacled and crowned with thick grey braids.
    “You’re come at last!” cried Auntie, delighted. “Well, Martha, move aside and let them in, girl. My dear children, welcome.”
    She