Despite his old, unchanging dislike of her, he was unable to keep from feeling pity for her plight. He could not supply her with protection for her feet, but heâd twice offered to give her his greatcoat. Each time sheâd waved him off. âI will not be beholden to such a rudesby,â sheâd said dismissively. And those were the only words they exchanged during the long, cold march.
The lights of the inn made a welcome gleam in the darkness, and when the travelers slogged into the courtyard, the actual sight of it was truly comforting. The inn looked warm and inviting. Its snow-spattered sign, lit by the guttering flame of a brass lantern and creaking as it swung in the wind, read Deaconâs Gate Inn . It was small for a public house, with two picturesque bow windows and a thickly-thatched roof, quite like a cottage in a Mother Goose picture book. But the most welcome sight of all was the smoke billowing from the two chimneys at each side of the house; evidently there were some goodly fires burning within.
Barnaby pushed open the door and followed Miranda into the blessed warmth. As they stamped the snow from their shoes in the tiny vestibule, a middle-aged woman (with a head of wild, though faded, red hair pinned so carelessly atop her head that much of it was falling about her face) appeared in the doorway of what was probably a taproom. âBless me sainted mither!â she exclaimed in a thick brogue. âWhat wind oâ the deâil blew ye here in this storm?â
âOnly shankâs mare,â Barnaby said shortly. âFor Godâs sake, woman, save your questions and take the lady to a fire.â
âAye, sir. Yer lady does look frozen through.â The woman promptly put a proprietary arm about Mirandaâs waist and led her into the taproom, a room only large enough to accommodate three tables. But the fireplace was huge, and an appropriately large fire crackled within it. Miranda knelt before the blaze and, pulling off her thin gloves, held her hands up to the warmth.
The woman studied the kneeling Miranda with a look of sympathy before removing her soaked bonnet and pelisse. Then she turned to another door in the far corner. âHanlon, ye lazy sot, come out âere,â she shouted. ââTis company we âave! Theyâll be wantinâ a hot toddy, so shake yer leg, me man!â
A moment later, a man appeared carrying two mugs. Short and bald, his florid face exuded good humor. He greeted the lady at the fireplace and handed her a tankard. ââTis a specialty of the âouse,â he explained, smiling broadly, âcalled a Lambâs Wool. The nameâs a mite unfittinâ, but itâll warm yer innards.â
Miranda accepted the drink gratefully and took a swig at once. The innkeeper, meanwhile, crossed the room to Barnaby. ââEre, sir, let me âave that wet coat oâ yourn. Just drink this down, anâ youâll be feelinâ better afore itâs gone.â
âA Lambâs Wool, eh?â Barnaby sniffed into the tankard suspiciously. âWhatâs in it?â
âCider anâ home brew anâ a bit oâ the grape,â the innkeeper said as he went off with the wet outergarments. âNothinâ at all tâ trouble yer stomach.â
Barnaby drank a draught and discovered that the innkeeper had the right of it. A delicious warmth spread through his body. Never had he tasted so satisfying a brew.
The innkeeperâs wife came up to him and watched with a pleased grin as he drank. âGood, ainât it? No oneâs ever had a bad word fer my husbandâs Lambâs Wool. And now youâll be wantinâ a hot supper, Iâll be bound.â
âYes, indeed, Mrs. Hanlonâit is Mrs. Hanlon, is it not?âsome supper will be most welcome. Anything you have on hand, so long as itâs hot. And afterwards, of course, a place to sleep for the