Free Winter Wonderland by Elizabeth; Mansfield Page A

night.”
    â€œThat goes wi’out sayin’. ’Tain’t a night fer man ’r beast out there.”
    Barnaby, looking down at the woman’s friendly, guileless face, felt dishonest for accepting her hospitality without telling her he could not pay for it. He decided that the only honorable thing to do was to be frank with her. Not wishing to involve Miranda in sordid money matters, he motioned to Mrs. Hanlon to follow him into the vestibule. “Before we proceed any further, Mrs. Hanlon,” he confided in a low voice, “I think I’d better tell you that the Norfolk stage on which we were traveling was beset by highwaymen. We were robbed of every valuable we possessed. Thus, I’ve not a groat on my person with which to pay you. I won’t be able to settle the bill until I pass this way again after the New Year. Do you think you can trust me until then?”
    â€œHa!” came a snort from behind him. Barnaby looked round to find the hitherto-beaming innkeeper standing in the doorway, but he now had no smile on his face. “Trust ye?” he exclaimed contemptuously. “Don’t take us fer fools. We been ast fer trust afore. You ain’t the first what claimed that highwaymen emptied yer pockets. But that don’t mean I’ll let ye try to empty ours!”
    Barnaby was not accustomed to having his word doubted, but his diplomatic training had taught him that one doesn’t win an argument by losing one’s temper. “You do believe we were robbed, don’t you? You can go to see the abandoned coach for yourself when the snow lets up,” he pointed out reasonably. “It’s only five miles up the road.”
    â€œOh, we ’ave no doubt ye was robbed,” Mrs. Hanlon said, throwing a glare at her husband. “That stretch o’ road up north is a footpad’s dream.”
    â€œThen you’ve dealt with their victims before?”
    â€œAnd been cheated by ’em, too, givin’ them trust,” the innkeeper said scornfully. “At least the footpads, when they come,” he added under his breath, “pay fer their shot in cash.”
    Barnaby did not miss the implications of that muttered remark. The innkeeper had had dealings with the footpads in the past. That was useful information for the future, when he returned to deal with the felons.
    Meanwhile, the redheaded Mrs. Hanlon wheeled on her husband. “Hanlon, still yer clapper, and don’ be a looby! Can’t ye see that this here’s a gen’leman? One look should tell ye ’e’s the sort’ll keep ’is word. An’ there’s naught to be done in any case. We can’t put ’em out in the snow, now, can we?”
    The innkeeper frowned, shook his head and stomped back to where he’d come from, muttering something about women being as suited to business as cats to water.
    Mrs. Hanlon was not in the least perturbed. “Well, that’s settled,” she said cheerfully. “Ye’ll pay in the New Year. With a bit extra, fer int’rest, which ye’ll agree is on’y fair and proper.”
    Barnaby grinned. “You’re a better businesswoman than your husband gives you credit for.”
    The woman winked at him. “Don’ I know it!” Pleased with herself, she pushed back a lock of tumbled hair (which promptly fell back down) and led him back into the taproom. “Now then, sir, sit yerself down. I’ll ’ave a supper fer ye in a trice. Do ye think yer missus’d like a bit o’ mutton stew?”
    Barnaby, having seated himself, blinked up at the woman. “My missus ? Do you mean the lady there? She’s not—”
    â€œCome now, sir,” Mrs. Hanlon laughed, patting him playfully on his shoulder, “I can sniff out a married couple easy as I can a spoilt fish.”
    â€œCan you, indeed? And just what is it about that lady and me that makes your nose