Jacob bent over his knees and added, “Dash it man, what is the hurry?”
“`Tis a new day lad and we have places to go,” Hunter said. “I’ve got a thing or two to arrange and when I get back, you two should meet me at the breakfast table.” He paused. “And do make certain ye both clean up if ye mean to travel with me, for at the moment, ye have the wafting scent of rotten apples.”
Jacob mumbled under his breath, but loud enough for Hunter to hear as he left the galley, “Damned bossy fellow.” He then turned to his sleeping companion and shoved him with his boot, “Come on, Swit,” He called loudly and stretched. “We are for Dover.”
“Damn your soul,” Swit replied.
“I like that,” Jacob said and chuckled and then held his head. “Oh, now look here; did I want to go with the Scotsman to Dover? No. I did not. It was you, Jerry Swit. Dover you said.” Sir Jacob eyed him narrowly, “You said you wanted to have a look at my yacht. Well we are on our way. That’s what you wanted and since you have dragged me this far, then off we go.” Jacob again held his head and pushed himself off the floor. He took a few steps toward the stairs that would lead him to the bedchamber he had hired and never made it to the previous evening. He needed to wash, Hunter was right he did smell a bit over-ripe. However, each step made him shudder with pain and he groaned, “Egad, my head.”
Jerry Swit regarded him for a long moment and sighed before putting his head back down and groaning a curse under his breath.
~ Three ~
X’S MORNING DWINDLED into a tedious sequence of changing patches of green pastures. Green fields neatly boxed in with hedgerows, some stonework and an occasional variegated shade of green, but green all the same. Cows and sheep spotted the pastures and
made her smile. She sat up with interest and noted that the sloping terrain began to roll a bit higher and the air had the scent of salt as the landscape took on a subtle difference.
The ladies across from her scarcely looked at her let alone tried to engage her in conversation, and when she made the attempt, she found herself coldly rebuffed.
X closed her eyes, just as she started to dose the coachman sounded the horn, she jumped and nearly lost her balance on the seat.
She straightened herself and looked out her window to see what was near and found they were slowing to what she supposed would bring them to a stop. She stared out of her dust covered window and found the obvious signs of hustle and bustle that could only mean they had to be approaching a village of sorts.
The two plump, older women in the coach began gathering their things as they chatted with each other and smoothed their clothing.
X looked at one of them and did what came naturally to her. “Have a good-day,” she said with a half smile.
The one with the straw bonnet turned and regarded her, “Do you have anything to eat, child?”
“I…it is okay…I’m not that hungry,” X said but felt her stomach growl an objection to this.
“From the colonies are you? Humph,” the older woman returned disapprovingly. “Well, but that doesn’t matter. Can’t let you go about the country hungry when I have extra food here in my basket.” She took out a small piece of bread and cheese wrapped in brown paper and handed it to X. “There.” And with that, turned her back and attended her friend who was clucking her tongue and telling her that their carriage ride awaited them.
X watched them hurry across the village square to a young man who waved vigorously at them.
She sat back, sighed, looked at the wedge of cheese with the sweet smelling fresh bread and nearly devoured everything whole. She was starving. Delicious, she thought, and with a sigh, sat back on the squabs.
As she waited she took in the village street, housemaids racing about as they did their chores and mingled with their friends. There were farmers picking up supplies and a blacksmith working at his anvil. All of them could have just walked out of her imagination. It was exactly the sort of scene she would expect to see in this century, in this country.
Her eyes felt like they were going to pop as she watched the live movie unfold. It was so hard to believe she was in the year 1815, but here was living, walking proof.
Suddenly she heard the robust call of the stagecoach driver as he yelled out, “Well, Mary m’darling. What ye be looking fer?”
Curious, Exerilla looked out to see a young woman dressed in the garb of a housemaid. She put her hand up and reached for an envelope the coachman was holding away from her with a tease. She giggled happily, grabbed the envelope and threw him a kiss as she ran off to read her letter in some private corner.
X smiled to herself. So, the coachman had slipped her a billet-doux from her beau no doubt. Huh, just like some movie she had seen when she was younger.
And then the coachman climbed back onto his perch but before they could start off, a stout fellow with his hat low over his eyes came running toward the coach from across the avenue. The stranger’s hand was upraised as he shook a freshly killed hare and said, “Ho there, man! Harry!”
The coachman grunted and said irritably, “Lookee oi can’t go delaying m’schedule man, what in blazes do ye want and stop shaking that thing at me!”
“Harry, oi’d be that thankful oi would, if ye could taike this to the Red Lion when ye get to Dover.”
“Whot? Ye’ll be putting me off m’time, ye will,” complained the coachman, but X saw that he did indeed reach for the hare. She couldn’t help but smile for her coachman was well liked evidently and kind hearted. At home in her century, she didn’t think hunting was permitted at this time. She doubted that such laws were in effect in this era just yet and people needed to put food on the table.
“That’s a good man,” said the stranger, evidently well pleased. “Go on and oi’ll remember ye when oi goes out ‘unting day after next, oi will, see if oi don’t.”
The coachman waved him off and with another loud grunt, picked up his driving reins once more and clucked loudly to his sturdy horses.