A Perilous Journey Read online

country boy, and all the girls he knew were unsophisticated country girls. Were city girls different? At that moment the door from the kitchen opened and in walked Harriet carrying two serving dishes. Nicholas stood too quickly to help, and knocked his chair back across the room.

  She looked at him, then at Colen with an exasperated look. “Please, I would feel safer carrying these hot dishes if you sat down.”

  Nicholas saw what was probably a smirk on Colen's face. He felt totally deflated. It always happened. His father had encouraged him: almost demanded that he meet girls, talk to girls, be friends with girls. That was all well and good, but 'Why... Why, when he actually liked one, did he have to act the fool? Why was it that when he was trying so hard to do the right thing, he always did the wrong thing? It would be best to try to remain quiet and still, at least until he could control his actions. He pulled back the chair and sat down.

  Nicholas wasn’t sure if it was usual with her or not, but while Colen helped himself she reached over for Nicholas’s plate, and ladled out some of the broth for him. It was an act that earlier would have pleased him, but now he felt belittled.

  Vicktor joined them for the meal, and with the exception of the old man they spoke briefly of the plans for the next few days, then the conversation became more general. Nicholas steering it round to talk of Harriet herself, for that was all be wanted to hear.

  She seemed reluctant to talk on the subject. “I have had sympathy with the movement for a long time, since…” Her words trailed away as if she could not speak the name, “... died.”

  “Was there an accident?” enquired Colen in an untactful way.

  “It was no accident,” she said firmly.

  Nicholas could see the hurt. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  Suddenly she stood, “If you will excuse me, I am tired. We will need to be away early in the morning.”

  Nicholas caught glimpse of moisture in the corner of her eye.

  Apparently Vicktor saw the same for he left his mean unfinished and followed her.

  Colen looked at him, and whispered. “Rumour has it that her mother was tortured to death for information she would not give.” He seemed unconcerned and pulled out his baccy, lit it and exhaled a large cloud of blue smoke into the air.

  But a haze of a different hue had already covered Nicholas's eyes, one of anger. He wanted to ask the seemingly indifferent man how, if he had, had such a suspicion; then how he could be so tactless as ask about an accident. But he stopped himself, instead thinking that they had a job to do, and conflict would not smooth its progress.

  But besides that he felt angry at himself, if Colen was right and Harriet’s mother had died a cruel death, what did that make of his even handed judgments. Were Simeon, Mark and all the others wrong; or could it be that he had been so blind, so ignorant these years to all that had gone on around him. It seemed now that everywhere he looked, everyone he spoke to had, had their lives altered forever by the regime or its servants; the same rule that he had looked upon as benign.

  Had his mother really protected him from the world so much, or had he just refused to see. He wanted to race out and avenge the injustice, to pay and make up for the years of his inaction.

  Someone was shaking his shoulder. He had lain awake thinking of Harriet until late, her face melted in his mind to become that of Vicktor's. He was gesturing that Nicholas should go downstairs.

  “Thank you, I'm coming.” He said sleepily as he swung his legs off the bed, stood, stretched then pulled his garments on.

  Harriet was filling a pack with food when he walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in neat, but well-worn riding clothes and looked more beautiful than he remembered from yesterday.

  “I'm sorry; you should have woken me earlier.”

  “There was nothing for you to do, but we must leave soon.”

  Nicholas felt he should help, but Harriet refused all his offers, emphasizing that everything was done. He took his own few things down to the stables.

  The two horses that had been waiting the previous day were saddled and ready to leave, he tied his pack to the back of one. The door opened and Harriet came through. “Yours is the other animal,” she said sharply.

  He took the pack off, feeling he was incapable of doing anything right. “Where is Colen?” He asked.

  “He left before dawn,” was the abrupt reply.

  Things were not going well. Nicholas wanted them to be friends, but Harriet was even less than indifferent to him. He didn’t try to bridge the apparent gap, for he knew he would make a fool of himself again, so he said nothing.

  Vicktor came down with the last pannier. He tied it to her horse; then turned to her. He reached out putting a hand on each of her shoulders, and looked at her face.

  “I know. I will,” she said softly in reply to his unspoken words.

  Nicholas was sure he saw the wetness in her eye again, just before the man pulled her to him and held her tight. He turned away feeling an intruder and pretended to adjust his horses bridle. It struck him that Vicktor looked older this morn. Their ages seemed far apart.

  When he could hear Harriet mounting her horse, he went over to thank the old man for his hospitality, shook his hand and then climbed onto his own mount.

  Vicktor opened one of the doors and they trotted out into the lane. Harriet did not look back as they entered the main thoroughfare.

  If anything there were more people on the streets this morning, so it took them a good while to work their way to the outskirts of the town.

  Harriet had said nothing since leaving, but now she spoke. “It is just possible to reach Lakesend within a long day, but it is hard riding for the horses. It is neither wise or necessary, so we will stop at a tavern some way into the mountain and seek overnight lodgings.”

  He nodded, tacitly accepting her role as leader on their journey.

  “On the road we will travel as brother and sister.” This disappointed him a little, though it seemed reasonable in the circumstance.

  By now the houses were becoming fewer, the road steeper, and the land to their right became more and more of a sheer fall.

  As they entered the gorge the road was clearly defined by the cliff one side, and a low Crete wall marking the edge, but it was wide enough for a wagon to pass either way.

  The sights they passed fascinated Nicholas. He had never seen so much rushing water as that which poured over the falls they passed during the morning. Or the torrents of boiling white foam that crashed and sprayed with a thunderous sound over and around massive rocks, worn round and smooth through ages.

  Nicholas tried to draw Harriet into talking several times, and eventually succeeded. His spirits lifted as they fell into talking of the mundane. They continued up without a break, stopping only to water or rest the horses. He realized around midday that Harriet had thrown off her sadness: or annoyance, and seemed at ease with him now.

  There was still daylight left when they approached the tavern. It was a large three level building set back into the hillside, in a small gully. The noise of music and shouting growing louder as they approached.

  Although elsewhere the day still had time to run, here in the chasm it was already failing, and lights inside the hostelry were being lit when they entered the building.

  There were no women in the room, only a mixture of men of different ages, colour, and origin. Most were drinking at the long timber bar that occupied the whole of one end of the ground floor room.

  But these seemed unassuming in comparison to a group of young militiamen, in both rowdiness and consumption of ale. The five sat at a choice table near the massive open fireplace; where the other patrons seemed to avoid them.

  Nearer the door a small group of musicians played.

  Nicholas was ignored, but as Harriet entered behind him the level of the murmur fell, and a number of the men including all of the five turned to look at her. Their faces could not be seen; only just as silhouettes in the light f
rom the blazing fire, but Nicholas knew the expressions that they wore.

  The bar tenderer directed them to a small door at far the end of the room. They knocked, and out came a surly, stocky man.

  “Are you the lodgings keeper?” Nicholas enquired.

  He stared at Nicholas, then Harriet, before disappearing back behind the door, saying nothing. Moments later he reappeared carrying a thick ledger. He as good as threw it down on the very end of the bar slab.

  “Two rooms, one for myself and one for my sister, if you please?”

  “Two, maybe we have something,” he muttered. “…Yes, I have two, but not together. It is a busy time. The ageing comes as you well know.” He looked over their shoulders into the room behind them, and smiled. “One over the stables, and my best room is available.”

  “We have no need of such comfort. Have you not two ordinary rooms?” Said Harriet.

  He shook his head slowly. “It is not cheap, but the bed is large and soft, and it is furthest from the noise, and quietest,” he smiled at Harriet; then looked at Nicholas. “Surely sir you want your sister to spend the night undisturbed and in such comfort?”

  Nicholas felt the room had gone quieter, but it was only the group that had.

  “It will soon be dark,” said the man in a warning tone. “The road is not a safe place for travelers at night especially young ladies, if you get my meaning?” He grinned.

  “We need only normal rooms, but one with two beds would suffice.” Nicholas found