Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face by Charles Kingsley (most popular novels of all time .TXT) 📕

as they seated themselves, an older woman, tall and thin as a shadow, appeared at their table. With a weary smile, she tucked a wispy curl of gray back beneath her, kertch. “And what can I fetch for such fine gentlemen as yerselves?”

“Be that meat pie I smell?” Evander lifted his nose, sniffing at the air like a hound on the hunt.

“Aye, sir. That it is.” After a polite nod, she shifted her smile to Magnus, obviously knowing he was the one with the coin. “Shall I bring ye both a hearty serving along with bread and ale?”

“That would do us both well,” Magnus said. “We shall also be needing a room for the night. Can ye tell the innkeeper?” He tossed a pair of coins on the table. “This should cover the room and the meal, aye?”

The woman’s weariness melted away as she plucked up the coinage and tucked it into her belt. “Two pounds sterling? It most certainly shall, fine sir. More than enough. I’ll bring ye the key to our best room.” She turned and snapped her fingers at the barmaid on the other side of the dining area. “Pies, bread, and ale, Maggie, as much as they want, ye ken?”

The young woman dipped a respectful curtsey, then hurried off toward the mouth-watering aromas.

Before she rushed off to see to another customer, Magnus tossed down another coin. “And this one is for yer time, mistress.”

The matron’s smile disappeared, replaced with a thunderous scowl. “I will have ye know this isna that type of establishment any longer.”

“What does she mean?” Evander asked. “We still get to eat, aye?”

“Forgive me, mistress. Ye misunderstand my intent.” Yet another reason Magnus preferred solitude. He had never chosen words well. “I merely wish ye to sit with us and answer some questions.” He jerked a thumb toward the bustling room. “I can see ye’re verra busy. I wouldna presume to take up yer time without compensating ye.”

The bristling woman immediately calmed and lowered herself into a chair. “Then I must ask yer forgiveness, sir. I meant no insult to ye. Since my husband’s death, some are still confused about the services offered here at Wickhaven.” Her sharp chin thrust upward. Defiance and disgust flashed in her eyes. “Mr. Wicklow forced our maids to service our customers in any way they required. I thank the Lord Almighty every day for striking that man down.” With a proud look, she continued. “I am innkeeper now, and Wickhaven is a respectable place.”

Evander leaned close again. “What does she mean?”

“I will explain later,” Magnus said in a tone he hoped would shut Evander’s mouth until the boy could put it to use eating his supper.

“Ye may call me Mistress Wicklow,” the woman said with a chuckle.

Magnus gave her a polite nod. “I am Magnus de Gray. Pleased to make yer acquaintance.”

“Oh, dear God.” The matron paled and clasped a hand to her chest as though unable to breathe.

“My name doesna usually cause such a reaction.” Magnus noted all exits. The woman looked ready to bolt. She knew about Lady Bree. He could smell it. “Might I ask why my presence causes ye such distress, Mistress Wicklow?”

Working her mouth like a fish out of water, she clasped her hands and stared down at them. “It was I who sent for ye.” Her mouth tightened, then she waved away the words. “Nay. That is wrong. I didna send for ye exactly. At least not when I was asked to do so.” She swallowed hard, then looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “But ye must understand, I couldna have any bairns of my own. And that…that precious babe brought me such joy. Please forgive me. I just couldna bear to part with him. For the longest time, he was this hellish place’s only light.”

Struggling to speak with a calm he didn’t feel, Magnus glared at her. “Where is my son?”

Her tears spilled over as she gave a quick shrug. “I dinna ken. Brenna, poor Bree’s sister, took him away when that beast of a man I married made her—” She cut herself off, angrily swiping at her tears. “Nay—I willna speak of it.” After pulling in a deep breath, she sat taller in the chair and blew it out. “It was then that I finally sent the letter I shouldha dispatched at the lad’s birth. I admit I held it a while longer, hoping she might return if she happened to hear the devil had finally died.” Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “But she never did, and I guess I canna blame her. Not after…” Dabbing a rag to the corners of her eyes, she pulled in another shuddering breath. “Anyway, it was I who sent for ye. Praying ye would come. She is out there. Alone. Her and wee Keigan. I pray they survived the winter. Surely, they did. Brenna’s a canny one. But ye must still find them and see them safe for certain.” With slow, stiff movements, as though she had aged a hundred years, she rose from the chair. She pointed a shaking finger at him. “But ye must hold her no ill will, ye ken? Brenna bade me send for ye the day after Bree died. But I didna do as she asked. I couldna bear to part with that precious wee mite.” Her teary eyes didn’t waver from him. “It was I who robbed ye of yer son. Not her.”

Magnus sagged forward, fighting to breathe through a gut-wrenching punch of emotions. Keigan. His son’s name was Keigan.

“Ye might search south along the coast. I know Brenna would never go north again. Not after all that happened.” Mistress Wicklow shuffled a step away, then turned back. “I’ll pack food a plenty for yer travels. And treats for my sweet lad.” She slid her fingers under the cloth sash belted at her waist and pulled out the three coins he had given her. With a sad tilt of her head, she