Folly's Reward by Jean R. Ewing Page B

at every inn in town, sir. I’m looking for a black-haired fellow traveling south with a woman and a little boy. The lad’s blond and bright for his age. The man is youngish, tall and good-looking, has an air about him. You’d not miss him.”
    “The coach south has gone, sir,” the innkeeper said, “these three hours since. There was no party on it that matches your description, although there were four children among the passengers, and one was a blond lad, right enough.”
    The man turned away and walked out into the streets of Carlisle. Hal knew he would be easy enough to recognize again. The poor fellow had a scar down the length of his cheek and wore a black patch over one eye.
    * * *
    Bobby did not weep or throw a tantrum when he realized that they were leaving without Hal, but his stoic silence almost broke Prudence’s heart.
    They had left Carlisle at five that morning and had breakfast in Penrith. She stared dully out of the window as the coach climbed up over the heath and across Shap Fells. The famous peaks of the Lake District spread out to her right. Once she had dreamed of being able to wander, ‘lonely as a cloud’, through those famous hills and valleys. Now the coach sped past them, while one of the passengers rattled off the names and quoted long passages from Wordsworth.
    Although they were some of her favorite poems, Prudence hardly heard them, for her mind was filled with images of Hal. She had let him kiss her—twice! A man who would strip himself to the waist and fight like a beast for a purse full of guineas. She didn’t know whom she despised most: Hal or herself.
    But she had left him behind. She had left him behind!
    After a steep descent into Kendal, the coach began to travel through fertile valleys filled with fields and trees. Burton, Lancaster, Preston, Ormskirk, passed in a blur, until at last just before ten o’clock that night they arrived in the coach yard of the Royal Oak in Liverpool, and Prudence discovered that she had no money.
    She frantically turned out her pockets and her little collection of luggage, while Bobby helped by keeping up a running commentary on all the extraordinary things he had seen from the coach.
    “That lady said those big standing stones we saw past Shap were a Druidical Relique, Miss Drake,” Bobby said earnestly. “What is that? Who were the Druids? And why does the rock change color? It was gray on the fells, and then black, and then red. Why is that? What did that man mean by saying that hill was Arthur’s Round Table? It didn’t look like a table, did it?”
    “Hush, Bobby. I am busy.”
    All she found were a few shillings in the pocket of her pelisse. The purse of gold was gone. Dear God, help her! She had carried Lady Dunraven’s coins tied securely at her belt. It had been a comforting weight. How could she not have instantly missed it? When had it disappeared?
    Prudence sat down on her bag and hugged Bobby to her side. There was no answer. But somewhere, at one of the inns, at Penrith or at Shap or at Lancaster, or even last night at Carlisle after she had paid for her room and passage, someone had stolen her money and she hadn’t even noticed.
    Oh, dear Lord, what was she going to do now?
    “Come, now, ma’am,” the innkeeper said. “Did you want a room or not?”
    “Might I ask for a room on credit, sir?” she asked. “I believe I have been robbed.”
    Within three minutes, she and Bobby were standing together on the streets of a strange city, their luggage tossed out behind them, while the dark mist of a Liverpool night wreathed about through the houses.
    As if to add color to her plight, it began to rain. Prudence reached into one of her bags and pulled out her umbrella.
    “I think, sir,” she said to Bobby. “That we had better find some other kind of shelter.”
    “What, angel? Is the Royal Oak not to your taste?”
    “Hal!” Bobby squealed.
    Prudence lifted her umbrella and saw him standing there, smiling at her. The