“Oh, yes, my lord. There is a table available in our private parlour. Ye will not have to suffer the insolence of those in the tap-room. My missus will show ye to your room.”
A tub of hot water was just what he needed, he thought, as he undressed in the quiet room overlooking the coach-house. It was a simple room—single bed, a wooden stand with a sink and a chair. A large single-sash curtained window was on the wall next to the bed. The dark shabby grey curtains did not add much ambiance to the room. There was a full moon out tonight and the light of the moon would be preferable to the darkness of the room, he thought. He wished he had thought to open them before settling into the tub. The innkeeper’s wife had thoughtfully sent him sandalwood soap with the clean towels. He eased further down into the water and closed his eyes, happy to empty his mind of all thoughts. Before many minutes had passed, however, loud female and male laughter, accompanied by raucous singing, drifted in through the window, which he suddenly realized was cracked open behind that set of shabby grey curtains. He sunk further into the warm tub and found himself following a strange conversation. He could smell the smoke from a campfire and imagined that there must be one in a clearing in the wood behind the inn. I will look when I finish my bath. The voices were carrying clearly on the night air, despite the distance.
“I swear, ’tis that cursed donkey. Ever since we picked him up, bad things have happened. He goes no further,” a deep male voice bellowed above the laughter.
“You’re just blaming your shortcomings on the donkey. He isn’t to blame for your inadequacy,” a female responded with a loud cackle.
“Woman, I’m done with you. Leave me. Go mind the children. You know what I am talking about. I have not been able to sell a single horse; and I am not the only one who is noticing the bad luck. That donkey is cursed and he’s spreading it among us.”
“The donkey is a baby.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! We got him and we lost the horses we were going to trade. His braying and…singing scared them off.” A loud mimic of a donkey braying to ‘Rock-a-bye baby’ followed. Loud laughter erupted.
“I ’ave never seen a singing donkey before,” a loud husky voice added with a hoot. “The women love him.”
“The amulet around his neck is evil. I tell you, the donkey is cursed,” the deep male voice thundered.
“Well, the horses did disappear, but that was because the gate was left open. Donkey had nothing to do with…”
“What are you talking about? We never leave the gates open. Never. I do not care…that thing around his neck…has magic. He is cursed. We leave him. That is the end of this discussion.”
Bergen could hear female voices speaking in a soothing and sing-song fashion yet could not make out anything else beyond their laughter. His bath water had grown cold, so he rinsed his face and stood up. The stream of cold night air that had offered him so much entertainment moments ago, now created almost quaking shivers. Quickly, Bergen dried himself on a towel and dressed. He needed his dinner. A singing donkey? A cursed singing donkey? What do these people drink? He needed some of that, he mused, as the foolish questions formed in his head, and then…a good night’s sleep. He went to shut the window when a soft singing captured his attention. Instead, he pulled a frayed cane chair from beside the door to the window and doused his light, and instantly found himself drawn to the fire-lit images of eight women dancing provocatively around a camp-fire. Damn it! I wish I had ordered my meal up here, after all.
The moon gave just enough light to make out the details of their lithe bodies. The gypsies were obviously enjoying themselves. No one seemed to care that they were camping so close to a building, which gave him more time to observe. With a laugh, he slouched to a comfortable sitting position. By George, I never thought I would be a Peeping Tom, but I cannot ignore the allure of their exotic…dance. In spite of the distraction, though, before long he was losing the battle with his eyelids.
A bright, rising sun woke him, and he found himself slumped in the chair. The room was freezing cold, owed to the window still open. Laughing to himself at his predicament, he tried to stand, pushing through the aches and pains of an acquired stiff back, so he stood and stretched. When was the last time I slept in a chair? He surveyed his clothing and decided to do his best to freshen before breakfast. As quickly as he could, he poured water in a bowl and cleaned up. He laughed out loud thinking of what his valet would say if he could see him trying to tie a fashionable knot with his cravat, until he gave up and made some sort of tied bow. His stomach was rumbling loudly as he hurried down to the dining room to break his fast.
An hour later, Perry was brushing Merry when Bergen arrived at the stables ready to leave. Merry looked rested enough.
“Thank you, lad.” Bergen nodded and when his mare was saddled, passed the ostler two more shillings before riding away in the direction of London. He needed to be there by tomorrow for he had promised Aunt Faith he would be there. Otherwise, he would have stayed here an extra day. Stony Stratford always held a good time. Besides, the Season would be long and dreary without his friends. They had all fallen into parson’s mousetrap. He still could not believe Edward was married. It had been an inn like this where
