Faces of the Wind

Chapter 39

The sun shone a bit stronger than it did the week before. Its rays broke through the window of the coach, tauntingly baking Adrian's left side. His sweating neck began to itch. He loosened his neckcloth a little. To his right was a stout man who slept with his legs spread, depriving him of scooting away from the window. Waking him was not an easy task. A woman who mounted the coach with him—apparently his wife—shot Adrian stabbing glares every time he attempted to poke him. Thankfully, the remaining road was not a long one.

"Are you not Lady Hammers' nephew?" The pinch-faced lady opposite to the sleeping man asked, "The son of Jeffrey Blackford?"

Adrian swelled with pride at the sound of his father's name. He smiled. "It is I, ma'am," he replied then cleared his throat, "at your service."

"I gather you are employed by the Medleys to do some painting work?" She added, shifting in her seat.

His heart sank and bitterness crept into his face, paling his complexion. His lips stretched into a sneer and he conjured up a nod. "Uhuh," he said then turned to look through the window, his jaws clenched and his lips thinned.

"I have seen his establishment produce divine murals and paintings," she continued, undeterred by his diversion of attention, "you must be proud to be part of such establishment."

He took a deep, somewhat-loud breath then slowly blew it out through his nose. The woman had no manners! Proud to be part of the establishment? Why the whole work was his... alone! Did she really think Edgar hired a group of painters? Did she think he ran a respectable establishment? This naïve, mousy woman with her pinched face and fading brows!

"Are you listening?" She asked with a note of entitlement.

He let his head slowly lean back against the seat, closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep in an attempt to silence the woman, but his pretense went unheeded.

"Your pa was never on good terms with Edgar Medley; I must say I am surprised you chose to work for him..."

Slave would be a better choice of word... and he wasn't doing it of his own accord. The woman was not likely to allow her mouth to rest any time soon.

"... though a man of politics, your pa was never diplomatic. I suppose you haven't taken after him in this," she giggled unexpectedly, "but surely you do take after his rather inappropriate behaviour..."

Inappropriate behaviour?

"You two have quite a reputation – he had," she giggled softly then cleared her throat and added, "may his soul rest in peace."

Adrian opened his eyes and sat up straight vigorously. He gave her a toothy grin she thought Satan himself has emerged through this young man. "You sound quite well-experienced with my father's inappropriate behavior," he said and the jaw of the middle-aged woman dropped and her face swelled and flushed.

He leaned back, satisfied and proud, and shut his eyes with a soft smile on his face.

***

The gothic estate of his Aunt Catherine looked down on him as if he were a rodent sneaking into the kitchen to soil the crops. Not many memories in this house, nor in Somerset, but he vividly recollected when he was twelve and persuaded his cousin Phillip to join him in transferring the frogs from the pond to the dining room. They both got locked up in the 'naughty room' for God-knows-how-long with no candles and then were not allowed to have any jellies or cookies for several days. It still was far better than getting flogged.

Mr. Baker, the Hammers' loyal butler who has aged well, gave him a warm welcome and instructed a footman to take his luggage to his room upstairs. He told him his aunt was in the garden ensuring her precious roses were well-attended.