Mrs. Hobart’s reply was immediate and firm. “We cannot. Such scenes are often staged to entrap unwary travellers. It is too dangerous.”
Elizabeth stared at her, incredulous. “Mrs. Hobart, these people are clearly in distress.”
“You do not know who they are or what their intentions might be,” she returned evenly. “I am charged with your safety, and I will not compromise it for strangers.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed with indignation. She considered leaping from the carriage herself, but the likely outcome involved at best her skirt tangled over her head and her dignity muddied, and at worst, real injury. “If you will not stop, then at least slow the carriage so that we might ascertain whether anyone is seriously hurt.”
“Driver,” Mrs. Hobart called sharply, “proceed at best speed.”
The carriage lurched forward more rapidly than Elizabeth considered safe.
“Slow down!” Elizabeth cried as she braced herself. Her gaze remained fixed upon the scene as they rapidly approached and passed it. The cart was upright, but one wheel was partially buried in the snow and splintered beyond repair. Barrels had rolled in every direction and were being collectedinto piles of damaged and undamaged. A dark-skinned coachman was steadying the frightened horse.
And there, standing in the churned snow and mud, was another man. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark coat and boots splashed with mud, his hat gone, his dark hair dusted with snowflakes. Even from the carriage, Elizabeth could perceive the authority in his stance as he placed the other man down carefully and stood to wave her coachman to the side of the road. He moved with the natural confidence of a man accustomed to command, gesturing while keeping a careful eye on the injured man behind him.
He shouted something as the wheels drew near, his gaze moving to the carriage window. Snow swirled between them, the air sharp as glass, and for a moment Elizabeth felt as though the world had narrowed to that single point of contact. His expression was surprised and then angry, as she would be at seeing a fine carriage speed past, risking harm to everyone helping to clear the road.
Elizabeth’s outrage flared anew. She pressed her palm to the cold glass, as if she might hold herself there and somehow communicate her regret, but the carriage rolled on.
“Deplorable,” she said aloud, settling back against the seat with considerable force.
Mrs. Hobart raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
“Our conduct just now was deplorable. We simply drove past as though they were of no consequence whatever!”
“Princess Elizabeth,” Mrs. Hobart said with the tone of one addressing a child, “you must accustom yourself to the reality that your safety takes precedence over the welfare of strangers. It is not a pleasant truth, perhaps, but it is a necessary one.”
“Necessary for whom?” Elizabeth demanded. “No one here knows who I am.” She thought the same would be true in Thurnia.
Mrs. Hobart shook her head. “You do not understand the risks. There are those who would take advantage of your generous nature for their own purposes.”
Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. The silence that followed was decidedly frosty, and not merely due to the weather.
Not more than a half hour later, the coach lurched to one side. Elizabeth opened the window, and from the box, the coachman called out. “Begging your pardon, Princess, but there’s somethin’ wrong wit’ the coach.”
“How much farther to the inn?”
“In these conditions? Two hours at least, and I’ll not risk pressing on in weather like this. Best we turn back to the nearest inn before she gives out entirely. There’s one I know of a half hour back.”
Close to where the accident had blocked the road. Elizabeth sat back with smug satisfaction.
Mrs. Hobart stiffened, eyes flashing, and leaned out of the window. “Nonsense! We must go forward. Her Highness must not be delayed by such trifles—”
Elizabeth shook her head. “That will do, Mrs. Hobart.” She waited as her companion settled back with a scowl. “Turn back at once.”
The coach came to a stop, then executed a careful turn before they began to pick up a slow pace back in the direction from which they had come.
The inn’s lanterns were a warm beacon in the gathering darkness when they finally arrived. The paint around the front entrance was peeling and the shutters bowed a little under their iron hinges, but smoke curled cheerfully from the chimney. Inside, the air smelled of roasting meat and mulled cider, and the fire in the common room crackled invitingly. Elizabeth longed to warm her hands beside it and enquire after the accident uponthe road. Surely someone at the inn would have heard news of it. But Mrs. Hobart was already urging her towards the stairs.
“Supper will be sent up directly,” she announced briskly. “I think it best if we remain private this evening.”
“Might I not dine below stairs? I should enjoy the warmth of the common room.”
“Absolutely not. A young lady in your position cannot be too careful about the company she keeps.”
Elizabeth privately suspected the company downstairs consisted chiefly of men discussing horseflesh and women arguing over the best way to baste a joint of mutton, both of which she would vastly prefer to being locked away upstairs. But she had defied Mrs. Hobart enough for one evening, and she did not wish the remaining three or four days of travel to be as tense as the past hour had been.
In her chamber, Elizabeth stood at the window, watching the snow continue to fall more thickly. A steady stream of travellers moved in and out of the inn’s warm circle of light, stamping their feet and shaking snow from their coats before disappearing into the welcoming glow within. She envied them their freedom to seek shelter and companionship wherever they found it.