Will You Love Me in September

Our horses' hooves rang out on the frosty road and it was exhilarating riding along beside Dickon. The countryside seemed more beautiful even than in the spring. The black lacy pattern of branches against the sky, the gray tassels of the hazel which shivered in the breeze, the jasmine round a cottage door which was beginning to show shoots of yellow-they all enchanted me. I heard the song of the skylark which was soaring over the fields, followed by the wild cry of the mistle thrush. It was strange that I should notice such details at such a time. It was perhaps because Damaris had made me aware of the wonders of nature.

In any case I was happy. I refused to look beyond the moment. Dickon and I had escaped together, and he had rescued me-at what cost to himself I could only guess.

In the early afternoon he called a halt. "We must refresh not only ourselves but the horses," he said. We went into an inn, which I saw was called the Red Cow, according to the sign which creaked over the door.

"We are brother and sister," he told me, "if any should ask your business. We live at Thorley Manor. No one will ever question that, for, as far as I know, there is no Thorley Manor. We are visiting our uncle in York. Our grooms with the saddlebags are going on ahead. Our name is Thorley, and you are Clara. I am Jack.”

I nodded. The adventure was growing more and more exciting with every passing moment.

With an air of authority, Dickon ordered that our horses should be fed and watered.

Then we went into the inn. I am sure I had never known such a happy hour as I spent in that inn parlor. The fire in the great fireplace was warm and comforting, and the innkeeper's wife brought us bowls of pease soup and hot barley bread with bacon and cheese; there were two large tankards of ale to go with it, and never had food tasted so good, even in my needy days in Paris. Paradise was an inn parlor in the Red Cow on the road to York, and I never wanted to leave it.

I regarded Dickon with eyes from which adoration must have shone out. We were both of us so happy to be together and we did not want to look ahead to what this impulsive action might bring. To him it could mean disaster. He had betrayed his uncle, who was his guardian; he had betrayed the Jacobite cause, and he had done it for me.

In the parlor there was a grandfather clock noisily ticking away the minutes. It was a constant reminder of the passing of time. I wished I could stop it.

I said, "I should like to stay here like this for the rest of my life.”

"So should I," said Dickon.

We were silent contemplating such bliss.

"We shall have to go soon," Dickon went on at length. "We really should not have stayed so long.”

"Do you think they'll come after us?”

He shook his head. "No. They will have to go north ... to the army there. The invasion of England will come later.”

"And you, Dickon?”

"I shall have to be there with them.”

"Let's stay here for a while.”

He shook his head but he made no attempt to get up. I gazed at the flames in the grate making fairy-tale pictures of castles and riders-all beautiful, enchanted, like this inn parlor.

I suddenly noticed that the sky had darkened and that a few light snowflakes were floating down past the window. I said nothing, for I knew if I did, Dickon would say we must leave at once.

The innkeeper's wife came in. She was plump, redfaced and smiling and wore a white mobcap on her untidy hair.

"Wind's getting up," she said. "Coming from the north. The north wind do blow, and we shall have snow,' so they say. You two got far to go?”

"To York," said Dickon.

"Why, bless my soul! You'll never make that before dark. Why, you'd be caught in the snow if you tried to get there today.”

Dickon went to the window. The snow was now falling fast. He turned to me in dismay.

I said, "Perhaps we could stay here for the night. Could we pay?”

Dickon nodded.

"Why, bless you," said the host's wife, "I reckon your father would see to that.

Live about here, do you?”

^Thorley Hall," Dickon told her boldly.

"Can't say I've heard of it. Have you come far?”

"Some twenty miles.”

"That accounts for it. Now, Master Thorley, if you can pay me on the spot I'll find room for you. No question of that.”

"My sister and I will consider what is best to be done," he said.

"Well, you'd better consider fast, young gentleman, for I hear horses coming into the yard. There'll be others looking for a night's lodging on a night like this is going to be.”

When she had gone we looked fearfully at each other. Who were the new arrivals? What if, discovering our disappearance, Sir Thomas Frenshaw had sent someone after us to bring us back-or perhaps come himself?

I stretched out my hand and Dickon took it and held it comfortingly.

"You should not have come with me," I said. "You could have let me escape and told them it was no fault of yours.”

"No, no," he replied. "I had to come with you. How would you have fared alone?”