her hard on the mouth, making her squeak under the coarse pressure of his lips. He released her. Marquis, she thought, as Mistress Philoclea came back into the room, and saw her standing there, with Mr Marling politely clasping her hand.
CHAPTER FIVE
At the Green Garter
A smoking lamp lit the tap-room at the Green Garter, and two red fires, lit to warm the many passengers who had alighted from the public barge, filled it with damp heat. As soon as they walked in, the noise of clamouring, banging, laughter and complaints hit Meriel and Auriol so hard that drenched as they were by the rain which had pursued them all along the post-road, for a moment or two they could hardly concentrate on what they wanted. They had entered by the first door they found, and they saw at once that this was not their place at all.
Auriol’s height soon drew attention to them, for his head almost touched the room’s stained ceiling. Someone called out, “Ho there, landlord, don’t you see there’s Quality come to join us? Don’t see the gentleman, eh, I don’t know why, he’s big enough for a sideshow at the fair, he is!” There were guffaws at this.
Meriel noticed that Auriol was angered, unreasonably angered, and she thrust herself in front of him.
“Landlord!” she said as the man turned and came hurrying up. “There was a private parlour bespoken for Knight Auriol Wychwood. Do you show us to it directly, if you please.”
“Yes your honour, indeed there was! Knight Auriol Wychwood, indeed!” the landlord said, bowing to Meriel.
“I am Wychwood,” said Auriol, putting himself forward. He took off his hat, and shook it so that water bespattered the floor.
“Yes, your honour.” He led the way across the room. “Now do you come on out this nasty, low taproom, sir, you’ll find the coffee-room very quiet. And your parlour, to be sure! Any port in a storm, they say, and that door is closest to the stables, I can’t deny.” He glanced behind him, to see whether he ought toapologise for the drunken insolence of the man in the taproom, or to pretend he had not heard.
“Exactly so,” said Auriol, looking cold but not threatening.
The Green Garter was a very large inn, employing thirty people and catering chiefly for the rich. It was a long and narrow, grey-stone building, conveniently placed both for travellers on the post-road and for the end of the Northmarch Canal. The house was famous for its comfortable rooms, its excellent food, and its high prices.
The private parlour assigned to Meriel and Auriol was a little room, furnished with cherrywood and painted blue. It had small windows and a ceiling nearly as low as the taproom’s, but bad paintings and an elegant fireplace had been introduced to raise it above the common. Logs were burning in the grate, and there was a vase of daffodils and green tulip-buds beneath one brightly twilit window. The recent, heavy shower had passed over out to sea.
The room was warm and dry, the walls were thick, and the door was solid. As soon as Meriel and Auriol had been divested of their outer clothes, they were left alone there, to recover from their encounter with the world of other people which, as they chased each other along the road, knowing that they needed a rest from emotion, light and warmth and food, they had never expected to be such a shock.
Meriel was thankful that she had been the first to take control in the tap-room. Her doing so proved that despite her confession, her love and her loss of control, she was the same person she had been three hours before.
“I wish you might know how vastly disagreeable it is to be a giant and to attract the attention of the vulgar,” was Auriol’s first remark. He kicked the logs in the fireplace and sparks flew out.
Meriel said, “I think I understand well enough what it is to be subjected to unwanted remark, sir. My affairs are of interest to all the world, I think you forget.”
“Being so large has made my life well-nigh
CHAPTER FIVE
At the Green Garter
A smoking lamp lit the tap-room at the Green Garter, and two red fires, lit to warm the many passengers who had alighted from the public barge, filled it with damp heat. As soon as they walked in, the noise of clamouring, banging, laughter and complaints hit Meriel and Auriol so hard that drenched as they were by the rain which had pursued them all along the post-road, for a moment or two they could hardly concentrate on what they wanted. They had entered by the first door they found, and they saw at once that this was not their place at all.
Auriol’s height soon drew attention to them, for his head almost touched the room’s stained ceiling. Someone called out, “Ho there, landlord, don’t you see there’s Quality come to join us? Don’t see the gentleman, eh, I don’t know why, he’s big enough for a sideshow at the fair, he is!” There were guffaws at this.
Meriel noticed that Auriol was angered, unreasonably angered, and she thrust herself in front of him.
“Landlord!” she said as the man turned and came hurrying up. “There was a private parlour bespoken for Knight Auriol Wychwood. Do you show us to it directly, if you please.”
“Yes your honour, indeed there was! Knight Auriol Wychwood, indeed!” the landlord said, bowing to Meriel.
“I am Wychwood,” said Auriol, putting himself forward. He took off his hat, and shook it so that water bespattered the floor.
“Yes, your honour.” He led the way across the room. “Now do you come on out this nasty, low taproom, sir, you’ll find the coffee-room very quiet. And your parlour, to be sure! Any port in a storm, they say, and that door is closest to the stables, I can’t deny.” He glanced behind him, to see whether he ought toapologise for the drunken insolence of the man in the taproom, or to pretend he had not heard.
“Exactly so,” said Auriol, looking cold but not threatening.
The Green Garter was a very large inn, employing thirty people and catering chiefly for the rich. It was a long and narrow, grey-stone building, conveniently placed both for travellers on the post-road and for the end of the Northmarch Canal. The house was famous for its comfortable rooms, its excellent food, and its high prices.
The private parlour assigned to Meriel and Auriol was a little room, furnished with cherrywood and painted blue. It had small windows and a ceiling nearly as low as the taproom’s, but bad paintings and an elegant fireplace had been introduced to raise it above the common. Logs were burning in the grate, and there was a vase of daffodils and green tulip-buds beneath one brightly twilit window. The recent, heavy shower had passed over out to sea.
The room was warm and dry, the walls were thick, and the door was solid. As soon as Meriel and Auriol had been divested of their outer clothes, they were left alone there, to recover from their encounter with the world of other people which, as they chased each other along the road, knowing that they needed a rest from emotion, light and warmth and food, they had never expected to be such a shock.
Meriel was thankful that she had been the first to take control in the tap-room. Her doing so proved that despite her confession, her love and her loss of control, she was the same person she had been three hours before.
“I wish you might know how vastly disagreeable it is to be a giant and to attract the attention of the vulgar,” was Auriol’s first remark. He kicked the logs in the fireplace and sparks flew out.
Meriel said, “I think I understand well enough what it is to be subjected to unwanted remark, sir. My affairs are of interest to all the world, I think you forget.”
“Being so large has made my life well-nigh
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