For a sixpence, one of the ostlers was willing to let Mayhew decant the furry monsters in an empty horse stall. He ushered his audience inside: child, mother, and one very pretty governess. At least, he assumed she was a governess. She was clearly well-bred, yet she was traveling on a stagecoach, and in Mayhew’s experience respectable young ladies who traveled by stagecoach were usually governesses.
“They’re a brother and sister,” he told his audience, kneeling on the straw and unfastening the strap that held the basket closed. “Someone I know found them in a creek. Tied up in a sack.”
“In a sack?” the little boy echoed, his eyes wide with dismay.
“He saved them all,” Mayhew reassured him. “And a lady took them home and looked after them, and now they’re big enough to have homes of their own. See?” He lifted the lid.
Two furry monsters blinked up at him and opened their pink mouths and mewed.
“Oh,” his audience breathed in unison, drawing closer.
“Come on out, little rascals,” Mayhew told the kittens. “Time to stretch your legs.” And hopefully they’d pee into the straw while they were at it.
The fluffy black-and-gray female scrambled up the side of the basket with the speed and determination of a foot soldier storming a defensive line, which Mayhew had expected. Her less fluffy gray-striped brother stayed where he was, in the warm nest of the basket, which Mayhew had also expected.
“Come along, my lazy friend,” he said, lifting the little tabby out. “You can’t sleep all day.”
“What are their names?” the boy asked eagerly.
“I call this one Mr. Bellyrub,” Mayhew said, and then he demonstrated why, cupping the kitten belly-up in his hand and rubbing his fluffy stomach.
Mr. Bellyrub immediately began to purr.
“Oh,” his audience breathed again.
“Would you like to hold him?” Mayhew asked the little boy.
“Yes! Yes!”
The boy’s hands were too small for Mr. Bellyrub to lie in, but his arms made a perfect cradle. Mayhew carefully transferred the kitten. Mr. Bellyrub didn’t mind at all. He kept purring.
They made an adorable pair, child and kitten. The governess must have thought so, too, because she smiled—which made dimples spring to life in her cheeks, making her adorable, as well.
Mayhew admired her for a few seconds—the nutbrown ringlets peeping from beneath her bonnet, the straight little nose, the rosy lips. Very pretty. It was a shame she wasn’t the type to make eyes at soldiers. A little flirtation would have whiled away the journey to Southampton most enjoyably, but he knew women well enough to know when they wanted to flirt and when they didn’t, and this governess definitely didn’t.
He turned his attention to the basket. The nest of rags was still clean and dry. Excellent. He looked around for Mr. Bellyrub’s sister. Predictably, she’d vanished. “Uh-oh.”
The governess cocked her head at him.
“The exploring officer is on the loose. Careful where you put your feet.”
The governess’s dimples made a reappearance. “Exploring officer?”
“She was born to be a reconnaissance scout.” Mayhew climbed to his feet. “That’s my name for her: Scout. Now, where did she get to . . . ?”
The fluffy kitten was at the back of the horse stall, relieving herself. “Well done,” Mayhew told her. “Your timing is perfect.”
Scout ignored him, and set out to investigate the rest of the horse stall. Mayhew wondered if she was hungry. “I’ll fetch some milk,” he told the governess. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her?”
“I shan’t let her escape,” the governess promised.
One of the inn’s kitchen maids gave him two saucers of milk, a bounty that both kittens consumed eagerly, and then it was time to restore the furry monsters to their basket. Scout protested shrilly about her incarceration, but Mr. Bellyrub didn’t appear to mind at all. In fact, Mayhew thought he was asleep before the basket lid had even closed.
There wasn’t much time left for them to eat. Mayhew managed to secure a half-pint of ale and a slice of ham on bread, then the guard blew his horn and it was time to climb aboard. “We should have left ten minutes ago,” the Friday-faced old lady scolded the guard. “Ten minutes!”
Mayhew swallowed the last of his ale, then went to help the young mother and her son to ascend.
The guard blew his horn again, a loud blat of sound.
“I shall complain to the company!” Mrs. Friday-Face told the guard.
The guard ignored her. “All aboard!” he cried.
Mayhew handed the governess up into the coach. The last of the roof passengers were scrambling into their places and horses were stamping and snorting, impatient to be off. He held out his hand to Mrs. Friday-Face. She ignored it in favor of berating the guard.
Mayhew shrugged, picked up his basket, and climbed aboard. He settled himself on the narrow seat, bumping knees and elbows with his fellow passengers. One of the kittens mewed.
“Last call for the stage to Southampton!” the guard bellowed.
Mrs. Friday-Face finally climbed aboard, bristling with indignation. “Scandalous,” she muttered, as she settled herself. “No attempt to keep to the time-bill at all.”
Mayhew bit back a smile, and glanced at the governess. She was trying not to smile, too. He saw a dimple quiver in her cheek and—aha!—a tiny roll of her eyes, and then she realized he was looking at her and the dimple vanished. She averted her gaze.
The stagecoach lurched into motion, sweeping out of the inn yard. Mrs. Friday-Face examined her watch. “Twelve minutes late. Twelve!”