“Trouble, sir?”
The pair turned their heads as the blacksmith came around the side of the cottage. Evie took a discreet peek from under her hood, careful to keep her features hidden. He was a broad man, thicker than he was tall, with wide arms and legs, and a barrel chest covered by a leather smock. His face was red, smashed flat like a bulldog’s, and smeared with soot. If it hadn’t been for his friendly smile, Evie might have found the man’s appearance unsettling.
In a surprisingly graceful move, he bowed to McAlistair. “Mr. Thomas, at your service.”
McAlistair returned the greeting and spoke in a hearty, even cheery voice entirely unlike his own. “Mr. Thomas, a pleasure. I am Mr. Black. My sister, Miss Black. On our way to visit our dear mother to the east. Bit of the gout, don’t you know. Lord knows she’ll be well by the time we make it, but you can’t say no to your own mother, can you? Thought we’d make it in a day, but Lottie’s—that is, Miss Black’s—horse threw a shoe, not two miles back. Damnedest thing.”
Mr. Thomas cocked his head at Evie. “All right, then, miss? Weren’t hurt, were you?”
She wouldn’t have been able to answer even if she hadn’t made the promise to keep silent. Under the cover of her hood, she was gaping at McAlistair. Where the devil had this jolly idiot come from?
“A mite shy, my sister,” McAlistair informed Mr. Thomas with a grin. “Right as rain, though. She’ll be happy enough to sit a spell on the bench, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Sit as long as you like,” Mr. Thomas told her kindly.
He turned to Rose, ran a gentle hand down her foreleg, and examined her hoof. “Nothing damaged,” he pronounced, straightening. “Bring her along, then. We’ll fix this lovely lady up.” He looked to Evie again. “If you see my apprentice about—tall young man with a long nose—point him my way, would you, miss? Boy’s forever disappearing when there’s work to be had.”
Evie nodded and watched as the pair disappeared around the side of the cottage, the blacksmith bemoaning his poor choice of apprentice all the way. “Whelp thinks he’s still in London. Wants to spend his days drinking and chasing the lasses. Should’ve found a farmer’s boy…”
His voice faded away, and Evie took the moment of solitude to tilt her face up in the futile hope of catching a breeze.
She snapped her gaze down again when the front door of the cottage opened with a slow creak of rusty hinges. As far as Evie was concerned, there was no sound reason to hide her face in this small village, but she had given her word, and she intended to keep it.
She waited for the newcomer to speak or make his way around back, but after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Evie glanced up, pulling the bottom of her hood across her face.
Here was the missing apprentice, she realized. He was a young man, no more than twenty, tall, with muscles in his arms and the long nose the blacksmith had described.
Uncertain how to react to his disquieting stare, she used her free hand to point in the direction of the workshop.
The young man stepped forward and pressed a conspiratorial finger to his lips. “Old man looking for me, is he?”
Though she’d have preferred to ignore him now that she’d fulfilled her obligation to Mr. Thomas, there was nothing Evie could do but nod.
“Horse threw a shoe, did it?”
Evie nodded again and wondered why he was prolonging the conversation. He’d obviously been eavesdropping, and she was doing nothing to encourage his attention.
He stepped closer, throwing a wary glance around the side of the house. “Wager you’ve a nice face under that hood.” He bent down a little as if trying to catch a peek. “Won’t you give us a look, love?”
Evie could only assume the sickly grimace he produced was meant to be a charming smile. The close view of his sallow complexion and enormous yellow teeth nearly charmed a second viewing of her lunch. She shook her head.
“Bit shy?” He stepped closer. “I like a woman what knows how to keep her mouth closed.”
A thousand cutting retorts flew to her lips, but aside from the fact that a confrontation with a stranger would likely exacerbate her stammer, there was also the damnable promise to McAlistair.
She stood and carefully edged her way around to the other side of the bench.
“What you playin’ coy for? You’re no more his sister than I am.” He chuckled a little and loomed closer. “And you ain’t on the road to Gretna Green. Only leaves one thing. Here now—” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin. “Just want a look, love. Maybe a taste.” He held the coin out to her, his smile growing strained when she refused to take it. “That’s good money, that is. Your fancy toff don’t need know nothin’ about it.
He waggled the coin at her. “Go on. Pull your hood back.”