The mail coach was stuffy inside, with its leather upholstery and straw to keep the feet and legs warm, but Smith settled back and watched Bess stare out of the window. He listened to the guard blowing his horn to clear the road of any other traffic, looked out on the villages they rattled through, and noted where the coach stopped to change horses.
So many inns and taverns. So many potential customers.
So many inns and taverns. So many potential customers.When they reached London, Smith thought it vast, crowded, and immensely noisy. Bess stared around her, clinging to Smith in a combination of fear and excitement.
Smith booked them both into the Golden Cross at Charing Cross, between London and Westminster.
“Mr and Mrs?” The clerk asked, searching for a wedding ring on Bess’s finger.
