Emily blanched. “Your wife may certainly take as long as she
needs to attend to the gentleman.”
With that, Emily retreated further into the common room. The
fire was still burning, but the flames cast long shadows. Two long tables with
benches ran the length of the room, and chairs were set in the corners. She
made her way back to the cushioned rocking chair near the fire where she had
dozed earlier. Just as her eyes began to droop a second time from the
exhaustion of the past day, the door to the inn burst open once more.
“Where is he? Where is my brother?” She could not help but
overhear the young man’s raised voice as it cracked in distress.
“Now, now, Master Duval,” the innkeeper soothed. “Don’t ye
go getting yourself all riled. Lord Berkshire be up there now with the doctor
doing all he can for Lord Westings. There be nothing for ye to do except get
yourself in the way. Me Mol’s in the kitchen fixing some tea. I think it’d be
best if ye had a seat in the common room while I go see if I can find ye a
sandwich or some other light sup. Then I’ll swing upstairs and get ye some news
before I bring it to ye, sir.”
“Fine, Bailey,” the man huffed. “I’m warning you now,
though, I want to be notified if Marcus needs me for anything. I don’t want him
blamed for Grummel’s death just because he was summoned here with the doctor.”
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