With Meera now in charge, Kate traipsed down to meet them on the ground floor. “If Hugh is this crazed, should we be checking the schoolroom?”
“Henri is up there.” Rafe reassured her. “I’m on my way to join him.”
Fletch could make little sense of the madman’s path. Had Morgan escaped the barn and run up several flights of stairs, hoping to find the captain? Then he heard the ninny, ran down, pushed her out of his way, and escaped again? Swift bastard, if so. “We better search, he could be anywhere.”
Rafe grimaced. “I want to see to the women and children first.” He ran up toward the schoolroom and his family.
Kate's frown didn’t ease. “I don't know why Miss Jameson was on the stairs. Or why Hugh would be, either. Perhaps he thought he could find Hunt?”
That had been his assumption. Fletch wanted to tell her to stay out of it, it was none of her concern, but that was a lie, and she'd call him on it. When had women quit hanging onto his every word?
When he'd stopped talking to them.
With a sigh, he organized his jumble of thoughts. “That makes some sense, although how Miss Jameson became involved, I can’t say. Rafe and Hunt will organize any search. Meera will see to Miss Jameson and Arnaud can carry her out. I’ll escort you back to the sewing room.”
“Does this mean it isn’t safe to go into town? We’re supposed to look at the inn parlor for Lavender’s shop.” With her knot of silky, auburn hair coming undone, she looked amazingly uncertain and not a little shaken.
He gauged the danger. Surely they had the madman injured and on the run, and it wasn’t as if Hugh carried weapons. But Fletch would feel better if the women had protection.
“Rafe and I are partners in the inn. I can show it to you.” Renting out the parlor would help pay the bills. He ought to practice being useful.
Kate looked wary, but she could do nothing more to assist the physician. With one arm out of commission, Fletch knew he was useless for most purposes, but he could wield a knife. They might as well return to business.
“The captain doesn’t mind you leaving the clockworks on the stairs?” she asked.
“I'm diagramming the mechanism before cleaning and repairing. I’ll pick up when I’m done with that.” He couldn’t see how pendulums that heavy worked in a case that size, but she wouldn’t understand.
With Lavender’s office door still locked, Kate had to return through the portico entrance. That left Fletch in the yard, mentally examining the pendulums and keeping an eye out for runaway madmen. He needed to sit down and do the mathematics when he had a chance.
All seemed to have returned to normal by the time Miss Marlowe and Kate ran outside, still fastening their bonnet ribbons. Lacking any pleasantries, Fletch simply led them down the drive, keeping an eye out for stray lunatics. He'd cleaned his dagger and added a long blade to his boot this morning. He reckoned he could dispose of his sling, if necessary. Generally, he just relied on his strength, but he could be flexible, occasionally.
“We can't ask clients to cross a mud field!” Miss Marlowe cried in distress once they reached the inn yard at the bottom of the hill.
He and Rafe had been repairing the fence and gates, preparing a proper drive, so carriages had an easy route from the road up to the inn’s lobby door. After disposing of bags and passengers, drivers might circle around to the stable grounds in the rear. Not that they had many guests with carriages.
Which was why they were still pricing gravel and cobblestone. They needed more income to justify the expense. Now he had to work numbers to see if renting the parlor would cover the cost. Businessman, he was not.
“A boardwalk or flagstone path for people on foot,” Kate suggested, lifting her sensible wool hem and entering the yard. Fortunately, despite the ever-present clouds, it hadn't rained recently.
A boardwalk sounded reasonably cheaper than paving a drive.
Wearing slippers designed for houses, not fields, the stylish Miss Marlowe narrowed her pretty blue eyes and stepped delicately into the dirt. “A gravel path from the gate, directly to the wall, out of the carriage drive. Then a boardwalk under the eaves, out of the weather, where customers can stroll and admire the shop window.”
Wincing at the costs adding up, Fletch led them inside. It wasn't as if Gravesyde was overrun with visitors wanting to stay the night. Their few guests were all men, which was why Rafe had left Parsons, a former New South Wales convict, in charge of the desk. Fortunately, the proud Miss Marlowe didn’t deign to notice a scarred and tattooed clerk.
In an abundance of caution, Fletch left the ladies in the lobby while he checked inside the parlor. The ground floor chamber had a key but was unlocked and unfurnished. No place to hide here. He gestured them in.
“The light is perfect!” Miss Marlowe admired the large mullioned bay window overlooking the muddy yard. “We'll need a long table in front of the window for displays. And those bookshelves. . .” She took out a tape to measure them. “So very many uses!”
“Damien had his law books there. Verity thought she might move some books from her upstairs library should the parlor open for ladies,” Kate explained.
Crossing his arms and attempting to ignore the women, Fletch leaned his hip against the window seat, watching for madmen in the yard. Maybe he ought to open his own shop, repair clocks, sell automatons. . . as if he could sell anything if his life depended on it.
He needed more to do than training horses and looking after the inn's stable.
Right now, he needed a woman. He should take himself out of here, where feminine scents and voices enticed.
While the females filled their heads with ideas, Fletch noted Rafe trotting into the yard. Must be noon. The pub’s food had acquired more customers than the inn had guests. Although Rafe wasn’t alone. Accompanied by Damien and Kate’s Viking warrior sister. . . his partner wasn’t bearing good tidings.
