“Better get moving. We have a lot to get through today.”
And he was out of bed and whisking behind the screen again, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. She could hear him moving about, she knew he was only a few feet away from her, but it might as well be a hundred miles, for it was too far for her to reach.
***
Georgie left the academics to their discussions, and, the rain having ceased and left the pavements merely damp, donned her stoutest boots and went to visit her friends. The last quarter of a mile left the pavements behind, and necessitated some careful avoidance of the copious mud, but she arrived in tolerable order, and spent a delightful morning, being fed wine and cakes, catching up on all the news and meeting her tenants.
Her mood much improved, so that she might almost call herself cheerful, she set out to return to the Brannons’ house. Her steps took her past the Angel Inn, where she was surprised to be hailed by loud male voices.
“Georgie! Georgie Hastings, as I live and breathe!”
On benches outside the inn, positioned to catch the sun, sat a row of men with tankards, two of them smiling and waving to her.
“Mr Green, Mr Keeley. How are you?”
“We’re very well, but how areyou, Georgie dear? You’re in fine looks. Must be that new husband of yours putting roses in your cheeks.”
Georgie blushed crimson, which made them laugh uproariously, and triggered a bout of muttered commentsfollowed by laughter from the other men on the benches, listening in avidly and no doubt inspired to ribaldry.
“Good day, gentlemen,” Georgie said crisply, turning away.
“Ah, no, don’t go, Georgie,” Mr Green cried.
“Aye, come and have a drink with us,” Mr Keeley said, his speech slightly slurred. Not yet one o’clock and already he was foxed.
“I don’t think so,” Georgie said, casting dark looks at the other men, still grinning at her and chuckling.
“No, no, not here… inside,” Mr Green said. “For poor Henry’s sake, Georgie. They have a decent sherry here.”
She had no wish to drink sherry with them, but they had been Henry’s best friends and she could hardly slight them. Reluctantly, therefore, she let herself be led inside and into the common room.
“There now, this is our table, and that there was Henry’s chair,” Mr Green said. “You sit there, my dear, while Keeley fetches a sherry for you, and we can share our remembrances of our dear departed friend.”
The sherry arrived with another pair of tankards for the two men, who imbibed freely, while taking it turns to tell her how well she looked, how fitting that she should be in Henry’s very own chair, and how they had played cards there every night, and sometimes during the day, too.
“Don’t let me keep you from your cards, then, if that’s what you usually do,” she said, hopeful of a rapid escape.
“No, no, not the least wish to play, dear Georgie,” Mr Green said.
“Not a bean between us,” Mr Keeley said. “Henry was the one with the readies, wasn’t he, Silas?”
“Hush, Willie,” Mr Green said with a frown. “No money talk in front of ladies, remember? So how is that new husband of yours, Georgie? Harwell… Hadley… wasn’t it?”
“Mr Hammond is very well,” she said firmly.
“Wha’s he like? Tall? Short? Handsome? I’ll wager he’s very handsome, ain’t he?” Mr Keeley said, waving at the potboy for more ale.
“Idiot!” Mr Green said. “You’ve met him, you chump. Very pleasant fellow.”
“Oh aye, when he bought that picture thing from me,” Mr Keeley said.
“The miniature?” Georgie said, startled. “He bought it fromyou, Mr Keeley? But I thought—?”
“Won it from him, didn’t I?” Mr Keeley said. “Cards. Terrible unlucky at cards, Henry was.”
“But… but I thought Jamie found it in a shop?”
“Aye, Silas’s shop.”
