“Where’s Daniels?”
“Daniels came down with rather a sick stomach yesterday evening, my lady. I am his replacement. May I be of service?” Clara wondered why everyone had an ill stomach, and she now regretted the half-plate of kippers she’d had for breakfast. She shook her head as she realised she was missing the conversation.
“His lordship did not come back last night, my lady. He is yet to return.”
“But, where would he have gone?” Hestia demanded loudly. Clara could see the replacement valet hop nervously from foot to foot. “Tell me for goodness sake. I am his sister.”
“Well, I had heard he was seen heading for the inn last night and, well…well…”
“Yes?” Hestia interrupted his vacillating.
“Well, sometimes he stays there…the night. If you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know. The inn is only a short ride away. Why would he stay there, rather than come home?”
The valet’s face was now a scarlet hue, and the poor man looked to be on the verge of tears.
“Betsy,” the man blurted out.
Hestia frowned. “Who’s Betsy?”
The valet’s shoulders drooped in surrender. “She’s the barmaid. She’s er…well…his lordship has, in the past, well…”
“Are you telling me that Rookdean visits the barmaid for his ‘pleasure’?” Hestia literally snarled the words at the unfortunate man.
“Not for a while, no. But if he’s stayed the night there…well, it’s obvious.”
“Is it now.” Hestia growled. The valet’s head was now sunk on his chest, as though he realised the enormity of what he had just revealed. No more words were forthcoming, and Hestia glared at his bowed head.
Clara felt sick. She wanted to blame the damn kippers, but she knew it was the thought of Rook – cuddled up to some buxom barmaid. Hah! and she had thought he’d be thinking about apologizing. It merely showed that she really didn’t know the man at all. Hestia was now berating the valet about spreading rumours, and Clara turned away.
“Clara?” She felt Hestia grab her arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Men are so…base.”
“Honestly Hestia, Rook has made me no promises. He is free to do as he wishes. It is better I know now that he does not hold any…strong feeling for me. However, I would prefer to leave as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Clara.” Hestia engulfed her in a hug. “And visit me in Somerset, yes?” Clara nodded her assent, and they walked arm in arm to Clara’s chamber, both unified in the knowledge that men were complete and utter blackguards.
ΦΦΦ
Rook woke to singing. It was fairly tuneless, and the sound made his head pound viciously; he kept his eyes closed. He moved his head in the direction of the singing, but the movement made the darkness swim, and he swallowed suddenly, against the sickening gorge that rose in his throat.
God, what had he done? He remembered talking to the miller’s son. He remembered Jack appearing. He remembered a drinking competition that involved walking backwards. He remembered the barmaid… Oh Christ! Betsy had seen him up the stairs – surely he hadn’t? Opening his eyes just a slit, the light pounded into his skull.
Betsy was sitting in a chair in the corner mending a stocking, and Rook really did feel as though he was going to flash the hash. God, why couldn’t he remember last night? Years previously, Betsy and he had spent a night together. He had been reeling from a friend’s sudden death and Betsy, lord love her, had provided comfort after she had found him drunk in the corner. Had she done so again? Guilt, wretchedness and an overwhelming feeling of total misery made him groan aloud. Surely, he couldn’t have? All he wanted was his Clara; he would never forgive himself.
“At least one of you is awake then,” Betsy murmured in a low voice, as though she understood perfectly well how his head must be feeling.
Suddenly, Rook opened his eyes.Oneof you, he thought in horror, and gingerly turned his head. A pair of hairy toes looked back at him. Rook closed his eyes – surely he was dreaming. The bed dipped slightly, and a grunting noise, not unlike a sow at heat, emanated from the other end. He opened his eyes again – the feet were still there. Rook’s eyes followed the foot down, a man’s leg, an untucked shirt and finally…to an unshaved, snoring Jack. Rook closed his eyes again: this time in relief.
Slowly, he turned away from the sow and sat up. A mug of water was placed in front of him, and he greedily supped the cool liquid. His head was still thumping, but the water helped, and he cautiously stood up.
“Careful, me lord. You drank the ‘Dragon Slayer’ ale last night. It’s been known to knock a strong man out for a week.”
“Whas…” Rook cleared his throat and tried again. “What was in it? I feel terrible.”
“It’s the Landlord’s secret recipe. I can only think he’s mixed the grape and the grain, to make a man feel so bad. Customers love it though.”
“I don’t remember anything, Betsy. Where did you spend the night? This is your room, is it no –?”
