The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,73
no one familiar,” he reported to Denby and Howland.
Denby leaned back in his chair. “Give them an hour or so. If they’ve been coming here for food, they should show up soon, or this lot may clean out the larder.”
“We may have to wait until after dark,” Howland advised. “Safer for them if they come then. The public room at the Swan may close at nine, but Hornswag keeps the Mermaid open until after midnight.”
He certainly hoped it wouldn’t take that long.
But the hours lengthened. Howland fended off offers of more drinks even though theirs remained untouched. Other patrons came and went, but everyone who arrived was greeted by friends. Linus, Howland, and Denby were the only strangers, and the curious or belligerent glances being aimed their way confirmed as much.
“We might as well give up,” Denby said as the clock struck ten. “Best we can do is question the publican.”
Just then, the door banged open, and a half dozen men crowded through to block the exit. Each was armed with a black truncheon, and a long knife hung at their belts. Howland shook his head ever the slightest. Right. Best not to move and draw attention to themselves.
One man stepped to the front, broad face leering. He smacked his truncheon into his meaty paw, as if they might have missed the weapon.
“Greetings, gents,” he called. “His Majesty has issued an invitation for you to join his Royal Navy. We’ve a quota to fill, and I’ve been told there’s a surgeon among you. Hand him over, and we might allow a few of you to go home tonight.”
~~~
Abigail settled Ethan to sleep in one bed and her mother in the other. Both slumbered easily enough. Impossible for her. Just as impossible to perch on the settee and wait. She headed for her studio.
Her first task was to adjust the hips on the figure she’d sketched earlier. That brought a smile, but it quickly faded. She’d never been good at waiting. She began mixing her paints. Soon, azure and emerald dotted the expanse, but her mind was not calmed by the cool colors. Instead, her thoughts tumbled over each other, like waves cresting the shore.
Linus had asked for her trust.
Jess had said she had had to trust in a future with Lark.
Her mother claimed Abigail did not trust her.
When had she become so determined to be an island? No, a fortress, proof against any calamity. If Linus could come to appreciate partnership, after all he’d been through in his first marriage, so could she.
She drew in a breath and set down her pallet. The scene before her was serene, and so, for the first time in years, were her emotions. That is, until she went to check the time. Nearly midnight? Where was he?
As if in answer, someone tapped at the door. Abigail hurried to answer before the sound woke her mother or Ethan.
But instead of Linus, Jess and Eva stood on her doorstep, both covered in long cloaks.
“Have you seen them?” Eva demanded, and Abigail did not have to ask who she meant. She stepped outside and shut the door behind her.
“No,” she told her friends. “Shouldn’t they be back by now?”
Though the lights were long out in the village, enough of a moon had risen that she could see Eva make a face. “James never told me where they were going, so I cannot be sure. And Jesslyn says Lark didn’t tell her either.”
“Protecting us,” Abigail told them. “And endangering themselves in the process. Well, we are not without resources. What do we know?”
“The location isn’t within walking distance,” Jess reasoned. “Lark took Valkyrie, his horse.”
“And James took Majestic,” Eva agreed.
“Which means Linus required transportation. We can check with Mr. Josephs. What else?”
“They plainly thought it too dangerous for us,” Eva complained with a sniff.
“And someplace that would endanger our reputation,” Abigail remembered.
“Possibly a public house or an inn, then,” Jess said. “There’s one between here and West Creech, another on the way to Upper Grace, and two more in that village.”
Abigail nodded. “Nate, Mr. Josephs’ son, may have seen which direction they turned at the crossroads.”
He had indeed, they discovered when they roused him and his father from their beds a short time later.
“West, ma’am,” he told Abigail, pushing tousled blond hair off his forehead. “And the magistrate and Mr. Denby were with him. Only they were dressed like common folk, not gentlemen.”
“Thank you,” Abigail told him.
“Would you be so good as to harness Lord Howland’s traveling coach?”