Thirteen

The emergence of Sally, the petulant and rather tardy maid, ended the interesting conversation Emma was having with the Earl of Darington. Sally returned in a silent sulk and took up residence on a stool in the corner of the room.

Though Emma could no longer press him for more details of his life, she marveled at the new information she had learned about the Earl of Darington, the Pirate Earl himself. She had always secretly enjoyed reading the London society papers, thinking the aristocracy far beyond any true problems. Dare had certainly experienced more than his fair share of difficulties, and it only made her hold him in higher esteem.

She only wished he could experience the comfort she had in her faith. Without that, she did not know what she would do. A slight rustling got her attention, and she realized Dare was attempting to sit up.

“What do you think you are doing?” she accused.

“’Tis morn. Must inform the magistrate of all that has occurred.” He glanced at Emma. “Well, not all that occurred, but we need to inform him about the men so he can try to apprehend them.”

“Yes, of course we must, but you cannot walk downstairs.”

“I must.”

“But you cannot. I will go.”

“No!”

She paused, startled by his emphatic response.

Emma tilted her head slightly to one side. “Whyever not? Surely, we must report such evil deeds to the proper authority.”

“A magistrate will ask questions. Some of which may be difficult to answer.”

Emma blinked. “What questions?” Though she feared she knew.

“Like your name and what you are doing here and why you were spending the night with a man not married to you,” Dare said ruthlessly.

Emma smoothed her skirts. “You make it sound very sordid.”

“They will think it very sordid. You have been of great service to me. I would not repay you by ruining your reputation.”

Emma shrugged. “I do not think it matters if my reputation is ruined in this hamlet. Besides, I had no intention of giving my true name.” She had no desire to be found by Eustace.

“Still it would be a shabby repayment. Besides, we do not know where those men are. I must go.” Dare attempted to sit up in bed.

Emma immediately rushed to his side. “No, please do not move. You know how I feel about the stitches. I will be ever so angry at you if you force me to do them again. That, indeed, would be a poor repayment.”

Dare winced and lay back down, the pain clear on his face. “I will not let you leave this room without me to protect you.” He looked at her with such intensity she did not doubt him. If she were to leave, he would drag himself after her.

“May I suggest that I ask the innkeeper to request the magistrate to come here so you can make the report?”

Dare glowered at her, but she could tell she was winning the argument.

“I will go no farther than the common room of the inn, and I will even take Sally with me. Now what could possibly go wrong with that plan?”

Sally shook her head in protest, but Emma was firm. This would be simple. She knew it must have been safe, for Dare reluctantly agreed to it.

Emma walked down the stairs to the common room, having to stop several times to encourage the recalcitrant Sally to come along. The maid did not want to become involved with anything to do with the men who had attacked them and complained about having to spend the night in the servants’ quarters of the inn with a maid who snored. Emma attempted to be sympathetic, though she had no real empathy.

“My husband would like to speak with the local magistrate,” Emma told the innkeeper when she found him in the entryway. “Could you tell me how I might direct a letter to him?”

“Why, you are the second person to ask for the magistrate today,” commented the innkeeper, scratching the white tufts of hair on the side of this head. “Must have been some excitement, for Sir Gerald is being kept busy.” He paused and gave Emma the expectant look of one hoping to be given more information.

Since that was one thing Emma could not do, she merely gave him one of her brightest smiles. “My goodness. How unusual. How might I contact Sir Gerald?”

“Why that’s no trouble at all. He’s here to talk to them other fellas. He’s talking to them right now, in the private room off the common room. You can talk to him yourself when he finishes with his business.”

“Thank you. I will wait for him in the common room with my maid,” replied Emma. Only a few people were in the main room—a pair of older gentlemen playing chess in a corner and two women knitting near the window. It all looked rather mundane, a relief from the excitement of the past day. She sat at the table nearest to a closed door on the far side of the room, which she assumed led to the private room. Sally stood beside her, looking miserable.

“Why don’t you ask the staff here to prepare a tray for Mr. Anders,” Emma suggested.

“Mr. Anders?” Sally clearly forgot the assumed name they had used when they checked in.

“Yes, my husband who is sleeping upstairs,” said Emma in an undertone with a knowing look.

Sally continued to stare at her for a moment before realization dawned on her face. “Oh yes, of course, miss.”

“‘Missus’ or ‘madam,’ if you please,” hissed Emma.

Sally frowned and slunk off without another word. Emma sincerely hoped Sally would not blurt out the wrong information at the wrong time. A waiter left the private room, accidentally leaving the door open a few inches. Emma did not intend to eavesdrop, but she could not help hearing the raised voices coming from the private sitting room.

“That is unconscionable,” exclaimed a voice she did not recognize. “You say this happened along the main road?”

“A horrible circumstance. Robbed us of all our worldly goods. Shot me in the arm and murdered our poor friend in cold blood,” said the gravelly voice.

Emma froze. She knew that voice. It was the man in black who had attacked them while they were stranded. She remembered his voice, his face, the stench of his body when he came close.

The brazen highwaymen were at the inn. And had gotten to the magistrate first.