Page 27 of The Swan Syndicate
“If we’re going to spend our time at inns, no more eating on the ship. I think I’m going to bust.” She watched Beckworth finish the plate.
“That’s a good idea. How did you fare with the ship?”
“A bit queasy after breakfast, but it’s more likely my stomach is getting used to the food again.”
They spoke little after that, each of them listening to other conversations. And while it felt awkward not to be talking, no one would think it odd. She remembered seeing other couples at inns eating in silence. It was common in her own time. It just wasn’t typical for her. She squelched several thoughts she wanted to share, especially when Beckworth tilted his head ever so slightly as if he was having difficulty hearing a discussion.
After an hour, the empty plate had been removed, and beads of sweat that had been building since they’d first sat down were leaving rings of sweat under her armpits. She had to get some air, but if she left the inn, Beckworth would follow, and he seemed interested in whatever the men at the table behind them were saying.
Their mugs were low, so she picked them up. “I’ll be right back.”
It broke his concentration, and he frowned. “The server will take care of it.”
“I need some air and won’t go any farther than the bar.” It wasn’t really a bar. More like a plank of wood over a few barrels, but several men stood next to it, chatting amongst themselves or the innkeeper.
She set the mugs down in between two old-timers who looked ready to pass out and three men who kept glancing at the door. If she was correct, the men would ignore her for several minutes. The air, while still stuffy and smelling of tobacco, alcohol, cooking meat, and unwashed bodies strong enough to bring on tears, was cooler than where she’d been sitting. She rubbed her stomach, which had finally settled.
For the first few minutes, she focused on the two old drunks. It would be far from the first time that someone spilled something they shouldn’t under the influence of alcohol. But she soon determined their argument over the best type of bait wouldlast for some time. She grinned. Some things never changed. Even in two hundred years.
Her focus shifted to the men to her right. They sounded like locals, one of them complaining about too many ships in town while another muttered something about smugglers, which caught her interest. Though to be honest, she was filling in the gaps through their garbled English. Beckworth mentioned theDaphnewould be running along the coast of Wales. It was possible some of the speech she didn’t understand could be Welsh. She focused on individual words, specifically listening for the name MacDuff, but it never came up. It didn’t take long to realize that the words she was able to grasp weren’t worth storing away.
She’d always been known for her excellent memory and recall, which was another reason Jamie had agreed to her role. Now, if she could only understand what she was hearing. The innkeeper noticed her after about ten minutes and took the mugs to refill them.
She only had a few more minutes before she’d have to go back to the table when the men bent their heads lower, and she silently cursed. No doubt they were talking about something juicy, which could easily be about a woman rather than a smuggler. When the words Cheval and the horseman floated to her, they seemed out of context, and she took note.
As soon as the name was out of the man’s mouth, another hushed him then ducked his head lower. By then, the innkeeper had given her two fresh mugs, and she had no reason to stay. She thanked him, got an odd stare—which she assumed had to do with her accent—and picked up the mugs.
She set them on the table before she dropped into her seat. The men Beckworth had been listening to were gone, replaced by an older man and younger woman.
“Did you hear anything of value?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It was a group of sailors from one of the fishing boats. There’s been an increase in the number of smugglers in the area, but they think it has to do with the increase in British patrols south of Bristol, forcing them farther north.”
He took a swig of ale then pushed it away. “Too many of these and I’ll sleep the rest of the afternoon.”
She winked. “That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”
He smiled. “Don’t encourage me.” He glanced at the bar then leaned close. “Did you hear anything? Those men look like locals.”
“That was my thought, but they hardly spoke any English.”
“Welsh. That can be a bit of a problem along this part of the coast.”
She took a sip of ale, then stood. “I need to go. The heat is getting to me.”
Beckworth was at her side in a heartbeat, giving her a searching look. “You look flushed.” He put an arm around her shoulder as two men looking for a table approached. Beckworth nodded toward their mugs. “We’ve only taken a sip or two, they’re yours if you like.”
After getting a hearty slap on his shoulder for the offer, Beckworth steered them out of the inn. When they’d walked several yards, he turned her to him. “Are you alright? Or was that a ruse to leave?”
“I got overheated. It was too hot in the room to be sitting that close to a fire. I think I’d have preferred standing at the bar.”
“Duly noted.” He walked them along the stores, and she motioned toward the mercantile.
“I need a different dress. Something plainer. I don’t think anyone noticed, but I’d blend more with the crowd.”
He chuckled. “I counted at least eight men who noticed you standing at the bar, pretending not to be eavesdropping on the men next to you.”
She stopped. “Was I that obvious?”
