Page 43 of Winterset
No matter our issues, I did not, and would never, want that.
“Judge me for speaking plainly if you wish,” Lord Markham said, “but we second sons must look out for ourselves. It is the only way we can survive in this blasted Society.”
“I am not judging you,” I said. I couldn’t. Lord Markham and I were too similar in situation. I understood him, and perhaps I’d found someone who had the potential to understand me.
We finished our drinks, and the serving maid brought another round, which we happily drank while exchanging amusing tales from our time on the Continent. The pattern continued, and as the night wore on and the brandy kept coming, I felt more and more relaxed, happy to forget the burdens of Winterset and the ghost who inhabited it.
“Come now, Jennings,” Markham said, slapping the table. “You must tell me this story that has brought you out tonight in the rain.”
I glanced side to side to be sure I wouldn’t be overheard, then leaned forward and lowered my voice to a whisper. “My house is haunted.”
Markham snorted a laugh. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Think me mad if you wish, but Isawher. This very night. Floating in my library.”
He grinned. “What did she look like?”
“Aghost.” I grabbed back my drink, sloshing it over the side, and took another swallow. “White night rail, long curly hair ... and this, I remember clearly: beautiful, bright eyes.”
His gaze narrowed. “Have you seen her before?”
“Yes. Well, no, not in person, but I’ve seen her portrait, and I’ve heard her. She stole my seal. Actually, I can’t be sure she did, but Mrs. Owensby believes she did, and even though I did not believe Mrs. Owensby at first, I think I might now.”
“You havedefinitelyhad too much to drink. We’d best get you home.”
I groaned at the thought of having to return to Winterset. “I would rather sleep at this very table. My ghost enjoys interrupting my slumber,” I muttered.
Markham shook his head and beckoned over the serving maid. He gave her instructions, something about a carriage, or my horse ... ? I was too full of drink to really follow their conversation.
“Come on, old boy.” Lord Markham stood and gestured for me to do the same.
I scooted out of the booth and stood, forgetting entirely about the low beam above our booth, and hit my head. Hard.
“Blast!” I cursed.
Markham chuckled, and then he looked at me, and his expression turned serious. “You are bleeding.” He gestured to my forehead.
I touched two fingers to the spot and felt the slick blood.
Lord Markham handed me his handkerchief.
I pressed the square to my wound and hissed at the sting.
“That’s going to hurt tomorrow,” he said.
The alcohol in my system dulled the pain now, but he was right. In the morning, my head would hurt.
Markham wove through the crowd toward the door. I followed, still pressing the cloth to my head to stanch the blood. We had nearly reached the door when someone bumped into me. Ale poured down my front, soaking me.
Could this night get any worse?
Brushing myself off as best I could with one hand, I looked up to see the toothless man again. My blood boiled knowing he’d purposefully caused the collision.
But before I could do anything about it, Markham grabbed my elbow and led me away. “Come with me before you start a brawl,” he said as we made it outside and to a waiting carriage. “Get in.”
“But my horse—”
“Is already being tied to the rear of my carriage.”
