Page 45 of Winterset
“The devil I am!”
Charlie groaned. “You are insufferable when you are intoxicated, Granger.”
“Does he drink to a stupor often?” Mrs. Owensby asked Charlie.
“No,” Charlie said. “Almost never.”
Mr. Jennings sighed dramatically. “Si vous aviez mes problèmes, vous seriez ivre mort aussi.”
He spoke both Italian and French then. Impressive.
“Sir,” Mrs. Owensby said again but more sternly this time. “I must beg you to listen. You have injured your forehead and may require stitches.”
Mr. Jennings touched his forehead and winced.
“Charlie,” Mrs. Owensby said. “Come help me.”
Charlie obediently started toward them, but the nearer he came, the slower he stepped.
“If you will just press the cloth to his cut,” she instructed Charlie, and he seemed to sway.
“No, ma’am. I—” Charlie started, but his plea faded as he fell to the floor.
“Charlie!” Mrs. Owensby shrieked.
Bexley stooped to help Charlie. “I don’t think he’s too fond of blood.”
“He detests it,” Mr. Jennings said. “It made him a terrible second in the ring.”
So, Mr. Jennings was a pugilist. That explained his athletic form.
“Take Charlie belowstairs to rest,” Mrs. Owensby instructed Bexley.
“I hate to leave you alone,” Bexley said. “Mr. Jennings is in such a state.”
As if cued, Mr. Jennings launched into another aria, his deep vibrato filling the entrance hall. I hated to notice, but his voice was quite pleasant.
“I will be fine,” Mrs. Owensby said. “Although I do not have the stamina to tend to two patients tonight. If you will, see Charlie back to his bed and watch over him, and I will see to Mr. Jennings’s injury.”
Bexley agreed, and when Charlie came to, still quite pale and shaken, Bexley assisted him belowstairs to recover for the night.
“Come, Mr. Jennings,” Mrs. Owensby said. “Let’s get you into the library. You can warm yourself by the fire, and I will better be able to see and help you.”
Mr. Jennings shook his head. “The library is haunted.”
“What?” Mrs. Owensby said to him, but her gaze lifted to the banister, where I was hiding.
Of course Mrs. Owensby knew I’d sneaked down to watch the spectacle.
“I saw Miss Lockwood’s ghost, Mrs. Owensby. This very night, floating in the library.”
I blinked in surprise. He didn’t know I was alive? Miracle of miracles! Our scheme had worked! I was safe.
Mrs. Owensby glanced in my direction again, her face pinched with anger. “Then I will assist you to the drawing room, sir.” She draped his arm over her shoulder to support his weight.
Still crouched behind the stair rail on the landing, I wasn’t sure what to do. I did not wish Mrs. Owensby to be left alone with an injured, intoxicated man. But besides his sultry serenading, he did notseemdangerous.
One never could be too sure, though, so I tiptoed down the stairs to the drawing room door and slipped inside. I hid myself in the shadowy corner of the room near the door. Even though he thought me a ghost and was quite clearly drunk, I did not wish to try my luck.
