Page 93 of Emma & Edmund

Behind the bar, the staff bustled back and forth, fulfilling the needs of the patrons shouting over the collective noise.

The hooting and hollering of patrons grated on her nerves, but even if their eyes turned to her, thankfully none called out. She could only hope the sour face she wore read 'do not approach’ enough to keep any botherers at bay. As nice as he ended up being, Emma wished for no Charles Jacob Brindley's in this bar.

Her short stature did not allow for easy movement through the crowd, hissing as they trotted over her toes with hardly even a slurred apology.

Only by the grace of God, and perhaps a bit of lapsed manners in forcing her way through, did her fingers finally grip the sticky edge of the wooden bar.

She had saddled up to a bar before, but without the pretense of a false identity, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. She didn't know what questions to ask, where to put her hands, or where to even look.

"Mrs. Elliot!" One called, raising his hand to the older, willowy barmaid behind the counter. "Another round, please!"

"Last one of the night!" She laughed back, gathering the empty cups that sat before Emma. "The last thing I need is your wife’s lecture next Sunday. What can I get you, love?"

Emma hadn't expected attention to be turned to her so quickly, thinking back to her time with Edmund, needing to capture Ruth with a call.

"I...ah..."

"Are you all right, girl? Are you lost?" Mrs. Elliot leaned against the counter on her elbows, bringing her eye level with the bowed-headed Emma, currently trying her best to keep herself together.

"No, I...I'm not lost," Emma stumbled over her words, daring to look up from the worn wood bar to meet Mrs. Elliot's eyes, "I need a room for the night."

"Lucky girl," the woman grinned, showing off a missing front tooth. "I have just one left. Will you be needing a bath or supper?"

"Both, if possible."

"More than possible, my dear!" Mrs. Elliot slapped the counter, thin lips stretching just that much farther. Pushing away, she sauntered to a cluster of hooks on the wall, retrieving the last key hanging. Coming before Emma again, she pressed the metal into the bar top. "Room six. Up the stairs, third door to the left."

The moment Mrs. Elliot's hand left the key, her palm turned upright. Staring at it for a moment, Emma almost asked what it was for before she remembered her weighted purse, hung heavy with her father's stolen coin.

"Oh!" Emma breathed, pulling the small silk bag from her skirts, clicking it open, and pulling three pieces of silver from it, dropping them in the hand before her. She realized too late she had no clue about the true costs.

Watching her with knitted eyebrows and a mouth open in disbelief, Mrs. Elliot looked from the small pile of coins and back to Emma before pulling one off, placing it next to the key still on the counter.

"You don't go traveling much, do you?" Mrs. Elliot mumbled. "Now, get yourself upstairs before you find yourself in a dark corner. I know most of these lads, but you never can trust one around a pretty girl. You get upstairs, you lock the door, and you don't answer it for anyone but me. You understand?"

"Yes ma'am. Thank you." " Emma truly was grateful for the instruction given with her safety in mind.

"No thanks needed, love," Mrs. Elliot winked at her, tucking the fare in her apron. "We girls have to look out for each other. On your way, now!"

It took a considerable amount of patience and avoiding once again to bring her to the stairs climbing against the far wall, but once she began her ascent, the noise began to fade away. The key in her hand slid into the third door to the left's lock with ease.

The room beyond, though much less gilded and decorated than the one she left that morning, was blissfully quiet. A small humming fire was already kindled in the fireplace, and the linens on the straw mattress at least looked clean.

Not long after she arrived at the room, a heaping bowl of stew did as well, followed not long after by Mrs. Elliot guiding a young girl to fill the room's small bath basin with steaming hot water.

In no time at all, Emma was fed, bathed, and in bed, more relaxed than she had been in weeks.

So relaxed, in fact, that by the time she had blown out the bedside candle and tucked herself under the quilt, she had nearly forgotten about her demon escort.

Her eyes fluttered closed for just the briefest moment. Groggily reopening, she had expected to see the embers of the dying fire. Instead, a dreadful, grinning face filled her vision.

"Did you miss me?" Molek clipped, his voice far too loud, ripping Emma from whatever state of relaxation she had achieved.

"I should have known better," Emma grumbled to herself, throwing an arm over her eyes, refusing to sit up. "Please, just let me sleep."

"Oh, don't worry, I found somewhere else to stay for the night-"

"I fear to ask where."

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