“Adam made it out alive. A good many didn’t. Including some close friends…” I trailed off awkwardly, as my mind flashed to the Unwanted Bastards. Inglorious was beginning to recover himself, and Nanci, his old lady, wasn’t taking prisoners.
“I’ll get those bottles and bring them to your room.” Mariah hurried away, and I headed back upstairs. As I did so, I thought I caught sight of a woman in a long gown watching me, but when I turned back, there was nobody there.
Adam
Five minutes after Rina returned, Mariah brought three hot water bottles and six straps to secure them to my leg. Not wanting to make a big deal, I pulled on a slim pair of pyjama bottoms and strapped the bottles to my legs. Over them, I yanked on a loose pair of sweatpants. Sure, my leg looked bulky, but they weren’t overly noticeable. Rina hurried the kids downstairs as I slowly made my way down.
A large table had been set up near a roaring fireplace, and I finally took stock of the inn. It was certainly old-fashioned and clearly hadn’t been modernised much. The history of the place seeped into the walls, and I realised the building I was standing in was probably older than my country.
There was a great deal of dark wood and white walls. The fireplaces were huge and made of stone. Inglenook, I think they were called. Nearby were many brass ornaments and other items. The inn was homely, warm, and welcoming, and I actually felt at ease here.
Mariah waved us to the Inglenook. Nearby was a window-side seat with a table in front of it and four chairs. I shuffled around and sat on the window seat, which had wonderfully padded cushions. To my surprise, a footstool had been placed close by, and Mariah dragged it over and placed it near me.
“Julie, the cook, she’s made steak and kidney pies, chicken, and lamb mint pies. There are warm baby potatoes and a selection of vegetables. Trudy will come and take your orders. If you don’t like pies, there is also a chicken soup and a beef soup on offer,” Mariah stated and took her leave.
“Wow. I assumed we’d get sandwiches,” I said.
“Me too. Adam, look out of the window,” Rina murmured. I twisted in my seat and gazed out of the leaded window.
“Wow.”
The snow kept falling while we unpacked, completely covering the tractor’s tracks. It was thick and surprised me. “I thought England didn’t experience much snow. I understood it was Scotland that did.”
“Oh no, some parts of England get a lot of snow. Sadly, we’re one of them, although this is far worse than usual for this time of the year,” Trudy said as she smiled at us.
That caused me to worry. How would I get out and about for the next four weeks? Did it mean I’d swapped one prison for another?
“What can I get you?” Trudy asked.
“I’ll take three chicken pies for the children, and I’ll have a steak and kidney, and we’ll all have the potatoes and vegetables. Adam?” Rina asked.
“I wouldn’t mind a lamb and a steak, please,” I replied.
Trudy nodded. “There’s fresh apple crumble and custard for dessert. We usually offer a more varied menu, but you’re our only guests, and clearly the public can’t reach us right now.”
“That’s fine. If it helps, we might consider ordering our meals beforehand,” I said, and Trudy beamed at me.
“That would be helpful. Let me go place these orders, and once you’ve eaten, we can speak to Julie.”
“Thank you,” Rina said as I turned my gaze to the thick snow. Would this also be ruined because of me?
Chapter Four.
Adam
Iwas a little surprised when Benedict, Mariah, Trudy, and Julie also joined us in the bar. I thought they’d eat lunch elsewhere, but they took a table near the other Inglenook and sat talking amongst themselves. They all appeared at ease, and it seemed strange to me that Benedict was the brother of an earl and yet ran a pub. I wondered if they were a close-knit family.
My eyes wandered around the bar and landed on a portrait over one of the fireplaces. I frowned as I studied the man in it before glancing at Benedict. The painting could have been of him, even though the figure was dressed in old-fashioned clothing. I squinted and saw a name on the brass plaque under the painting.
“The Hon. Benedict Norton.”
“What?” Rina asked.
“Look at that portrait; that could be Benedict. Look, they even have a similar scar above their eye. And their names are the same.”
“That is strange. Do you think it’s Benedict who posed in costume?” Rina asked, peering closely at the portrait.
“No, check out the dates. Born 1691, died 1716,” I pointed out. I turned and gazed at the other fireplace. Above that was another portrait, this time of a woman. Her hair was long and black, falling to her waist. Amber-coloured eyes stared at me, and I shuddered. They seemed to know. I quickly glanced at the plaque and made out the words. ‘Lady Catherine Norton, the Black Cat.’ I couldn’t read the date, even though there was one. A shadow covered it.
