Page 76 of A Figure of Love

“Aye sir, at your service. Willie, take Mr. Lockheart’s bag and have it brought up to his rooms.” He turned to Gareth. “I’ve put you right beside Mr. McElroy, thinking that would be the way you’d want it.”

Gareth thanked him for the dubious honor and followed his bustling person into the inn.

“Is Mr. McElroy out?” He peered around the darkened interior of the taproom, thinking this is was probably the most likely place to find him. But only two farmers sat in the cool near darkness.

Trencher motioned for Gareth to follow him out into the hall, where he stopped, and glanced up at him with a flushed, uncomfortable look.

Gareth sighed. “I will have the words with the bark still on them, Mr. Trencher.”

“Ah, yes, as to that. Well, Mr. McElroy has not left his room in some time. We’ve given up sending girls to clean—they are my daughters, you see, and—”

“Yes, yes of course. I understand keeping any females away from him well enough. Is he ill?”

“Oh, no, nothing serious. Just a bit too much elbow bending, if you take my meaning.”

Gareth frowned. It was as he thought: drunk.

“How has he been getting his spirits?”

He could see the question surprised the innkeeper. “Why, we deliver ’em, sir.”

“You shall cease that immediately. When he rings, bring him ale, and nothing stronger.” He paused, considering the next few days and how unpleasant they would likely be. “You said you put me in the rooms adjacent. Are there other rooms?”

“Oh, aye, two more there and another two in the garret.”

“And are they occupied?”

“Which, sir?”

“All of them.”

He scratched his forehead, clearly confused by the direction and pace of the conversation. “Not as yet, sir. It is a slow time, the spring being—”

“I wish to engage them.”

Trencher squinted up at him. “I beg your pardon? Did you say—”

Gareth was aware of a great tiredness rising in him. This kind of transaction or discussion, where so many more words were expended other than what was necessary, made him wish to crawl into bed and hide.

“Yes, I will pay for every room here. Do not rent to anyone else.”

“Uh—”

Gareth tossed his gloves in his hat and handed the innkeeper both, along with his crop. “My man will not be joining me. Do you have somebody to see to my needs?”

“Ah, yes sir. My daughter’s husband is—”

“Please send the gentleman up with my things and direct me to Mr. McElroy’s room.”

Declan’s room was at the end of the hall, which was dark and narrow and poorly lighted. Gareth made a mental note to order more candles. He rapped on the door and waited. When no sound issued from within, he rapped again, harder.

“What the devil do you want?” a recognizable voice roared.

Gareth opened the door and had to duck as a boot sailed past his head and landed in the hall.

Declan lay on the bed, the sheets tangled around him, empty bottles on the floor, and the foul stench of body odor and vomit hanging over the room like a cloud.

Declan had leaned down to scour the floor by the bed for more projectiles. He came up with an empty bottle in his hand and froze in the act of throwing it.