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Anna raised her voice. “Yes! Pray stop at the next house, His Lordship isn’t well.”

Phoebe sat up with a jolt. “What? How? What is happening? Have we arrived?”

“Not yet. Your uncle isn’t well, it appears.” Ciel, it was dark in here. She reached out to light the lamp that was mounted in a recess on the wall but could not find the tinder box. She rummaged in the side pocket of the carriage lining, found it, and then promptly dropped it when the coach hit a rut. It fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Please.” St John’s voice sounded almost like a sob. “Quiet.”

“Uncle?” Phoebe cast an anxious look into his corner.

“Hush. I think we’d best keep our voices down,” Anna whispered as the coach slowed down and pulled into a courtyard.

Thankfully, the next building they came across was not that of a squalid farmhouse, but an inn. Anna sent up a brief prayer of thanks as the well-lit windows illuminated the dark. The ostlers came running, a footman opened the door to their carriage.

Anna hesitated as she wasn’t certain whether to help the earl descend.

“Are you—” she began, but St John interrupted her roughly.

“Go.”

“But—”

“Just go!” he roared.

Phoebe scrambled out of the carriage as fast as lightning, followed by Anna, who cast a doubtful look into the carriage.

“Go,” he repeated, this time more tiredly. “Get some rooms. We stay here for the night.”

Anna took Phoebe’s arm. “Let us go ahead. Your uncle is clearly not feeling well.”

That was an understatement.

Anna breathed a sigh of relief when the innkeeper came running and immediately offered them a room.

“We need two,” Anna explained. “One for the earl, who is outside still, and one for me and Miss Phoebe.”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Their room was simple and clean, with chequered curtains and a narrow bed that they would have to share. They were immediately served supper in the adjoining parlour, followed by the innkeeper coming to check whether everything was all right.

Anna pulled off her gloves and turned to him with a worried frown. “The earl, is he in his room yet? Doesn’t he want to eat?”

He shrugged. “He’s in his room all right. Made me extinguish the lamps in the room and wanted no fire in the fireplace. Forced me to close all the curtains tightly so no moonlight shines into the room. Said he wanted it to be pitch black and threw a candle at me when I insisted he eat. Thankfully it wasn’t lit. He didn’t open the door when I knocked earlier and tried to bring him a tray.” He leaned over and whispered, “Sure is an odd one, His Lordship, ain’t he?”

“He appears to be…” Anna searched for the appropriate word. “Unwell.”

“Unwell.” The innkeeper scratched his chin. “That’s one way to put it,” he muttered as he stomped down the stairs.

“He’s having one of his fits again, isn’t he?” Phoebe asked, standing in the middle of the room, taking off her bonnet and shaking her locks.

“Fits,” Anna repeated carefully. “Is that what it is? Does he have them frequently?”

“About once a month,” Phoebe replied, eyeing the cottage pie on the table. “Especially around the full moon. He can’t abide to have any light in his room, he says.” She reached for a plate and loaded it with a generous chunk of pie. “He locks himself in his room and he won’t let anyone inside. No one knows what is happening, or what he is doing. All we hear is odd sounds. Sometimes crashing, as though he’s destroying furniture.”

“Oh dear,” Anna muttered. Resolutely, she went to the door and knocked on it. “My lord. Sir. Are you well?” She placed an ear against the wood. “Would you like us to call a physician?”

She heard a muffled sound from the other side.

“St John? A doctor?” Something banged against the door, as if he’d thrown something against it; startled, she jumped away.