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William shook his head. “Not at all. There is no reason why you cannot take credit for your work. You are not the first woman to publish dark novels. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein comes to mind, along with books by Ann Radcliffe. And look at it this way, you are making inroads for other female authors to delve into the dark and dangerous.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you.”
Something deep inside him woke up then, and he knew at that moment that it would never go back to sleep again. He reached over and pulled Amy to his side, put his arm around her, and held her close.
It felt right.
The night was as dark and dreary as the pub looked. When they’d seen it the last time, it had been daylight, and even though the extra light had accentuated the bleakness, now, shrouded in darkness, the place looked downright ominous.
“I think we should have brought a gun.” Amy moved the window curtain aside and looked out at the building.
“I did.”
She turned back to him, her eyes wide. “You did? I thought you told me no guns.”
“No guns for you. Or for my mother, who also mentioned getting one.”
“Why can you have a gun and I cannot?”
William stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand for Amy to grasp. “Because I am trained in the use of guns. I keep my skills up by practicing.”
Before she could continue the argument, he ushered her down the path and into the pub. It was almost as dark inside as outside. Most tables were full, and William managed to secure one near the middle of the room.
There were small tables in the corners, their occupants not visible in the darkness. “This is sort of spooky.” Amy rubbed her palms up and down her arms. “I can’t imagine working in a place like this at nighttime.”
“I don’t want to imagine you working in a place like this at all. Or any place, for that matter. In that I agree with your father. Women should not leave their homes to work unless there is no other way to keep the family housed and fed.”
She grinned. “Aha. I notice you danced around that one quite nicely by saying not leave their homes to work.”
“Just so.” He winked at her and then looked around and immediately spotted Mrs. Johnson. He waved his hand, and she nodded that she would be right there. He didn’t think she recognized him from that distance; she was just acknowledging another impatient customer.
“What can I get ya?” Although she spoke to them, she looked around the room, no doubt seeing who she needed to take care of next.
“Hello, Mrs. Johnson.”
Her head snapped back, and she looked down at them. “Aren’t you the man who came to my house to see Patrick?” She didn’t look pleased.
“Yes, I am. I wonder if I could speak with you.”
She looked around and then said, “What can I get you?”
“Two ales.”
She walked off before he could say anything else.
“Was she that unfriendly when you met her earlier?” Amy asked.
“I wouldn’t say unfriendly as much as suspicious. But I imagine if I were a woman working in a place like this, it would make me a bit uncomfortable to have someone come into my place of work looking especially for me.”
Mrs. Johnson plunked the two glasses down on the table and skirted around the two of them to hurry off before William could say a word.
“I guess we wait to see if she comes back.” Amy gingerly picked up the glass and held it to the dim light. “Not very clean.”
“I expect not.” William eased his glass away.
“I’m glad you brought a gun.” Amy looked behind her. “In my books, anyone who feels threatened always sits with their back to the wall, facing the door.”
“In real life, people who feel threatened sit with their back to the wall, facing the door.”
