Theo was awakened early in the morning by an insistent rapping at the inn door.
He was warm, unusually warm. The light in the room was still pale and watery, not long past dawn. Yawning and blinking, Theo sat up, only to find himself entangled by Philip's heavy arm.
Philip.
Heart pounding with both pleasure and dread at finding Philip still in his bed at this hour, Theo nudged at him.
Philip grumbled at being awoken and hugged Theo tighter.
Someone pounded again at the inn door.
Escaping from Philip's embrace, Theo scrambled to find his breeches. "There is someone at the inn door."
"I can hear that." Philip's voice was a honeyed rumble, heavy with sleep.
"You're still here," Theo said.
"Troth, so I am." Philip yawned, golden as a lion and just as lazy.
Theo didn't have time to argue with him. He dressed swiftly and then ran down the hall and the steps to find out who was pounding at his door.
The Earl of Glynn stood upon the threshold.
It was his manservant who had knocked, but it was the Earl of Glynn who drew the eye, with an impatient scowl upon his drooping jowls. Today, at least, he was dressed with some civility. His grey wig was set neatly upon his head and his waistcoat was buttoned neatly. His neck-cloth remained off-white and there was still the same stain upon his cuff, but he looked more the part of a local dignitary.
Theo stared at him, struggling to remember the rules of civility for receiving local nobility into one's coaching-inn.
"Little wonder that your inn is wanting for custom, if you cannot betake yourself to answer your door." He strode forward, pushed past Theo, and took a seat in the front room.
Theo left the door open in order to admit the earl's manservant and turned his attention upon Simeon Kearney, Earl of Glynn. "Good morning, my Lord Kearney. To what circumstance do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my inn this morning?"
"No pleasure," said the earl, intentionally caustic. "I'm here with a complaint about your behaviour, Master Aylmer."
Theo thought at once of Philip upstairs in his bed, and the lazy, charming smile that Philip had given him as he dressed. He covered over the panic with irritation. "That's Doctor Aylmer, if you please."
"I don't," said the Earl of Glynn.
"May I offer you a drink, my lord?"
"Brandy."
A tiny bell rang, from somewhere within Theo's head. Everything about this man is a threat to me. I am certain of it.
"Of course, my lord," Theo said, and turned toward the kitchen.
He found Mr Crouch awaiting him, sleepy and alert at once. "There isn't any brandy, sir," Mr Crouch said, in an urgent whisper.
"What?" Theo said, stupidly. "But surely there…"
"Tell him," Mr Crouch repeated, "that there isn't any brandy."
Theo understood at once, the danger of the situation solidifying in his mind. He nodded once and returned to the front room of the inn. "I fear, my lord, that I haven't any brandy in the inn. There is ale, and some tea."
"I will have brandy," repeated Simeon Kearney.
A chill went down Theo's spine, dreading the earl's more and more with every passing moment. Fear pricked at Theo's temper and loosened his tongue as he stepped forward to face the earl. "Have you no brandy in your own home, my Lord Kearney? Perhaps we shall need to find a new supplier. I remember that the Glynn estate had the most admirable orchard when I was a child. If you were to take up distilling, it would be my utmost pride to carry your product."
The earl's eyes narrowed with icy temper, and Theo felt certain that Simeon Kearney had come here on some ill purpose.
Sitting up, the earl pinioned him with a wrathful gaze. "I heard that you've been telling rumours about my brother."
That was the last thing in the world which Theo expected to emerge from the earl's mouth, and he stared in utter bafflement for several seconds.
"Your brother?" Theo asked, uncomprehending.
"Yes," said the earl, rising to his feet. Though he had no particular gifts in height, he had a presence like a dark star, magnetic and awful. "My brother, Jeremiah Kearney."
Baffled by this accusation, out of all the crimes he had risked in the past week, Theo stared at him. "I assure you, my Lord Kearney, I have been telling no rumours about your brother."
"No?" the earl asked. "Then it's not you that is perpetuating the rumours about a ghost in your inn?"
Theo swallowed, glad that Mr Mondy had not yet made an appearance that morning. "You can be most thoroughly reassured that I have been discouraging all such rumours. I have heard the tale, and I do not…" Theo hesitated before he declaimed Mr Mondy's account. If Mr Mondy believed it, Theo would not discount the evidence of his eyes and the sense of his mind. He had trusted Mr Mondy far too long for that. "I've seen no sign of a ghost, my Lord Kearney. If you make a habit of troubling yourself about such phantastical rumours, that is your own concern."
Simeon Kearney's eyes narrowed again. "I don't like the way you run your inn, sirrah." He beckoned to his manservant. "And I do believe you mentioned some business in… Oxford, was it?"
"Cambridge," Theo said, gritting his teeth. "I am a Doctor of Chemistry at Cambridge, my Lord Kearney."
The manservant handed over a purse, and the Earl of Glynn offered it to Theo. "I've changed my mind, Master Aylmer. I think I can find some use for your inn."
Theo's mouth watered, staring at the offered purse of money. It would no doubt be enough to get himself and Mr Mondy back to Cambridge, and perhaps to compensate him for all this trouble. He could have his beloved research again, continuing his investigation into the nature of the elements. He could belong, and have a purpose greater than being the keeper of a grimy, half-ruined inn.
Professor Carey had promised collaboration upon his next paper. A group of Theo's students had said he was their favourite professor and it had been the most fulfilled he had ever been.
His heart thudded, thinking of Philip upstairs and the vow that he had made.
Theo swallowed. "I have changed my mind as well, my Lord Kearney," he said, brisk and only cursorily respectful. "My father's inn is not for sale. It would be my pleasure to offer you some small repast by which you may break your fast, but I have no brandy and no ghosts, and if there is nothing else you require, I do have duties to attend to."
The earl's eyes were cold as he returned the pouch of money to his manservant. "Good day, Master Aylmer."
Theo bristled at the continued and intentional mistake as to his title, focusing on his anger so that he could ignore the feeling that the floor had opened up under him. "Good day, Master Kearney."
*~*~*
As soon as the earl had gone, Theo sank into a chair. He felt sick with loss.
He was trapped here, now. He hadn't thought of that, when he'd made his promise to Philip. Part of him yearned to chase after Lord Kearney. It might not be too late. The earl might yet allow him to accept. His life in Cambridge would still be waiting.
Four of the villagers appeared within moments of the earl's carriage pulling away. Among them, only Mr Blackburn bothered to give Theo an apologetic smile before going to the window to watch the earl pull away.
"No ghosts?" Theo asked Mr Blackburn, in an effort to make conversation.
"No, no ghosts," said Mr Blackburn, and glanced toward the kitchen. "May I depart through the back?"
Theo's eyes rolled toward heaven. "Yes."
The four villagers, followed shortly by two more, slipped like thieves out the back door. Theo hoped that the earl's disapproval—and Theo's disrespect toward him—hadn't damaged the willingness of the villagers to visit his inn.
Judith was the last to leave. She lingered in the front room, even after Mr Mondy returned to his chores.
Her gaze and her silence made Theo realise that he'd been standing in the front room, almost in the exact spot where he'd insulted the Earl of Glynn, staring fruitlessly at the door after it had closed behind the last of his customers. Glancing over, Theo frowned at her in puzzlement.
The lines of her face were sharp, even with the wrinkles to blur them, and she held herself with a calm, patient sort of dignity.
"Mistress Wright," Theo said, using the old-fashioned term without thinking about it.
"That's a very handsome ribbon," she remarked.
"Thank you," Theo said. "I believe it was my mother's."
"Was it?" A flicker of confusion crossed the old woman's face. "I don't remember ever seeing her wear it."
Theo was too tired to be defensive or deceptive about the inquiry to his ribbon. "Did you know my mother, Mrs Wright?"
"I did. She was younger than I, but we were friends. She was different, when she was young. More like you."
"Like me?"
"Spirited."
Theo laughed, turning toward the kitchen and expecting that Judith would follow. She did. "I am not spirited, Mrs Wright. I'm a scholar."
"I don't know as to that," said Judith. "When you were a boy, you were half wild. Like a spirit of the forest and the moor, all dreams and untamed energy. And now—well, I've never in my life heard anyone else with the spirit to call the Earl of Glynn Master Kearney, and to his face no less."
Theo put the kettle on for tea. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and, for a moment, he allowed himself to savour the thrill of having disrespected the earl. "I lost my temper."
"I suppose you did." Judith took a seat at the table, resting her chin in her wrinkled hand. "Your mother was the daughter of the stable groom at the Glynn estate. Lively as an unbroken colt. She settled down a bit, I suppose, when she met your father, but that temper of hers still showed from time to time. Simeon Kearney wouldn't have crossed her, either."
"I am not my mother," Theo said, measuring a spoon of tea into the pot. "And Simeon Kearney has indeed put his mind to crossing me."
Judith just smiled at that, like she knew a secret.
Theo sighed. "Will you watch the kettle?"
Judith nodded once, keeping her eyes on Theo as she did so.
He went upstairs to check on Philip, who was still in bed.
"Are you abed yet?" Theo asked.
Philip lifted his head. "A lively morning you just had."
"Did you hear that?"
Grinning widely, Philip propped himself up on his elbow. "Every word. Master Kearney! Admirable."
"Disrespectful and dangerous," Theo corrected him. His heart was pounding. He liked the feeling of being disrespectful and dangerous, and worried all the more about it for that reason. "You ought to go."
"I know it," Philip said, and sat up. "I want to stay."
"Aye, and I want you to stay." Theo bent to kiss him, lingering in it. "Go out the front. I'll create some distraction in the kitchen."
"Will you miss me?" Philip asked.
Theo kissed him again. "I will."
"Will you think of me?"
"I will."
Smiling fondly, Theo kissed him once more in farewell, and went downstairs to orchestrate a distraction.
*~*~*
Philip didn't show up the next night.
Theo was half sick with worry, pacing by the open window of his room. He left it open all night, even once he had given up and gone to bed, and woke with a cough.
The inn had begun to function without his interference. They received a pair of travellers the next evening who had encountered no trouble on the road. Theo's staff saw to it that they were fed and accommodated.
The village ghost-hunting had slowed after the first unfruitful night, but the villagers were not to be dissuaded, and the front room was kept full, with half the rooms booked.
Run off his feet with weariness, Theo rested in the kitchen once all their guests were sent to bed. Mr Crouch made them both a brandy with hot water to sip, and Theo wished again for a bit of honey or lemon with it.
"I ought to ask Mr Mondy if we can afford honey yet. I would dearly love a bit of lemon, but that was a luxury even in Cambridge."
"I'll recommend that Erasmus speak to Mistress Lockwood about the honey. She keeps bees, and will sell the honey cheaply," Mr Crouch said. "As to the lemons, the Glynn estate used to have a tree in their conservatory."
Theo smiled wryly. "Shall I stroll up and ask the earl for a lemon? Seeing as how he is feeling so very kindly toward me at the moment."
"You might ask it of Mistress Wright," Mr Crouch said.
Theo's brows lifted with interest. "The younger or the elder?"
"The elder. If there are lemons, Judith can get one."
"I should feel guilty encouraging Mrs Wright to larceny," Theo said. "Even if I would appreciate the lemon."
"Judith can perfectly well take care of herself," Mr Crouch said. "A widow, and at her age. Even Master Kearney dares not cross her."
Theo bit down on his lower lip, fighting amusement at how "Master Kearney" had caught on as a name for the earl and knowing that it could only possibly earn him further trouble and ire from the unforgiving Lord Kearney.
A lull entered the conversation, and Theo swallowed the last of his brandy and water.
"What the devil happened, Mr Crouch?"
"Sir?" Mr Crouch asked.
"To Cornwall. To Kearney Village and the inn."
Mr Crouch shrugged his shoulders. "Time and circumstance. Taxes went up, which increased the smuggling, which helped the Jacobite cause, which increased the bounty on smugglers and spies. We got old. The people who were keeping the village honest and thriving died, and the rest of us managed as we can."
"And Lord Kearney?"
"Sees to his own pocket, don't he? Can't be bothered with the rest of it, doesn't care much how the land and people around him suffer or flourish."
"Surely he must see that if he took better care of his people, the farms would flourish and his profits would rise."
Mr Crouch shrugged. "A person might do, yea. But it's easier, see, to call the people lazy and blame them for the trouble and the losses."
Theo ran his finger along the edge of the cup. "And nothing we can do of it."
Mr Crouch got up, refilling Theo's cup with water and a splash of brandy. "That's where you're wrong, sir. You're already doing something of it. More than your father ever did."
Theo's brows drew together in befuddlement. "Am I?"
"You aren't subject to him. The Earl of Glynn owns the village and the farmland, but not the inn. He never did. He has parish authority over you, but naught else. Unless you commit a crime for which he can prosecute you as a legal authority, the earl has no power over you or the inn. And if he cannot prosecute you, he cannot command or prosecute the villagers who come to your inn, unless they likewise commit a crime. The inn is a place under your protection, where his authority does not extend."
"You make it sound as though I'm an authority in my own right, Mr Crouch. I'm an innkeep and a scholar. Little else."
Mr Crouch pressed his lips together in a noncommittal fashion.
Theo curled his hands around his cup and looked toward the kitchen door. Still no sign of Philip, although they had no system of communication aside from Philip turning up unannounced. He'd left the upstairs window unlatched, and it was possible that Philip had climbed up unseen.
"Whatever your intent, Master Aylmer," Mr Crouch said at last, "you've set yourself at odds with my Lord of Glynn, and you're rumoured to be a Jacobite."
"I am not a Jacobite!" Theo scowled. "To be sure, Mr Crouch. I know that smugglers and Jacobites—well, the smuggling hurts the government, and helps the Jacobite cause, that's sure, but you may be certain that I am loyal to the crown."
"To be sure," Mr Crouch said, and sipped at his drink.
Theo huffed. "A Jacobite, as I live. Flawed though our government and our monarch may be, if Bonnie Prince Charlie were to take the throne, he would cripple Parliament and might gladly return England to feudalism. No, Mr Crouch, the Young Pretender may go to the devil. Our England is a sad and corrupt mess, but I would rather it than France, I'll tell you that, and rather our George than any of the other damn fool monarchs of Europe."
Mr Crouch looked amused, and Theo felt foolish. He cleared his throat and applied himself to his brandy.
"It's late, Master Aylmer," Mr Crouch said.
Theo's eyes strayed toward the latched door. He returned his gaze quickly unto his cup. "Yes," he said. "You ought to be abed, Mr Crouch. I am melancholy, but there's no need for you to lose sleep."
"He gave you no word that he'd be away?"
Theo froze, eyes widening in panic at Mr Crouch's statement. "Who?"
"The gentleman whose ribbon you've been wearing."
Theo turned entirely red, realising himself for a fool. Mr Mondy hadn't recognised the ribbon and had believed the story about it being found among his mother's things, because Mr Mondy had only once seen it on Philip, and that during a robbing. Mr Crouch had often handled the shipments of brandy, and could not fail to recognise the distinctive ribbon.
Nor, to be sure, could anyone else who had encountered Philip on multiple occasions.
"Bloody hell," Theo swore, dropping his face into his hands.
Mr Crouch laughed, a gruff coughing sound. "That's why we thought you a Jacobite."
"He is not a Jacobite," Theo said stubbornly.
Mr Crouch lifted his brows, very expressively not saying anything.
"What, and are you a Jacobite?" Theo asked.
Another laugh. "I don't care who warms their arse on the throne of England. So long as there's brandy in our cellar."
"And as to my wearing of his ribbon?"
Smirking, Mr Crouch looked him over. "I don't much care who warms your arse, either, Master Aylmer. Master Ludlow's a decent chap in my books. Delivers us excellent brandy at an honest price, and deals fairly with the locals. I'm no churchman, and our priest is too fond of brandy to be a harsh judge. If God has a care as to buggery, that is between you and Him."
Theo was not certain whether he felt relieved or insulted. "And as to the highway robbery?"
"Better than being a Jacobite."
Caught off guard, Theo began to laugh at that, and found himself overtaken by fits of laughter for several minutes after. His cup was nearly empty once again, and Philip had still not come.
"Why does he not come, Mr Crouch?"
"I don't know, Master Aylmer. But I do fear it means trouble."
"Aye, Mr Crouch. So do I."