Chapter 451: The Inn at Gallowshill

Chapter 450: The Inn at Gallowshill

Lyria’s POV

The carriage lurched forward, and we began our journey into Gallowshill proper.

I sat with Elara beside me, a basket resting upon her lap. No one had asked what the basket contained, though I had wondered whether Duke Valenridge and Duke Thorncrest had knowledge of it.

Margery, Debbie, and Pippa had joined us within the carriage, though there had not been sufficient room for Bridget.

She had disliked that arrangement considerably, though, to her credit, she had made no complaint. Instead, she had taken a place in the second carriage alongside Daniel, Tommy, Oliver, and Ellis.

The gentlemen had taken the last carriage for themselves.

We had scarcely travelled any distance when a soft meow issued from the basket.

Zephyr pushed his head free of the covering.

I could not help but laugh.

I lifted him from the basket, and he immediately settled against me as though he had been waiting for precisely that moment.

Elara chuckled.

"I am quite certain he has been wishing to leave that basket for some time."

"I confess, I am rather astonished he managed to remain quiet for so many hours," Debbie said. "I fully expected him to have attacked someone out of indignation at being confined and neglected."

I looked down at Zephyr.

"I n-never neglected you."

Zephyr meowed.

His expression was so accusing that I almost laughed again.

"I a-am not lying," I assured him. "It i-is only that I c-could not bring you out... yet."

Especially with Corvin among us.

But Zephyr appeared entirely uninterested in the explanation.

He meowed again.

This time, considerably louder.

"All right," I surrendered, a soft chuckle escaping me. "I a-apologise for n-neglecting you."

I released him, expecting him to leap away in search of some secluded corner in which to sulk.

Instead, he climbed onto my skirt, turned around twice, folded his paws beneath him, and promptly fell asleep.

Elara stared at him.

"I have never seen a cat so lazy."

"Nor so hostile," Pippa added.

"Most cats are hostile towards us," Margery observed. "That is hardly unusual."

Pippa shook her head.

"Zephyr is exceptionally hostile. I feed him, and he has yet to show me the slightest affection."

"Perhaps it is precisely because it is you," Debbie said. "For he warmed to Duke Valenridge."

"Do not remind me of that." Pippa huffed and then folded her arms. "I maintain that Zephyr is a traitor, and it is not my character."

Laughter filled the carriage.

For a while, the conversation continued in much the same manner, and I found myself laughing with my maids as the day’s tension gradually loosened its hold upon me.

The road was rough, and the carriage swayed considerably, but there was comfort in having them around me.

Eventually, however, the carriage slowed.

Then it stopped.

I looked through the window and realised

we had arrived.

Or, at least, I assumed we had.

The establishment before us was an inn, though I use the term rather generously.

The building appeared to have been standing for considerably longer than anyone had bothered to maintain it.

Its timbered front had darkened with age, and portions of the plaster between the beams had cracked and fallen away. The roof sagged slightly towards one side, while several of the upper windows were so clouded with grime that it was difficult to tell whether there was glass behind them at all.

A wooden sign hung above the entrance.

It swung faintly in the night breeze, creaking upon its iron fittings.

The Wandering Hart.

The paint had peeled away in several places, leaving only fragments of the letters visible. Once, I imagined, the sign might have been rather beautiful.

Now it looked as though it had survived several decades of neglect and was not entirely certain it wished to survive another.

There was no light spilling from within.

No voices, no laughter, no patrons coming and going either as was so with the Tallow and Tide.

There was nothing here to suggest that this inn was still operating at all.

Zephyr had been placed back into his basket before we alighted, much to his displeasure.

Thaddeus stood waiting for us and he bowed immediately.

"Your Highness."

There was something peculiar about the gesture.

It was respectful enough by appearance, but I sensed a certain mockery beneath it.

"This is where you shall stay."

I looked at the building once more but before I could say anything, others approached us.

I turned to find the gentlemen approaching, accompanied by Bridget and the valets.

Marquess Silverwyn stopped several paces from the entrance, he stared at the inn, then at Thaddeus.

"What precisely is this establishment?"

Obadiah answered before Thaddeus could.

"It’s an inn, m’lord, an’ the only one in the town."

He gestured towards the building.

"The official ’anged it fer you to stay ’ere. He was meant ter receive yer ’imself, but he’s taken rather ill."

I did not believe that for a moment.

Nor, judging from the expressions around me, was I the only one.

Corvin, however, made no effort to disguise his displeasure.

"This place resembles a prison. I assure you, even a prison would be preferable to this. It scarcely appears habitable. I shall not set foot inside."

He turned towards the carriage.

"I would sooner sleep there. I am returning."

I paid him little attention.

Instead, I approached the entrance.

The door protested when I pushed it open. The sound of the hinges echoed through the empty interior and I stepped inside.

The first room appeared to serve as both an eating room and a drinking establishment, though there was little evidence that either had been properly attended to in some time.

Several wooden tables stood beneath the dim light of the lamps.

One had been pushed against the wall.

Another had two chairs resting upon it.

A third had been overturned entirely, one of its legs broken.

Dust had gathered along the edges of the floorboards and beneath the furniture. The wooden walls were dark with age, and portions of the plaster had cracked badly enough to reveal the timber beneath.

At the far end stood a hearth.

A fire still burned within it, though barely.

Only a handful of embers remained beneath the blackened logs, casting an uncertain orange glow across the room.

The warmth did little to dispel the chill though and the air smelled of old timber, smoke, damp wool and stale ale.

Behind what appeared to be a bar stood several empty bottles, their labels faded and their glass clouded with age.

It was almost as though the establishment had been abandoned and someone had merely remembered at the last moment that we were expected.

Obadiah entered behind me.

The gentlemen followed, then the maids and valets.

Everyone except Corvin whose voice could still be heard outside.

"This is absurd! I refuse to stay here!"

Obadiah ignored him crossed towards the staircase at the far corner of the room. The stairs were narrow and worn smooth in the centre from years of use.

He placed one hand upon the railing and called upwards.

"The customers are here!"

For several moments, there was no reply. But then I heard a woman’s voice.

"Send ’em away!" She said sharply.

"I cannae do that," Obadiah said. "They’re the ones sent by the Crown."

"Don’t care who sent ’em!" The woman said.

"Send ’em away! I don’t care what that old man said. I ain’t havin’ no nobles in ’ere!"