running breathlessly down the stairs.
“Your pardon, gentlemen both,” Slegart said, rising
slowly to his feet and holding up his hand to check one of
the strangers in his speech. Turning to the servant, he said
gruffly, “Well?”
The girl shook her head.
– Slegart’s shoulders slumped. “Aye,” he muttered.
“Well, p’rhaps it’s better so.”
The two strangers glanced at each other.
“And the babe?” Slegart asked.
At this, the servant girl burst into tears.
“What?” Slegart asked, astonished. “Not the babe, too?”
“No!” the servant girl managed to gasp between sobs.
“The baby’s fine. Listen – ” A faint cry came from overhead.
“You can hear ‘er now. But. . . but – oh!” The girl covered
her face with her hands. “It’s dreadful! I’ve never seen
anything so frightening – ”
At this, one of the strangers nodded, and the other
stepped forward.
“Pardon me, innkeep,” the stranger said in a cultivated
voice with an unusual accent. “But some terrible tragedy
appears to have happened here. Perhaps it would be better if
we continued on – ”
“No, no,” Slegard said hastily, the thought of losing
money bringing him to himself. “There, Lizzie, either dry
your tears and help, or go have your cry out in the kitchen.”
Burying her face in her apron, Lizzie ran off into the
kitchen, setting the door swinging behind her.
Slegart led the two strangers to a table. “A sad thing,”
said the innkeeper, shaking his head.
“Might we inquire – ” ventured the stranger casually,
though an astute observer would have noticed he was
unusually tense and nervous, as was his companion.
“Nothin’ for you gentlemen to concern yourselves
with,” Slegart said. “Just one of the serving girls died in
childbirth.”
One of the strangers reached out involuntarily, grasping
hold of his companion’s arm with a tight grip. The
companion gave him a warning glance.
“This is indeed sad news. We’re very sorry to hear it,”
said the stranger in a voice he was obviously keeping under
tight control. “Was she – was she kin of yours? Pardon me
for asking, but you seem upset – ”
“I am that, gentlemen,” Slegard said bluntly. “And no,
she warn’t no kin of mine. Came to me in the dead ‘o winter,
half-starved, and begging for work. Somethin’ familiar
about her there was, but just as I start to think on it – ” he
put his hand to his head – “I get this queer feelin’. . . . ‘Cause
of that, I was of a mind to turn her away, but” – he glanced
upstairs – “you know what women are. Cook took to her
right off, fussin’ over ‘er and such like. I got to admit,”
Slegart added solemnly, “I’m not one fer gettin’ attached to
people. But she was as pretty a critter as I’ve seen in all my
born days. A hard worker, too. Never complained. Quite a
favorite she was with all of us.”
At this, one of the strangers lowered his head. The
other put his hand over his companion’s.
“Well,” said Slegart more briskly, “I can offer you
gentlemen cold meat and ale, but you won’t get no hot food
this night. Cook’s that upset. And now” – the innkeeper
glanced at the still-swinging kitchen door with a sigh –
“from what Lizzie says, it seems like there’s somethin’
wrong with the babe – ”
The stranger made a sudden, swift movement with his
hand, and old Slegart froze in place, his mouth open in the
act of speaking, his body half-turned, one hand raised. The
kitchen door stopped in mid-swing. The servant girl’s
muffled cries from the kitchen ceased. A drop of ale, falling
from the spigot, hung suspended in the air between spigot
and floor.
Rising to their feet, the two strangers moved swiftly up
the stairs amid the enchanted silence. Hastily, they opened
every door in the inn, peering inside every room, searching.
Finally, coming to a small room at the very end of the hall,
one of the strangers opened the door, looked inside, and
beckoned to his companion.
A large, matronly woman – presumably Cook – was
halted in the act of brushing out the beautiful hair of a pale,