7. Yellowwood Inn

By the time Cordelia and Blackburn had trekked back to the Yellowwood Inn, Coredelia’s feet ached and the midnight cold had seeped through her body, leaving her numb.

She was so tired that she barely batted an eye at the inn’s crooked, worn door, or the way it squealed on its rusty hinges.

The inside was exactly what one would expect from an inn if it was located on the edge of a forest and had seen little to no civilization. The lighting was dim, the air was warm, and the smell was sour. And even though the room was nowhere close to packed, the patrons were rowdy enough to imitate a large crowd. Men hefted great cups of beer, and they called out loudly to each other, laughing and shouting joyfully. What a bunch of blunderbusses!

The few women, in contrast, were quiet in speech and quite talkative in body language. Cordelia caught one of them looking her up and down as if sizing up the competition.

Cordelia could not wait to be away from this place.

“Excuse me!” Blackburn called across the room suddenly. He then followed the direction of his voice and maneuvered efficiently towards a man Cordelia assumed was the innkeeper; a stout man with a bushy mustache and a merchant’s grin. She could see the roguish glint in his eye from across the room.

Cordelia followed much less gracefully, getting bumped and jostled by nearby drunkards.

After a quick conversation and a couple of overexaggerated smiles from the innkeeper, the pair learned that their luggage was already upstairs. And even though she didn’t like Yellowwood Inn at all, Cordelia was more than happy to follow the innkeeper to her room. She was more than ready to be rid of her dirtied dress and be able to rest.

* * *

Cordelia slept fitfully. The mattress was hard, the room was cold, and the noise from downstairs was unbearable. Even when the murmur of conversation died down, it seemed she could hear every squeal of a door or creak of a stair.

And when she did finally sleep, she dreamt.

She was in her old house. The high ceiling of the morning room arched above her, and the sun painted the whole room blindingly white.

She picked up a teacup, but when she brought it to her lips she smelled it was beer. Disgusted, she dropped it, letting the little china cup shatter on the thick rug.

The doors to the morning room rattled, and she heard a muffled voice on the other side.

Panicked, she knelt down, trying to pick up the china pieces. She saw that her skirts, originally white, were now stained with crimson.

The voice at the door became louder, and the walls turned to trees. A familiar figure stood in front of her, but instead of running, she turned around. Blackburn was there. He pointed at her hands.

“Silly things, those.” he said.

Cordelia didn’t understand what he meant, and when she looked down, she was cupping a pile of rocks.

* * *

“Drink your tea, it’ll sharpen your senses.”

Cordelia gave a stern look to Blackburn over the rim of her cup. He simply flashed her a smile, all dimples and boyish charm. Well, that wasn’t going to work on her.

She still felt like she needed another day of sleep, but she’d gotten up and changed into the other dress she’d had packed anyway, which was a grossly cheerful light blue. Luckily, she had also packed an extra pair of gloves, which she had gratefully slipped on before meeting downstairs with Blackburn. Her other pair was probably still on the forest floor.

The two of them sat quietly in front of the hearth, both sipping tea. Normally Cordelia would feel inclined to prompt Blackburn into conversation, but not this morning.

“Hmph,” Blackburn finally said, setting down his teacup with a clatter.

Cordelia looked up, saw the aggravated set of his mouth, and drew a conclusion.

“Miss Green, Mr. Blackburn,” said Marfleet from just beside them. Cordelia turned and stood, giving a small curtsy.

Blackburn stood rigidly. “I had not expected such an abrupt return. Or any.”

Marfleet adjusted his hat and looked at Cordelia in bemusement. Unfortunately for him, she did not share his expression, and instead raised her brows as if to say, what are you doing here?

She had not expected him either.

“I thought you two would want to be informed of Mr. Notley’s untimely death. He passed in the carriage before we made it back to Rotherhithe.”

Blackburn’s expression didn’t change, and Cordelia said only, “Do you know the cause of death?”

Marfleet gave her a perplexed look. “I hardly think that this is a matter to be discussed in front of a lady such as yourself.”

“Oh, I believe Cordelia is more than capable of handling herself in the presence of death,” Blackburn said pointedly.

Cordelia bristled, but bit her tongue.

Marfleet gave the two of them a baffled expression, then pressed on. “Well, I took the body to the coroner. Nothing of note happened on the ride; he just became more and more weak, then stopped entirely. I should have an answer by evening.”

Blackburn shook his head slowly and murmured thoughtfully, “As I suspected…”

Ignoring this comment, Marfleet said, “In the meantime I’ll be paying Mrs. Bellingham another visit.”

“Yes, yes, well. Cordelia and I are dying to get back to work.” Blackburn replied.

“I’ll be going with Mr. Marfleet,” Cordelia blurted out. Both men’s heads swiveled in her direction, but with different expressions. Marfleet simply raised a brow in surprise, his eyes sparking. Blackburn, on the other hand, looked like she had just said she was going to go feed herself to a pack of wild bears. His eyes were wide with unsaid warnings.

Cordelia drew herself up. “It will be to all of our benefits for me to be present during Marfleet’s interviews. I shall then carry information back to you, Mr. Blackburn,” she nodded to her companion. “Thereby saving Mr. Marfleet the trouble.”

“I say, that’s a clever idea,” Marfleet said with the beginnings of a smile. He intentionally stared holes into the side of Blackburn’s head, but the other man would not look back.

“Are you quite certain this is what you’d like to do?” Blackburn said, polishing an imaginary spot on the top of his cane.

Cordelia replied flippantly, “It’ll only be an afternoon.”

Blackburn nodded to himself, then met Cordelia’s eye. She couldn’t quite read him. “Very well,” he responded steadily. With that, he turned away.

“The carriage is waiting, Miss Green,” Marfleet said with a short bow in her direction.

Cordelia peeled her eyes away from Blackburn’s retreating figure. “Ah, of course.”

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