She was directed to one of the inn’s best bedrooms and went in to find Lord Kennington conducting a quiet but earnest discussion with a black-coated man in a grey full-bottomed wig. They were standing to one side of a large bed, where Potts was lying so unnaturally straight and still that for a brief moment Lucasta feared he had not survived. ‘He is asleep,’ said the viscount, observing her shocked face. ‘The landlord has set aside a private parlour for us. Go and wait for me there, Luke, we have almost finished.’ Thus dismissed, Lucasta went off to the little sitting-room hastily vacated by the landlord’s family when that shrewd businessman realized that this unexpected guest was prepared to pay handsomely for his comforts. Unable to settle, she whiled away her time ordering supper and stirring the coals until they yielded a cheerful blaze. When Lord Kennington came in some time later she had just finished dragging the little gate-leg table closer to the fire.
