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hallway, then motioned her to follow. “All’s clear.”
    “Mr. Bascombe’s boots … I have no shoes …” She turned back and groped beneath the bed, retrieving the top boots. Balancing herself against the wall, she managed to pull them on. When she looked up, Deveraux had already disappeared. Tired beyond enduring, cross beyond reason, she stumbled after him.
    “Will you wait for me?” she demanded peevishly when she caught up with him.
    He grasped her elbow and propelled her down the deserted hall. “Between you and Bascombe, you are determined to have me taken,” he muttered.
    Bertie was standing nervously on the steps. “Got her?” he asked as Dominick rounded the top of the stairwell. “Don’t know why we couldn’t eat ere we run,” he said under his breath. “Deuced inconvenient to flee, if you was to ask me.”
    “Cannot chance it—’tis better to leave as others come in.”
    “But—”
    “Do you want to be clapped up in jail for theft of service?” Dominick countered.
    “No, but … well, dash it, I’m going to get hungry!”
    “Send the coachman into a pub for something later. Come on.”
    “I ain’t got any money to eat!”
    “I’ll sport the blunt for food, Bascombe.” He caught Anne’s hand and pulled her after him down the steep, narrow stairs. Her borrowed boots slipped on the treads, and she tripped, falling into him. “There are times, Miss Morland, when I wish I’d left you at the Blue Bull,” he told her. Nonetheless, he circled her waist with his arm and supported her the rest of the way down. At the bottom, he released her. “Damn!”
    The innkeeper’s wife emerged from a side door, her arms laden with linen. “Mr. Wrexham! Why ever are ye back here?”
    Discovered, Bertie turned red. “Uh—”
    “I’m afraid Oliver’s stomach is upset again,” Dominick answered smoothly, shouldering Anne, who quickly covered her mouth. “Didn’t want to overset your other custom, did we, Wrexham?”
    “Eh?” Bertie blinked momentarily, his mind groping for something to say.
    “Oliver needs air,” Dominick prompted.
    “Yes, definitely. Couldn’t have m’nevvy castin’ up his accounts in the front hall, after all.”
    “Mr. Wrexham, there’s a chamber pot.”
    “Actually, walking him in the air seems to help.”
    She eyed Dominick suspiciously for a moment, then looked to Anne, and her expression softened. “Feeling poorly, eh? Ye look like ye been sleepin’.”
    “Woke up sick,” Bertie insisted. “Food didn’t set right in his stomach.”
    “Mr. Wrexham, naught’s wrong with my food,” the woman retorted indignantly. “If ye was to ask me, he’s in bad need o’ physickin’. I got salts in the cabinet, if ye was to want ’em.”
    “We’ll get them ere he retires,” Dominick promised. “At this point, we are not averse to trying anything.”
    “I could summon Dr. Marsh for ye.”
    “Perhaps later.” His hand pressed into Anne’s back, and on cue, she coughed as though she were gagging. “You are all right, Oliver,” he uttered bracingly.
    “Got to get him outside … servant, ma’am,” Bertie said hurriedly. “Bendell, go on.”
    “But it’s near to rainin’—ye’d best not keep the lad out o’erlong!” she called after them. “I collect ye are a’stayin’ over, ain’t ye?”
    Once outside, they ran for the carriage, scrambling into it. “Got to give ’em the double, Davies,” Bertie declared breathlessly. “My purse is gone!”
    Rousted again, Cribbs gave Mr. Davies a look of patent long suffering. Nonetheless, both men hastened into the stable, then emerged with two ostlers, each leading a prized bay. Davies grinned at Bertie.
    “Told ’em as how ye was a-racin’ ter York, Mr. Wrexham.”
    “York? Eh? Oh … just so. Got to make all haste.”
    Dominick reached beneath his cloak and retrieved two-pence. When the harness was secured, the two ostlers released the lead pair’s heads. “All right an tight, sor!” one