Taverns and Treachery

Chapter 10

After a half hour, Marianne distinctly heard her father's door opening. Alice's mouth was slightly open, and she was still and silent as her sister got up once more. 

"Good morning, Sunny," Mr. Wilson said upon seeing her at the door. Mary hated the nickname, but she smiled at him nonetheless. 

"Are you feeling alright today?" Mary asked. 

"Is this your clever way of saying I should have woken earlier?"

"No!"  Marianne said. "No, of course not! I'd have you sleep until noon if I could. Heaven knows you need it."

"Will you ever stop worrying about me?" 

"Never."

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Wilson smiled at the redcoat, who was bent over a coffee table. "Good morning, William. You're up early."

The redcoat flashed a hesitant smile at Mary, and she looked away. 

"I enjoy the quiet of the tavern in the morning. And your daughter was actually down here, about a half hour ago."

Mr. Wilson shot them a quizzical look, and Mary tried desperately to fade into the floorboards. She had no idea what implications were presented to her father. 

The redcoat was scrubbing at the table intently. His technique wasn't perfect, but he was clearly trying to help. Mary would have found it charming, if she wasn't trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Unfortunately, that included not being amused by his ridiculous efforts at kindness. No amount of scrubbing could erase what he was. 

Suddenly, a sharp cough split the air.  It was a particularly dusty morning, and the redcoat watched in horror as Mr. Wilson doubled over. His dry, hacking cries filled the tavern, and Mary rushed to his side. 

"Go back to bed, Father," she said sternly, heaving his gasping form upwards. For once, he didn't argue. His fits were seemingly getting more frequent and intense. 

Mr. Wilson began stumbling towards the stairs without so much as a complaint, even though there was only an hour and a half until breakfast. Mary kept a tight hold upon his arm, steadying him as they ascended. His agreeableness was what frightened her the most. She could only imagine how painful his latest fit must have been, to get him to lay down without argument. Though he was scarcely fifty, Mr. Wilson hobbled upwards like an elderly man who had seen far more winters. 

"I'll try to come down in a few hours," he rasped.  

"Don't rush, Papa. I'll hold down the fort here. And our guest will help, if necessary."

"I will," the redcoat said, rather quickly, hovering near the stairs.  "Are you alright? I can go fetch a physician, if you'd like."

"No, my boy. Rest is what I need." Mr. Wilson said, as he thudded his way down the hall. Once he was in his chambers, Mary slunk down the stairs and settled into an armchair. She placed her hands upon her temple, frantically rubbing away an impending headache. 

"Are you alright?" the redcoat asked, gently. 

"Me? I'm fine. It's my father who's ill--"

"I know. But it takes a toll, loving someone who's ailing."

"I'm used to it," Mary said. "He's seemingly been sick for the past four years. His health has been bad ever since--" She stopped herself, before she could become a sniveling fool. 

"Has he seen a doctor?"

"You think physicians can solve everything, don't you? He's seen many doctors. And he'll be alright. It's just that his lungs are weak. And he overworks himself so much--"