Time Drunk

Free Tea

The pathway that Vincent was guiding them down, slowly began to transition from rocks and worn grass to a cobbled road. Flickering lantern posts lined the street every few feet illuminating the rare person also out this late. More horses. More people dressed in period clothes. Trish swung her head this way and that trying to make what she was seeing make sense, but the buildings didn't look how she'd remembered. She'd had her face plastered to the car windows for her first ride out of London, but nothing looked familiar.

Obviously, despite being a good soul and helping her out, Vincent was too tied to his character. When he'd said, "It's seventeen sixty," he'd clearly been referring to the period year for his reenactment. She just needed to ride this out until...

Vincent turned Henry toward the largest building she'd seen yet. It had that old-timey British feel, cream paint job with lots of wood panels and slanted pitched rooftops. The windows had that crisscrossed piping over the glass. Someone had repainted the sign denoting it as the Laverstock Inn, but it was already fading to show the color underneath. Muffled voices were coming from inside. 

"I'll set you here and then see to old Henry in the stable," Vincent stopped the horse.

"This isn't my inn," Trish said as gently as she could.

"What?" he frowned up at her.

She cleared her throat. "This isn't the hotel I stayed at before the wedding."

"Of course not, miss! The Earl would have had you in a fine establishment indeed. But this is the only inn in Laverstock, and you're in no condition to continue on a day's journey to Salsbury. You need a doctor. Someone will be sent to your husband to call off the search. I will make sure of it."

Her hands lifted in protest when he reached up for her. There was a small skirmish of him trying to figure out where to grab her without harm while she swatted at his hands.

"A day's journey! That doesn't make sense!" she wailed with pent-up frustration. "Vincent, I am tapped out, okay? Okay? So listen. I just, I need you to tell me right now, that if I get off this horse everything is gonna go back to normal? Because I'm starting to feel really freaked out, and I don't know if it was the fountain or the champagne but this, this is too much." She sniffled again to hold back fresh tears of panic. 

"We will put all to rights again," he assured her in the way that only old people can. 

There wasn't a single TV in the main room of the inn. The lights were all gas lanterns that swung from the ceiling or kerosene lamps on the tables. All the furniture was wood which seemed like an unnecessary fire hazard even for a reenactment. Was the whole village part of some kind of Rennaissance Fair? 

The lower level was done in an old-fashioned tavern style with tables in the main area and stairs to the side that lead upstairs to the rooms. Five people were in the tavern. None of them were on their phones, so Trish took the opportunity to ask the nearest one if she could use his.

"Eh, what?"

She had to blink past the heat of foul breath that hit her face. "Can I use your phone?" she repeated. "I need to call my friends."

"I'm not the help, bird. You want something? You get over to the bar and you ask there."

His companion nudged him suddenly and muttered something she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. She was already stepping away when he swung back around. His eyes were wide and he looked her up and down again. "You're that missing bride?" he speculated. "Who roughed you up?"

"Run into a bit of trouble in the 'stocks, did you?" the other man grinned, showing missing teeth.

"Do you always get this excited to see a bloody woman in a dress?" Trish pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders.