Page 42 of Again, Scoundrel

“It’s what I’ve come to speak with you about, sister. If you’d hold your tongue for even half a moment and let a man talk. There’ll be a lass that comes by tomorrow or next week, Thursday. She’ll be looking for a medical clinic, and we’ll give her one.”

“She’s already here, ye eejit! And,” at this, Esmee jabbed her finger into McGann’s chest, “you may have noticed we are not standing in a medical clinic. You lied to her, Andrew. We’ve naught but whisky here, because this is a tavern and not a hospital!”

“Violet is here?” Alistair cut in once more, an urgency filling his voice, but the siblings kept arguing as if he were not there at all. “I’m going to get her.”

He would not leave Violet sitting alone in some Scottish tavern where anything could happen to her. But McGann laid his beefy hand on Alistair’s arm to stop him.

“Not yet,” McGann said. “The lass is early. Must have got the day wrong. I need a moment to think.”

Esmee rolled her eyes. “The moment you’re searching for happened yesterday. Before you lied to her, you daft cove. Not now. Now ‘tis too late.”

“I didn’t lie,” McGann said. “I told her you feed those who need it, and you occasionally hand out bandages and such. ‘Tis all true, that.”

“Andrew! I run a tavern, as you well know. A Gaelic tavern. For Scots!”

“I’ll go see Violet now,” Alistair said, trying and failing to remove McGann’s large hand from his arm.

“That’s enough from you, English,” Esmee snapped. “You stay right where you are until I understand what manner of mischief you two have caused.”

“Listen, Esmee,” McGann said. “We’ll tell her there’s no clinic today, but you can put the word out for next week, can you not? There’s plenty here in Covent Garden that need help. Hold one of your feed the hungry dinners and tell the sick to come as well. It’s what we need, sister, to make things right. It’s not mischief in the least.”

Esmee sighed. “Nothing will make things right, Andrew. When will you learn it?”

“Not today. But having my ship repaired and a functioning company would help, don’t you think?”

Esmee barely constrained a second eye roll. “If that lass in there can be of use, I can’t exactly say no, can I?”

“Wonderful.” McGann grinned. “Let’s go speak with Miss Goodwin, shall we?”

“I’m going,” Alistair said.

McGann shook his head. “It’s not a good idea, Crawford. Let her cool off a bit and then offer to help her with the clinic when it’s open. She won’t be able to turn you away then because she’ll need you. In the meanwhile, I’ll go with Esmee and speak to her. You don’t want her to know we’re in cahoots anyway.”

“Nay.” Esmee shook her head. “I’ll speak with the lass first. Andrew, you can join us in a moment. But not you, English. You stay here.”

McGann looked at his sister and nodded.

“I don’t like lying to her,” Alistair said as they watched Esmee depart.

“You didn’t,” McGann replied. “I did.”

Sometime while the woman was gone, Violet had made her way to the bar and spoken with the bartender, another Scot. When she asked him if there was a clinic at the tavern today, he said “nay” and gave her another drink for her trouble.

By the time Esmee approached her, she’d drunk half of it and had a slight case of the hiccups.

“Oh dear,” Esmee said and slid her lithe body into the booth opposite Violet.

“Hello,” Violet said cheerfully. “You are very tall.”

Esmee tried and failed to suppress a laugh. “That I am. McGann will be here in a moment.” She paused. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want a medical clinic?”

“He said you needed a nurse.” Violet pointed proudly at her chest. “I am a nurse.”

“I see. Unfortunately, there’s no clinic here today. ‘Twill be next week. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

Violet noticed the woman slid her eyes away but paid the movement little mind.

“That’s what he said.” She pointed to the bartender. “And he gave me this whisky for my trouble!”