The Ghost of Winn Peterson

38. Winn

2 January 

I would have liked to write more on the first day of the year, but once I'd been roused from my early journey, I hadn't the time nor the energy to commit my pen to paper. If I'm perfectly honest, I am also terrified. When I set out on this journey, I was fully expecting to see a corpse or two at the end of this all (or the beginning, since it will be my house I journey back to first), and the longer I travel towards that destination, the more fearful I am that I'll be right. 

Lord DeCourt is travelling with me for most of the way, though his use is admittedly limited. "I am incapable of combat of any sort, Ms. Peterson," he told me last night before we settled down for bed."You must take care not to involve yourself in any skirmishes!" I had waved away the idea of myself fighting with anyone - was my work not more studious and sneaky? Regardless, the more time I spent going over every possible horrific scenario, the more I considered that the doctor would have had to put in place some protective measures to guard his underhanded life. Either that, or I really was the stupidest person alive, to try and undermine a man of decidedly more influence and means than myself. He was a learned, clever man - perhaps he assumed nobody else would seek to threaten his claim to women, wherever they were hiding in the country. 

Today is going to be a long day, I feel. My bones ache from the cold, and no amount of coats or blankets can keep me warm. I felt horribly for the Lord: as frozen as I was, he was in a state of constant distress. The temperatures appeared to affect his wounded knee and his face was a pinched white from holding in his expressions of agony. If tea had made any sort of physical improvement, I would have offered him endless supplies. 

Currently, we are bobbing along the road through fields covered in a haze of white. I don't know how the driver has any idea where we are. If I had been forced to walk my way back home, Evelyn would have been cursed to be Igor Radcliffe's bride forever! I peer out of the window occasionally, but it will be several hours before the view looks any different. 

Seeing my distress, the Lord leaned forward and began to talk with me. It was largely trivial, but he knew anything more serious would only add to my anxiety. "Tell me about your family, Ms. Peterson." He held a ball of yarn in his gloved hands and was struggling to connect a needle through a messy piece of work with the added resistance of the gloves.  After a moment of my introductory, stuttering details about my parents, he made a noise in the back of his throat and threw the yarn work aside, deciding instead to breathe on his hands and hide them under the safety of his own blanket. "I was never any good," he offered by way of explanation, when I paused to raise an eyebrow. "Alas, I wither away on journeys like this; hours of nothing to do, just staring at the same spot on the ceiling... it's enough to make a man like me go mad!" 

"You didn't have to come along, Lord DeCourt," I smiled, though I knew what he would say. 

"And forsake being a gentleman? I think not!" He sniffed and relented, giving me a smile in return. "I really had no choice in the matter! A woman in distress, seeking to free her dearest friend from unholy bonds? I should sooner die than allow her to perish without as much assistance as I could allow." 

"What if I am wrong, my Lord?" 

"None of that," he waved, though his face did take on a more severe expression. "I suppose... yes, well, we can't do much if you are wrong. I would gladly pay to have you return home, but you are here for a reason, Ms. Peterson. My home is yours as long as you are in England - if you should be turned out of the house for these awful accusations, then it would be my pleasure to ensure this nasty doctor never found you again." I thanked him warmly, but could not shake my sense of discomfort. 

After stumbling over the best way to words my concerns, I eventually asked him how he'd never heard of my despicable doctor. "I don't wish to imply that you've been unobservant or lax in your knowledge of the other gentry in Cambridge," I began slowly, "but... I'm sorry, I just really cannot understand how a man such as Dr. Radcliffe could go unnoticed for so long!"