Hindrances

Chapter 4

Sleep did come to me eventually. Unfortunately, it didn't happen before the sun came up. The brothel was quite active at all hours of the night. Loud moans, squeaking beds, banging headboards, and slapping skin kept me up all night. The cacophony of sex wasn't exactly something you could fall asleep to.
I tried imagining all of the soothing ways a loving mother might put her newborn to sleep: rocking? Singing a gentle lullaby? Cooing softly and promising protection?

Loudly fornicating in the next room over?

No, probably not. That might wake the damn kid up!

I paused my thoughts for just enough time to hear a string of curses coming from a man in the next room over.

Did I say "loudly fornicating in the next room over might wake the damn kid up?"

Conclusion: Loudly fornicating in the next room over will most certainly wake the damn kid up!

When I did wake up (not from loud fornication), the sun was already high in the sky.
"Damn it, god damn it!" (Since, apparently, damning it once wasn't enough.)
I threw all of my stuff together and ran out of the brothel, still cursing. In fact, I ran until I was able to wave down a coach. With my long hair not concealed under a hat, it was obvious I was a woman in men's clothes. He eyed me curiously, but I shouted at him "Lancaster Offices, now! And hurry!" as soon as I jumped into the carriage.
In retrospect, I probably didn't need to add the "hurry" to the end of that- he was speeding down the street just after "Lancaster."
It took about 15 minutes to get there. I jumped out and paid the driver.
"Any time Mr... Miss..." He faltered, but I didn't wait long enough to listen to all of it.
I raced up the stairs and to my office. I was heaving heavily, but I tried catching my breath. I swung my office door open.
"I'm sorry Cas! I don't know what got into me this morning, and I just had such a long nigh-"
"Miss Hemmings, you are 4 hours, 28 minutes, and 17 secon- Why are you wearing trousers?"
Mr Lancaster was sitting at my desk. I scowled at him.
"Why are you in my office? Don't you have your own office to occupy?"
"I think I have the more interesting question."
"I'm in trousers because I haven't had the chance to change out of them, Mr Lancaster, sir!"
"Miss Hemmings... Are you aware that you also smell like a brothel?"
"That probably has something to do with the fact I stayed in a brothel last night, sir!"
Mr Lancaster tsked and shook his head.
"Good god woman, do you have the ability to sleep in an actual house?"
"No, so don't give me a hard time about it!" I sniffed my shirt. "What does a brothel smell like anyway?"
"Sweat, sex, and alcohol."

Well what does sex smell like? I've heard the phrase, but I doubt it has a smell!

"Well, that makes sense. I took these clothes from a man leaving a bar."
Mr Lancaster's eyes narrowed (slightly, obviously. This is Mr Lancaster we're talking about here).
"Miss Hemmings... Did you steal a man's clothes off his back?"

God, why did Mr Lancaster always jump to conclusions? Why does he always assume the worst things when it comes to me?

"No! I asked for them, and he gave them to me. It's not stealing though, I'm going to give them back. I will be sending a package to Beckham Manor this afternoon. Perhaps I should add an apologetic letter. What do you think, sir? Oh well, speaking of borrowing though..." I put the revolver on the desk- ahem, my desk- in front of him. "I borrowed your toy."
Mr Lancaster swiped it off the desk and tucked it into the waist of his pants. I couldn't help but watch in fascination. The motion was fast, but he swept his coat to the side, revealing his tightly fitted shirt underneath. I couldn't see anything, but by god, I sure as hell imagined a lot.
The whole spectacle probably lasted a grand total of three seconds.