Emory walks into the small living room. His form is a tall shadow and barely lit by the single candle on the table. The sight of his sister attempting to slip unnoticed through the front door causes him to stand stiff and straight. "You were out late tonight."
Taite freezes as the door closes with a low thump. She stares across the short space between them. "Only a little. You don't need to worry."
"Where were you?"
Taite stays in place, her walking-stick held close against her side, while the other hand loosens her shawl. "At the Pony, of course. Where else would I go?" Her heart pounds unpleasantly in her chest, but she strives to keep her voice steady.
Emory looks at her for a few seconds before moving to pick up the candle. He walks close to her and holds it up towards her face to get a better look at her. "Your cheeks are all red. Was the inn overcrowded?"
Taite struggles to hold his gaze, and even moreso to come up with a ready answer. "It's cold," she offers. Only now does she notice the dark bottle in his hand, resting against his thigh. A sudden thought of whether or not some scent of cologne or other hint of masculinity might linger about her leaps into her mind. The man had held her so close when they danced, after all.
Emory stands there in silence for a while. The bottle slowly begins tapping against his leg, and the small amount of unknown liquid inside sloshes around. "Go to bed," he finally mutters.
Taite waits for him to step aside. When he doesn't, she presses her back to the door and slithers around him, careful not to bump against him. "Night," she says softly, beating a hasty, limping retreat towards the bedroom.
Emory throws his voice after her. "Don't be late again!"
Taite hobbles quickly through the doorway and out of his sight. She moves to stand next to her bed and then waits there, trying to breathe silently through parted lips. Listening to see if he would follow.
Emory sighs loudly, then plops himself into the rickety chair beside the dark hearth. He mutters under his breath, occasionally taking a swig from the bottle.
Taite exhales with a rush of relief, though her fingers tremble now as she slides the shawl from her shoulders. The bedroom is nothing but a dark expanse of shadowy shapes, but her eyes are drawn to the small, white knob of the bottom drawer in the chest against the wall.
Emory eventually drifts to sleep. The chair creaks as his body weight sags down. The bottle falls to the floor with a hollow thud.
Taite looks to the doorway, freezing for a moment. Hearing nothing further, she hangs her walking stick on the hook beside her bed, then slowly and stiffly crouches down beside the chest of drawers, trying to keep any grunting and puffing as quiet as possible. Grasping the little white knob, she opens the drawer, an inch at a time, praying that no squeaks or creaks would result.
Emory hears nothing as the liquor courses through his veins. After another minute or two, he begins snoring heavily.
Taite reaches into the black emptiness of the drawer, and after fumbling a little, withdraws a tiny, leather pouch. Five copper pennies are carefully pulled from the pocket of her skirt and deposited inside, being lowered rather than dropped, to avoid any noise. She pulls the pouch's drawstring tight, kisses it once, and returns it to its hiding place. Getting back to her feet is a struggle, but she hauls herself onto the bed and sits there with a sigh. Her fingers play gently together in her lap for a time, before she finally kicks off her shoes and climbs under the blanket.
