Mr Turner failed to return for the rest of the evening.

What surprised me the most was just how relaxed everyone seemed about him disappearing long after darkness had fallen. I knew from experience that moving to and from the village in the dark was difficult. There were so many hidden holes in the ground, so many places to fall and get injured. If he'd gone to the public house, as Martha assumed, then he would be in an even worse state.

Even if he did frequent the public house on his trips home — although I thought it had more to do with visiting Miss Oleson than going to the public house for pleasure — the dangers were still there. It also didn't warrant the apathy from everyone in the house.

The thought weighed heavily on my mind long after the chores were done and I could retire for the night. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling with nothing but the sound of Martha's loud snoring to cut through the silence of the night. Darkness settled over the room, but no amount of tossing or turning under the thin blanket could help me to sleep.

Sighing, I kicked the blankets off my legs and climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Martha. I crept out of the room, down the creaky wooden stairs, and to the kitchen to get something to drink. The house was silent except for the usual creaks and groans of the floorboards above my head.

I sipped on the glass of milk, listening to the noises around me. Night was the only time the house was quiet. There were no servants hurrying around, no pots and pans clattering through the kitchen, and I could hear my own thoughts clearly. Mr Turner still confused me, especially given the rumours. Had the rumours started because of his relationship with Miss Oleson?

A loud knocking sound echoed from the back door. I jumped, knocking the glass over and sending milk flowing over the wooden tabletop.

"Stupid door." Mr Turner's voice drifted through the door and was quickly followed by another loud thumping sound and the rattling of the handle.

I stood up from the chair and unlocked the door before the noise woke anyone else up. Mr Turner stumbled into the room, almost falling straight onto his face from my having taken the door away from him. He straightened up.

"I meant to do that."

"Of course you did." I nodded my head, closing the door behind him. The scent of stale sweat and alcohol filled the air. "We should get you to bed."

He swayed on the spot, his eyes closing. "No. I don't want to go to bed."

"You have to. Let me go and get someone to help."

I turned to walk away, only managing a few steps before Mr Turner's hand wrapped itself around my upper arm, halting me in place.

"Don't leave me alone. Please."

"It won't be for long, but we need to get you to bed and I cannot do it on my own. Just let me get Bertie or one of the other gardeners."

He frowned, still swaying on the spot, but he made no attempt to stop me from pulling his fingers off my arm. I left him standing by the kitchen door and disappeared back up the stairs to the servant's quarter. No one had stirred from the noise. I crept down the hallway and lightly tapped my knuckles against the door to Bertie and Harry's room before pushing open the door.

Both of them were sound asleep, their loud snoring echoing through the small room. I bit back a laugh and crept over to Bertie, lightly shaking his arm.

"Bertie, wake up."

"It's not time yet," he groaned, rolling away from me.

"I need your help."

Bertie rolled back over, opening one eye. He frowned. "What are you doin', Lily? You know you ain't s'posed to be in here."

"Mr Turner's back. He's drunk and I need help getting him to his bedroom. You're the best person to help me."

"Should just leave him out in the gutter." He sat up, stretching his arms above his head. "Come on then, before he wakes the whole house up."

Bertie scrambled out of bed and pulled on a robe, begrudgingly dragging his feet down the stairs to the kitchen, where Mr Turner remained in the place I'd left just a few moments before. He looked at us when we entered, narrowing his eyebrows. Despite his initial resistance to go to bed, he made no comment or complaint when Bertie and I each took hold of one of his arms and started to lead him upstairs.

We took him through the servants' stairs to avoid waking anyone up in the main house. Mr Turner was like a deadweight, forcing us to all but drag him up the stairs to the west wing, which was as dark and as silent as the rest of the house. We carried him to his room undisturbed where we dropped him onto the bed, still fully clothed.

"I don't want to wear this," Mr Turner mumbled. He tugged on his shirt, attempting to pull it over his head but struggling.

"This ain't part of my job." Bertie shook his head but helped to pull Mr Turner's shirt off his head, throwing it onto the floor without a second thought.

"That's better."

Mr Turner rolled over, exposing a large splattering of bruises across his chest that were just visible in the darkness. They spread across his ribcage in a dark purple colour. I frowned.

"Let's go, Lily. We'll be dead on our feet if we don't go to bed now. He probably got them in the public house or something."

"But they're not that new. They're a few hours old, at least."

"It doesn't matter. Let's go to bed. If anyone catches us in here we're dead, 'specially you."

He gave me a pointed look and nodded his head to the now shirtless Mr Turner. Mr Turner himself had rolled away from us and was snoring heavily, without a care in the world. He didn't even seem bothered by the bruises. They bothered me, though.

Despite what Bertie said, the bruises were too old to have been caused at the public house and Mr Turner had refused Paul's help to change for dinner. Was he trying to conceal the bruises to avoid any unwanted questions?

Bertie brushed my arm, pulling my gaze away from Mr Turner. He nodded his head towards the darkened hallway and I followed him outside, my mind still lingering on the bruises.

~~~

First Published - March 3rd, 2023