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"To be sure,
I'll come. But first give me leave to get some clothes and other
things that I may need."
"There's no time to lose."
"Be easy now. I'll lose none. I tell ye again, ye'll go quickest
by going leisurely. Come in ... take a chair..." He threw open the
door of a parlour.
Young Pitt waved aside the invitation.
"I'll wait here. Make haste, in God's name." Mr. Blood went off
to dress and to fetch a case of instruments.
Questions concerning the precise nature of Lord Gildoy's hurt could
wait until they were on their way. Whilst he pulled on his boots,
he gave Mrs. Barlow instructions for the day, which included the
matter of a dinner he was not destined to eat.
When at last he went forth again, Mrs. Barlow clucking after him
like a disgruntled fowl, he found young Pitt smothered in a crowd
of scared, half-dressed townsfolk - mostly women - who had come
hastening for news of how the battle had sped. The news he gave
them was to be read in the lamentations with which they disturbed
the morning air.


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