Will drove the cart through the village, and into the yard of the Shoulder of Mutton. Dearne’s suggestion that his sister’s house lay an hour’s drive away was hopelessly inaccurate. About as inaccurate as Will’s notion Dearne was sufficiently recovered enough to travel. The village of Barton wasn’t all that far, and Dearne was beginning to sag. Oh, he put a brave front on it, but the freckles on his nose were standing out in stark relief against his chalky pallor, and his knuckles were white from gripping the seat. He had to admit he had driven harder than he needed to, partly because he was still angry from Dearne’s earlier comments, and partly because he wanted to get them both away from Denton. He hated he had no place to call home, no place that was his. Hated it with a passion. He gla
