Moving at a snail’s pace, eternity passed before officers were conducted to above chamber. Barely visible glances were expressed regarding the Archangel‘s men, exchanged solely between servants or clansmen as they were passed in long walk down still hallway. Andrew March had been too long in the world not to know that both he and Hazzards were being purposely analyzed and conversed about in mute dialogues. Passing a lesser bedroom, petite child was observed sobbing uncontrollably as a young woman endeavored to give comfort. As March continued on, external facades appeared grim, all save one. The Frenchman, Lambert, stood outside Master’s chamber, in low conversation, and despite his indifference, to March he seemed all too happy for such an occasion. “Dog,” March snarled under breath to none save himself, curbing the impulse to seize upon thief and friend’s opponent. He sensed Hazzards tense as they brushed passed and then, March’s form filled bedroom doorframe.
Doctor was first to look up. Straightening, Reiley abandoned his post near bedside. Excusing himself from Mistress of the House, he made his way hastily to the men he alone knew better than the rest. He grabbed March’s upper arm and rapidly turned him about. As he pulled him back to the hall, Reiley whispered. “You are both too late. Captain Sterling died nearly twenty minutes ago.” He continued moving down the hall, back the way the two men had just traversed. “There is something I must tell you though. So we must make for some place private outside, for there are too many inquisitive individuals within these walls and I do not trust them. Hurry!”