The travellers reached Edgestone presently, and stopped at the little inn, as the Cygnet called itself, though it really was only a decent kind of public-house. Here they alighted, and told the driver to put up his horses for a time.
"Can we have a private sitting-room?" Mr. Rayburn asked, looking doubtfully round the parlour they had been requested to enter; it possessed a strong smell of tobacco and a sanded floor.
"This is our only parlour, sir, and the Edgestone Club meets here most evenings."
"Janet, you must stay here while I inquire where the doctor lives. It will be better, dear; you look very tired, and this will spare you a little. I will come back to you as soon as I find him."
Now that the truth must soon be known, poor Janet's hopes and courage had deserted her. Till now she could not know soon enough. Now she would gladly have put off certainty a little longer. It was all she could do not to entreat her husband to wait a little, but she held her peace and subsided into a very unpromising wooden armchair. Fred turned to the mistress of the Cygnet, and said—
"Will you bring Mrs. Rayburn some tea as soon as possible?" He followed her out of the room, shutting the door. "Stay, if you please. Can you tell me where the doctor lives? You have not more than one, I suppose, in so small a place?"
"I may say there's only one, though his son is well-nigh a doctor too, and they do say he set Jerry Davidson's leg as handsome as possible, the doctor being away at the time. He lives on the green, sir, the second house from the church. I'll show you the green. Step this way, sir; you can see it from our door, and the second house is Dr. Wentworth's."
"Wentworth! I thought his name was Giles?"
"Oh, that's his son—his adopted son, sir."
"Thank you. Well, come what may, we shall know soon—my poor Janet!"