Page 33 of Once a Gentleman
Turner seized Dowling again and grunted as Dowling’s fist caught him a glancing blow to the ribs, but Samuel took hold of Dowling’s flailing arm, and the two of them dragged Dowling, cursing and kicking ineffectually, down the corridor toward the back of the house. Kit pressed himself against the wall as they passed, not wanting to be knocked over again.
After a moment, the hubbub cut off. They’d all passed through the door to the mudroom in the back, then.
The man who’d taken Kit on his tumble down the stairs chose that moment to stir, groan, and lift his head, blinking blearily at Kit out of glazed and bloodshot eyes. “What’s all this, then?” he mumbled.
Kit considered for a moment. The study door hung open, and anyone left in the house, including this idiot, might wander in; the man on the floor would clearly need to be moved and got rid of. The mess of the hall table needed straightening up. All of it could, in one degree or another, be considered a responsibility Kit might reasonably be expected to shoulder.
“Sod off,” Kit snarled, and limped down the corridor to the kitchen.
He needed a bloody cup of tea. And then he might write his resignation letter after all, perhaps on Turner’s face with a very sharp pen.
Even if the image of Turner, tall and furious and protective and leaping to his rescue, gave him a little flutter.
No, no fluttering would be allowed. Tea. Resignation. Sod Turner. It was all his fault, anyway.
