of her pursuer. Emily sucked air into her lungs and let her thudding heart realize she was safe.
A manâs hand grabbed her shoulder. Emily screamed.
Itâs a pity he cannot kill himself with drink
.
G et away from me!â Emily jerked away from the grip on her shoulder. âIâll call my father. He has a pistol!â
âShhh, Emily . . . for Godâs sake, be quiet!â The voice at her elbow was slurred but familiar. âI know Father has a pistol.â
Emilyâs voice shook until she got it under control. âBranwell? Why were you chasing me?â
âWhat?â Her brother slumped against the stone wall. The moonlight lit up his red hair like a beacon. âEm, what are you doing here? Were you waiting up for me?â Pushing himself away from the wall, he threw his arms around her. âI knew you still cared.â
Now the danger was past, her legs could hardly support her. She looked down on Branwellâs head, sniffed, and wrinkled her nose. âOh, Branwell, youâre drunk again.â
Branwell blinked behind his spectacles. âIâm not drunk.â He scowled suspiciously. âWere you following me?â
âI just needed some air.â Before Emily could finish her explanation, Branwellâs mouth started working and his eyes bulged. Without any further warning, he vomited all over her shoes.
âBranwell! Thatâs dreadful!â Emily shoved him away from her. He stumbled over to the wall, fell to his knees, and lost the rest of his stomach contents. She shook off her shoes and brushed the disgusting chunks from her nightdress. Her mouth twisted to avoid vomiting, too.
She stood over him, pinching her nostrils at the stench. âWhat am I going to do with you?â she scolded. âItâs the middle of the night. Iâve half a mind to wake Father and let him deal with you.â
âEm, donât let him see me like this,â Branwell pleaded.
âWhere have you been?â
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. âI was with some friends at the snug.â
The snug was the private room at the Black Bull Tavern, just down the hill. Branwell was too often to be found there. In recent years, disappointment and drink had dulled the brilliance of the bold twelve-year-old pirate who had beenEmilyâs nemesis and playmate. Self-pity had worn away all his promise.
âAnd . . .â Emilyâs voice trailed off expectantly.
âThen we went to a boxing match.â He rubbed the back of his neck. Emily knew his telltale signs of guilt.
âWas there gambling at the match?â she asked, dreading the answer.
Shamefaced, he nodded. âI lost the money Father gave me.â
Emily caught her breath. âBut he gave you two whole pounds!â
âI can count, little sister.â Branwell wouldnât meet her eyes.
Emily thought of how many books she could buy with so much money and shook her head.
âI donât need your disapproval, too,â Branwell said. âI get more than enough from Father and Charlotte. But youâre differentâyou accept me as I am.â Even in a whisper, she could hear the charm in his coaxing. âBe a love and let me in the house,â he said. âAll the doors are locked.â
âWhatâs to stop me from finding my own way in and leaving you out in the cold?â Emily retorted.
âNothing,â Branwell said. âJust as thereâs nothing to prevent me from telling Father I found you outside at this hour.â
Emily had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. âBranwell, youâre the one whoâs drunk and sick and will have to explain your gambling losses. My crimes are minor in comparison.â
Branwell took off his spectacles and cleaned them with the bottom of his shirt that had escaped his trousers. âWe both know I wonât be punished. But
Pierre V. Comtois, Charlie Krank, Nick Nacario