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Will stood in the dark inn yard as Miz Rushybanks drove off. He looked longingly back toward the stable and his rooms there. He’d left the door open and the soft light from the lantern he’d hung from the post as he’d got out Cookie beckoned. His generous side got the better of him, though, and he returned to the kitchen.
Cook was busy stowing away the few leftovers from supper; Rowan and Prim were up to their elbows in soapy water as they attacked the piles of mugs and plates and cutlery. The door to the common room was open and beyond it he could hear Master Boffin sweeping the floor as he tidied up for another day yet to come.
Prim cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to the happenings in the kitchen. And with a meaningful look at the pegs where the dishtowels hung urged him to pick one up.
By the time they’d finished and Cook had swept the floor all of the Hobbits were yawning. Will waved off an offer of a last mug of tea and made his good-byes. ‘See you all in the morning,’ he called to them as he made for the door. ‘Crispy bacon, is it, tomorrow?’ he asked as he passed Cook.
‘Might be just that,’ she said, a more than tired look on her face. And he thought he heard her mumble after, ‘If there’s any breakfast at all . . .’
He shook his head, thinking in his own weariness, he had misheard.
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