"Oh dear," she murmured sympathetically and would have reached out to touch his arm in a gesture of comfort, something she did without thinking most times, but she refrained from doing so. Poor Mister Scott, she thought as he banged on the ceiling of the carriage to get the driver to stop.

The banging on the ceiling was what was required to get the carriage to come to a halt. Which should give Gareth just enough time to spill the contents of his lunch over the side of the road rather then into Quentin's lap. The big man observing this with an arched brow before he steps down and out of the carriage. "You alright man?" He inquires as he offers Gareth a handkerchief.

Gareth was embarrassed, and kind of hurt from his fall. But he did feel better now that that was out. He gratefully took the handkechief, cleaned his mouth, and put it in his pocket - for he assumed Quentin wouldn't want it back now. He nodded and got up, his face rather pale. "I'm so sorry, ser. I'm afraid transport by carriage doesn't always agree with me." He turned to look into the carriage. "So sorry, Miss." For it had to be a particularly disturbing sight for a young lady. He climbed back into the hansom.

"You don't need to apologize," she said softly as he returned to the vehicle. She was looking at him, not the puddle of puke, with genuine concern in her eyes. "Are you alright?" The poor guy looked awful and she wanted to make him feel better, but there wasn't much she nor anyone could do about it.

"Good man." Quentin says with an approving nod as Gareth composes himself. He got the sense that the reporter was a bit embarrassed by the ordeal but all things considered he was handling it well. The driver watches them as they climb back into the carriage and when Quentin banged on the roof they were moving once again.

Gareth merely nodded at Claire, hoping they would drop it. Other than his pride, he wasn't hurt.

She let it go, put off a little by the smell of vomit but keeping her mouth shut. There wasn't really anything more she could say, so she looked out the window as the vehicle started to move again. Land's sake, she thought, poor guy.

Quentin had dropped it the moment he'd told Gareth good man. He could understand wanting to preserve one's pride and pushing would serve little purpose. The ride after that was rather tame by comparison and they are soon back in Whitby just a bit after sundown. "Alright," Quentin says once they are out of the hansom. "We will reconvene at Seaman's Respite in the morning before heading to the abby." He grins at them both. "Any questions?"

With what little pride he had left, Gareth finally stepped out of the carriage. "No sir," he said, when Quentin asked if they had questions. He wanted to go home quickly and clean himself thoroughly, because the smell wouldn't leave his nostrils.

"No questions," she drawled. She couldn't help but smile at Quentin, nodding absently to Gareth as he passed them by. "Goodnight," she said to both men. She needed to go "home" and try not to fantasize about the bigger man. Easier said than done. Damn it.