"No, sir," Gareth replied, when Quentin asked if he had camping gear. It wasn't like he would go camping for leisure. He'd have to deal with dirt and cold and, worse, bugs. But he tried not to show anymore how displeased he was at the prospect. Instead, he nodded and gobbled down his food. Then he rose. "See you in two hours, then," he said, with a nod at Quentin and a smaller nod at Claire, and he left.

Claire ate her food slowly. When Gareth got up to leave for the next two hours, she was feeling her spirits lift a little. What a ferret he was. She gave a nod to both men, getting up not long after and saying to Quentin, "I will return." She went back to the inn she was staying at.

"Excellent."

Quentin says as he pushes to his own feet and heads to his ship. This was not The Traveler, the flagship of his family's merchant ships and the one he most often used when exploring. Considering he'd only had to get to Whitby from London he'd used a smaller sailing ship with only a three-man crew, not including himself. He recruits two of his crew, who'd been enjoying their shore leave on his dime, to help him gather up supplies from the small hold.

As soon as Gareth reached the privacy of his flat, he swore loudly. He paced up and down for a while to cool off, and then started gathering the warmest clothes he had and a blanket. He packed it all in a backpack, secured a revolver in the inside of his coat, and left his home. Quentin had better bring tents, he thought, still annoyed at the prospect of camping. He returned to the inn and waited for the others.

Claire got to her inn room and swore as well. She wasn't opposed to camping at all, but she needed supplies and badly. So she arranged it with the Innkeeper for a small fee to get her everything she needed. When she returned to the place where they were supposed to meet, she was equipped with a knapsack, bedroll, and warmer clothing.

Quentin is already at the inn by the time the other two arrive. He has even procured a carriage which was currently loaded with everything, barring personal effects, that would be needed for the trip.

"Ah, excellent Mister Scott and Miss Devereaux, I am pleased to see you."

He says as he gestures to the two men with him. One was older, with a salt and pepper beard and hair that had already faded to grey. His features were hard and weather and based on his tattoos it was easy to guess that he was a veteran sailor. The other man was a few years younger, though well past his teens, and bore a passing resemblance to the older man.

"This is Mister Harbor and his son Fred."

Quentin says gesturing to the two.

"I would recommend making nice as they will be the ones who fetch help if something unfortunate happens in the cave."

Gareth was glad to see that at least they were bringing a lot of items. Good. They weren't going to die horribly in the wilderness for want of supplies. That was something at least. Though the prospect of traveling by coach was less welcome to him. He had feared they would, and had brought some milk. That tended to help a little bit.

He glanced at the two men and tipped his hat. Sailors. Not the most reliable kind, by his judgement, but since it was too late to change plans now, he didn't discuss it with Quentin, certainly not in front of the two. He'd still rather entrust his life to a sailor who liked him, than to a sailor who didn't.

She nodded politely to each of the men, murmuring, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen. I am Claire Devereux," she offered a hand to one, and then the other. She was not flirting, she was trying to be more equal. It might look preposterous to the rest of the world, but Miss Claire Devereaux was truly enjoying the adventure regardless of the old fuddy-duddy, one pouty Mister Scott. He could suck on a toad from the bayou while a gator loomed off in the distant, murky mires... He would wilt in the bayou, she thought. Would he wilt in a cave? She felt no shame at her thoughts.

Ahem, she sniffed and turned her attention to someone else, and soon lost all thoughts of Mister Scott. She adjusted her knapsack, a little heavy for her but she would not complain. Even the innkeeper had smirked at her for what she was doing, earning a side-eye from the redhead well before she left the inn. If anyone happened to stare, why... she would let them gawk to their heart's content.

"Nice ta meet ya."

The older man says smiling kindly, almost grandfatherly, at her. Fred also smiled but his gaze and smile was more like a younger man who just met a pretty woman.

"A pleasure for sure."

The young man says as he offers to take her bag and load it onto the carriage for her. They both glanced towards Mister Scott but since he wasn't offering a hand or an introduction they simply shrug.

"Right."

Quentin says once everything is packed away.

"Already then?"

He asks them, they couldn't delay much longer if they wanted to locate the spot they were looking for in time to set camp before dark.

What a slut, Gareth thought as he watched the young socialite basically fling herself at another pair of males. But he didn't say anything about it, nor did he allow his expression to show his contempt. He did not want to cause any further trouble. And so he turned to Quentin. "Yes sir," he said, and he began to follow wherever the Marquis led.