“Sit down and join us.” Shaldon motioned Fox to a chair. “Farnsworth has just been talking about his encounter with you in the boat last night.”
Fox’s fingers tensed around the china cup, the warmth of the liquid unable to drive out the chill that went through him.
“Lady Perpetua is a brave girl,” Farnsworth said. “I was relieved to find her so well-recovered.”
Shaldon’s harrumph sent anger sparking through Fox. The man didn’t appreciate his daughter enough.
“Tell Kincaid and Farnsworth what you and Perpetua learned last night.”
As Fox opened his mouth to speak, a loud knocking at the hall door drew everyone’s attention. The others exchanged a knowing glance.
“Excellent. Things are moving along,” Shaldon said. “Coming to the main door instead of the kitchen, this will be someone of interest.”
Fox set the cup down. “Perhaps it’s Scruggs. Davy and Gaz—”
“No,” Kincaid cut in, shaking his head. “Scruggs would be at the kitchen door, as usual. This won’t be Scruggs.”
“I wonder if Scruggs can still be trusted.” Farnsworth drummed his fingers on the table. “John Black and Carvelle. Perhaps the screws are turning on him and there’s naught to be done but play it out.”
More loud knocking, this time more insistent.
“Well then, let’s find out who is this someone of interest.” Kincaid rose.
“Stay,” Fox said. “Mr. Goodfellow can answer his own door.”
His boot heels clacking along the tiled floor, Fox checked his weapons.
Bang, bang, bang. Only the stoutest of hands could make the thick oaken door rattle thus on its hinges.
Beneath the dark worsted of his unfashionably loose coats, his knives were in place, as was his pistol, all hidden away, and if this was the man who’d harmed Perry…he took a deep breath. He couldn’t kill the man just yet. Shaldon would want to question him.
He pulled open the door. The bright, sweating face of Sir Richard beamed at him.
“Goodfellow,” he said, “good day to you. A fine day to pay a call on a neighbor.”
Sir Richard’s horse,a stout fellow to carry such a weight, nibbled at the bush where it was tied. Otherwise, it seemed the Baronet had come alone.
“Sir Richard.” He beckoned the man and led him to the dining room, his back prickling. The Baronet was big, like the man who’d taken Perry, but that man’d had none of the bumbling softness of Sir Richard. Nor had he heard, in all of his travels, any hint that the Baronet did more than receive bribes from free traders. He’d not even been involved in the case of John Black. That had been another judge, a man from further south.
Kincaid looked up with interest, but Shaldon’s face betrayed nothing. No reaction. Farnsworth sat up. None of the men rose.
“Why, you have guests, Goodfellow,” Sir Richard exclaimed.
Fox looked at Shaldon, who nodded.
“Not exactly guests,” Fox said. “This is my landlord, Lord Shaldon.”
Sir Richard’s eyes brightened. “Lord Shaldon?” He bowed deeply. “Indeed, indeed. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Join us,” Kincaid said, introducing himself and Farnsworth.
Fox pulled out a chair at the foot of the table for the man.
“Well, well.” Sir Richard squirmed and blustered. “Such a pleasure.”
“Indeed,” Shaldon said.
“Fancy me paying a call on old Goodfellow and finding you here. What brings you to these wild parts, eh? A bit of shooting, I suppose. Or, are you here to check on this good young fellow?” He laughed heartily. “I assure you, he’s been a quiet one in the neighborhood. No complaints. No complaints a’t’all.”
