CHAPTER THREE
“Don’t be mealy-mouthed with me, girl. I only chat with dead people but you can see the future – how wonderful. Does Swift Legs win Newmarket races on Friday?”
Mrs Tadlow. Widow, mother and ten-year resident of Ingleford Lodge.
“Hell’s teeth, guv. Wot a boneshaker.”
The comment, although uncouth, was utterly correct as the carriage flung them into the air yet again. Lucas cursed roundly as he landed back down on the lumpy seat, and Billy smirked, snuggling further into the corner.
The Helmdon estate carriage was as uncomfortable as the bony-backed donkey he’d ridden in Portugal. He was still adjusting to the responsibilities of an earldom and had yet to see to the replacement of the ageing carriages. It served him right as now he would suffer a bruised arse and an aching back for his negligence.
Normally, he would have ridden his gelding for the entire journey, as he could stay in the saddle for days, but the weather had turned nastier the further north they’d travelled. Just before Northamptonshire, a tempest had assaulted him until he couldn’t think, followed by a deluge of rain volleying its icy drops into his face. After that, the carriage had seemed the better option.
“How much further is it then, Major?” Billy asked in a pained voice.
Another rut and they both groaned anew. The journey felt interminable and he was thankful that at least they’d rested a few days at his own estate before the final push north.
“I don’t know. Not far, I expect,” he said more in hope.
As predicted, his mother had blubbered all over him again. He understood. He really did. She had never really recovered from his father’s death of influenza. Then, three more deaths in the family and no new births had made Lucas the new Earl of Helmdon. The last passing was that of his cousin Paul, who’d been beaten to death in a tavern brawl the wrong side of Seven Dials – if indeed there was a right side.
Lucas had been shot, tortured, burned, stabbed and even mauled by a rat, and yet he was still standing whilst all his relatives with calmer, more sedate occupations had died, leaving him the title. So he did understand his mother’s distress.
She worried about his unmarried state. She worried about his burns getting infected. She worried about his work at the charity hospitals. He’d thought it prudent not to mention he was heading north to investigate murders.
It had been a pleasant two days at his estate, chatting quietly and being fed until he could barely move. Once there was a time, he hadn’t been able to sit still long enough to discuss Mrs Weatherby’s gout or that the Helmdon Court roof had started leaking again. Now, he found it restful and wondered if he was getting old.
“I’ve never been this far north, guv. Does it always rain like this?”
Lucas stared in the general direction of Billy. It was nearly dark, and he had no idea how far away they were from the inn for the night let alone their destination. “I believe Cheshire is slightly drier than other parts. But yes, it does rain more than London.”
A deep sigh was Billy’s response. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought him along, but the lad would be useful as an occasional valet and, moreover, at ferreting out information.
He was also a reminder.
If ever he was tempted by the laudanum, and his memory failed him, he would get Billy to pour him a drink, to tack his horse, or ask him where the hell he learned his awful cant – just as long as he could see his thin visage and freckly nose.
Billy was happy with the higher wage and at not having to be a serving boy; he was less happy with having to learn how to read and do sums.
“Are we somewhere near the inn yet?” The voice whined from the sombre gloom again.
“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully, very much wanting to know the answer as well. He hated travelling by carriage: the slow sway on muddied roads, the hard, unforgiving seats that weren’t worn to your backside like a saddle, and the fact that he wasn’t in charge of driving the damn thing.
“So,” Billy mumbled, “how long d’yer think it’ll take to solve these murders? Couple of days and then back to London?”
“Longer than that, I’m afraid. It takes time.”
“Will you interromate them?”
“Interrogate, you mean. Yes, but not straight away and it depends on the person – some are best lulled into a state of serenity, some need their cages rattling, and some can’t wait to spill their information.”
“And spying? Can we go spying?”
Lucas coughed a little. Where did the boy learn that? Probably from him, he acknowledged, as Billy had fetched and carried whilst he’d been delirious recovering from the burns.
“Not straight away, no. Have to be patient and get the lie of the land first. Evaluate the suspects so you don’t scare them away or, worse, go off on a wild goose chase…and get shot in the leg,” he added softly, remembering Asher’s eventful scouting expedition.
Billy’s sound of disgust made his views clear on being patient.
