“We are to visit Sir Hector next, but if you think of anything that might help me find your betrothed’s killer, please let me know.”
“I will, of course,” he spluttered, wiping his eyes on Miss Trewent’s handkerchief, “but you should know that I went to see the magistrate early this morning, and he said he was too busy to talk to me. Off to Knutsford, apparently.”
Lucas groaned. “So he isn’t there now?”
“No, he is to be in town all day. Very abrupt, he was.”
Well, that certainly curtailed the day.
“You didn’t like him either.”
Lucas peered across the carriage. The morning promise of sunshine had not been fulfilled. When they’d left the estate this morning, the sun had blazed down causing them to blink like moles. Even Stonebridge Hall seemed to have arisen from the previous grey day like a phoenix from the ashes, its sandstone glowing and magnificent in the early light. But hoary clouds had now encroached and the sun had long since given up, leaving only a flicker filtering through the bleak sky.
Miss Trewent’s bright red pelisse shone through the grey gloom and he was beginning to understand her need for colour. Life could be dark enough without wearing it.
“He’s a boy,” Lucas grunted.
“And that’s a crime?”
“At his age, I’d been at war for five years.”
“That was your choice. I’m sure you could have become a vicar or…you are a doctor as well, are you not?”
“Surgeon really. But you are correct: it was my choice. I always had too much energy, couldn’t bear sitting still. I just feel…to guide others…surely you must need some experience of life?”
“Well, his betrothed has been murdered. I’d call that experience, wouldn’t you?”
Pausing, a rueful smile broke his mouth. “I’m being a crusty, old curmudgeon. I apologise.” He thought to lighten the mood. “You know everyone here very well. How long have you lived at Stonebridge Hall?”
Instead of lightening the mood, the atmosphere tensed as Miss Trewent straightened her bonnet, eyes turning away. Up until now, she had been like a summer’s day by the beach – bright and warm – but with his question, he felt like he’d trodden too near the sea, and it had splashed him, cold and unforgiving.
“My parents died, and Benedict became my guardian. I came here at nineteen, but what with mourning and ill health, I didn’t have my debut until last year.”
It was more information than he’d asked for and yet hardly anything at all – the barest facts. Most people would ramble on about what their parents had died of, or where they lived, and yet she had now fallen silent. Her eyes closed. The conversation over.
The horses’ rhythmical hooves, the gentle creaking of the wooden carriage and Lucas’s exhale of breath: the sounds calmed her.
She opened her eyes again to find him surveying her. She’d thought she’d get a barrage of questions, like the vicar. Instead, he was peering at her with a quizzical but gentle look.
“The village next?” he enquired.
“Yes, and then we will head back to Stonebridge Hall for a light luncheon, since Sir Hector is not at home. Just a quick wander around the place, so the people know you aren’t a stranger. Northerners are very friendly unless they don’t know you.”
Blinking, he opened his mouth and then closed it again.
No, she thought, that sentence didn’t really make sense but was true nonetheless.
Lucas did without luncheon and made notes instead.
So far, the day had been interesting but no one had really stood out. He needed to speak to Sir Hector.
Stonebridge’s estate was well looked after and content. The villagers had shaken their heads. “Never had they seen the like, a terrible thing,” they’d muttered. Many of them either worked at the house or in the stables, and Stonebridge must pay well as it seemed a prosperous little place. The village had all the usual shops – a haberdashery, draper, butcher and even a bookseller: pretty as a picture.
There was even a decent-looking inn called The Green Man and he’d made a mental note to attend this evening and hoped it might prove more fruitful. A drinking establishment could always be relied upon for a good amount of gossip, the only trouble was separating the truth from the ale talk.
Earlier, he’d asked the stablehand to tack a mount; he’d spend the late afternoon on a good gallop and then head to the inn.
It was also to avoid Miss Trewent.
