CHAPTER SEVEN
“That shaft of warm air you feel in a room: that’s the dead. ’Tis all nonsense about them being cold – that’s just draughty, ill-fitting windows. If you ask me, it’s the living that are cold.”
Mrs Tadlow. Widow, mother and ten-year resident of Ingleford Lodge.
“What did you eat last night?” Stone said far too loudly.
“Pardon?” After two nights of excess, Lucas felt like a cannon was discharging itself in his head, and his stomach had reacted rather badly to the cabbage.
“What did you eat? At The Green Man.”
“Oh, venison and colcannon.”
A snort was the only reply but then, after a pause, Stone lowered his newspaper to the breakfast table. “That Irishman is hoodwinking me. I think he’s buying deer from poachers.”
Lucas stirred his coffee whilst awaiting Billy. He’d asked the boy to prepare the special concoction for overindulgence – it consisted of herbs, watered-down ale and raw egg – tasted revolting but was guaranteed to straighten you out.
“And did you find out anything useful at the inn?”
God, the man was talkative this morning. “Bits ’n pieces,” he finally replied. “Your landlord was the lieutenant in my company of men on the Peninsula.”
“Really! O’Carroll? What an amazing coincidence. He’s a thieving bastard.”
Lucas sipped his coffee, groaning in pleasure at the bitter taste. “He’s got some strong ale, to be sure.”
“And pretty women too,” the chatty Stone said with a barely perceptible wink. “So,” he continued, prodding the sausages on his plate, “what are your plans for today?”
“Questioning people in the village – farmers, labourers and so forth. I might call on the family that Bridget worked for as well.”
“Ah, you’ve forgotten about the dinner tonight. Mr and Mrs Lambert, Bridget’s employers, will be there.”
“Bloody Christ.” The words were out before he could stop them.
Stone hooted with laughter. “I’d rather be with my horses too as we’ve a new foal, but we all have to do the pretty every now and then, and the neighbours are a decent bunch. Rosalind will chivvy the cook to put on a good spread.”
“You and Ros… Miss Trewent are very close, are you not?”
Stone’s eyes narrowed. “She’s like a sister to me.”
“Who is?” A voice uttered from the doorway, followed by laughter and the luscious scent of roses. “If Ben means me, I’ll have you know that he’s a mean brother. Limits my almond comfits and refuses to let me buy pea-green silk.”
Lucas turned in his seat, and then wished he hadn’t.
She stood by the plates of food, wearing a gown of the most vivid red. She looked like a tulip and any other day he would have delighted in the sight.
Today, he felt like she was stabbing him in the eyes with a hot poker.
There was a sudden scuffle at the door and, pushing the footman aside, Billy rushed in with his “cure”. Lucas glugged the thing down in one. All the while Miss Trewent seemed to be perusing his form – his shoulder, chest and hips – it almost felt like a caress so he peered over, catching her eye.
She blushed.
God, he hadn’t made a woman blush in an age. And, damn it, he wasn’t even sure what he’d done to cause it.
“I hate pea green, as it reminds me of– Are you ill, Rosalind?” enquired Stone, hurrying to the side table.
“No, why do you ask?”
“You’re looking flushed. I keep telling you not to get cold in the woods. You shouldn’t go for any more walks. Don’t you agree, Mainwaring?”
