Straining her ears, she could hear Mrs Mereworth.
“Yes, Vicar,” she was saying softly. They seemed quite cosy, although Mrs Mereworth’s countenance was pale and solemn, even slightly strained. Benedict wasn’t speaking to anyone, his face sullen, his clothing black. If ever there was a man appropriately named tonight, it was Stone.
The young curate had been placed with a spirited bunch at the far end, but his shoulders constantly drooped and he often seemed to have a slack expression. Unfortunately, the Lamberts seemed to take an unnaturally gruesome interest in the murders, asking everybody what they knew and seemingly very pleased with themselves for having a murdered servant, which didn’t help the curate’s disposition.
Lady Hurst’s shawl dropped again. Rosalind couldn’t stand it any more. “My lady, how long are you staying in Cheshire?”
“As long as it takes…to enjoy the scenery.” Her eyes slunk to Lucas.
“Maybe you should go home tomorrow then?” The woman’s eyes widened, and Rosalind smiled sweetly. “I believe it’s going to rain and we wouldn’t want you to be stuck here?”
“I thought, maybe, that Lord Helmdon could show me the beautiful sights of Cheshire?”
Lord Helmdon looked as though he’d rather have his teeth pulled, so Rosalind replied for him, “TheMajoris teaching me to ride tomorrow, therefore I’m afraid he’ll be far too busy.”
“You cannot ride?” Lady Hurst’s face was a picture of ridicule.
“No, I am not well worn to the saddle as some are. I imagine it may take all day, if not all week, as I am a slow learner and require close supervision. Who knows, I may fall off, if my mount is too large.”
Benedict didn’t bat an eyelid – he must be preoccupied.
“Is this true,Lord Helmdon?” The woman’s hand brushed his sleeve again. “Surely you would have some time for me?” She flashed him a seductive smile, her eyebrows raised.
“Miss Trewent is correct, I’m afraid,” Lucas replied, his voice serious. “I am very busy. And besides, you would be wasting your time. All the beautiful sights are at this very table.”
Lady Hurst preened for a short moment before realising that the Major’s eyes werenotfixed on her.
Lucas slowly circled the drawing room. The gentlemen had not tarried over their port, for which he was grateful. Males did tend to blab more without the ladies’ company, but the talk had degenerated to what qualities made the best stud horse and why Mrs Glossop’s brothel had closed.
It was useless asking serious questions when half of them were bosky, and after a young squire had started impersonating a boar, Stone had tactfully suggested they join the ladies. At least with the gentlewomen present, you could guarantee a certain amount of gravity.
He paused at the nearest group.
“Women need much more guidance on the path to righteousness,” the vicar expounded.
Mrs Mereworth nodded like a waxen doll, her lips were moving, but her voice was drowned out by the man’s loudly spoken views. The curate was also nodding and the two men started to discuss relevant scripture to support their outlook.
Moving on to the next group, he found himself dragged forward by the Lamberts. They were pleasant enough, a noisy, bustling couple, seemingly always in a buoyant mood.
“And here’s our very own nobleman from London, to take charge of things. Have you found anything useful yet?”
“I’ve heard he’s been too busy with the beautiful sights to do much,” Lady Hurst answered.
“I did only arrive a few days ago, and I am here merely to assist in any way I can,” Lucas explained, ignoring the sour comment. “I’m afraid it’s much too early to surmise anything. I was hoping to call on you both tomorrow?” he said, addressing the Lamberts.
“Certainly. As I was just saying to Mrs Lincoln, we may have seen the killer.”
“Pardon?” Lucas hadn’t heard this. Damn Sir Hector, his notes were bloody useless; tomorrow, he’d be having serious words with him. The magistrate hadn’t shown himself tonight: he may have been looking for his wife, but Lucas doubted it somehow.
“Well, we didn’t actually see his face,” Mrs Lambert said, “just the back of him. We were in the curricle, you see; it’s new, the very latest model and so light. We’ve had it painted yell–”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Lambert, but the man?”
“Oh yes, my apologies.” Her cheeks flushed, and Lucas felt an absolute ogre. It was a dinner after all.
“No, it is I that should apologise. My army manners have not yet been blunted. May I call on you tomorrow then? I could see your new curricle as well. I would be most interested as I am looking to replace the Helmdon estate carriages.”
“Certainly, my lord.” And this time, Mrs Lambert flushed with delight.
