“Apologies, my lord.” The coachman groaned. “That was I. Lady Gwen dabbed some of her devil’s own concoction on my grazed forehead.”
Tristan’s beloved rolled her eyes. “I found it in the cupboard. I’m quite sure it’s just an old bottle ofWelsh whisky. Then the scream you heard was me when rabbit innards landed upon the table.”
“Apologies for that,” said the chalk-dusted lad.
Gwen glared at him.
Tristan’s mind at last caught up. “Might those rabbits have also bled rather copiously in the woods?”
“Aye.” The chalk-dusted lad nodded. “I dropped them.”
“And would you be a Ghoul Robber?”
“I admit to nothing.”
“Why have you got chalk dust on your face?”
“’Cos I’m a Ghoul Robber,” he said proudly.
Gwen sighed. “No, you’re not. You are Owen Wynn-Davies from Sir Henry’s tenant cottages.” She turned. “He’s been poaching in the woods with his friends and garbing himself as a ghost to scare the gamekeeper off.”
“I can’t bear another potato stew, your lordshipless. This year’s harvest wouldn’t feed a dormouse and I’ve four brothers bigger than I. Us Wynn-Davies have hunted rabbits in these woods since my great grandpa were a bantling but this autumn Sir Henry had fences built for his horses and got that bastar–”
“Ladies present, Owen.”
“Gamekeeper.”
Tristan folded his arms. “So, you robbed Sir Henry?”
“No!” He scuffed his boots. “We were just rambling home and surprised the horses, that’s all. But his coachman saw us and ran off. Sir Henry fainted and since he was the one to forbid hunting in the woods, we–”
A clatter.
Followed by a blast of frigid air.
“Shut that bloody door,” the Ghoul Robber wailed, and they all turned to another chalk-dusted lad who slammed it shut and thrust a canvas holdall aloft. “Look what I found outsi–” The lad cocked his head. “Who are you? And why have you got an axe handle?”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Would you be a Ghoul Robber also?”
“I admit to nothing.”
“Why have you got chalk dust on your face?”
“’Cos I’m a Ghoul Rob–”
“No, you’re not.” Gwen sighed once more. “You’re Lewis Wynn-Davies. Owen’s brother.”
Tristan dropped the axe handle, seized his holdall from the lad and dumped it to the table. “This belongs to me and your accomplice here was just explaining how you helped yourselves to Sir Henry’s goods.”
“Only had three shillings on him.”
Gwen folded her arms and looked most stern. Both lads eyed the flagstones, boots shuffling.
“Then this morning,” his beloved continued, “the same thing happened to us.”
“They arose out the woods like evil spirits from the snow,” embellished the coachman. “I fell off my perch and was seeing triple while the horses were mighty atremble.”
Tristan shrugged off his greatcoat. “So you all came here?”
