Page 36 of Impetuous

“I should think that that is a great deal worse,” Philip stated heatedly, stung by the groundskeeper’s contempt. “A young woman alone and defenseless in the middle of the night!”

“Depends on the young woman, now, don’t it?” Chumley replied equably, stroking his chin. “If Miss Cassandra’s carrying a gun, as I reckon she’s smart enough to, then I would say the burglar’s more likely the one needing the protection. Arly himself taught her to shoot.”

“Why, thank you, Chumley.” Cassandra could not resist casting a smug look at Philip. “I tried to explain that to Sir Philip, but he didn’t understand. Now, are we going to stand around here all night arguing, or shall we go look for that intruder?”

Without waiting for an answer, she strode off toward the back of Chesilworth, where she had last seen the light, leaving Sir Philip and Chumley to follow her. Chumley did so without question. Sir Philip, after an exasperated sigh, hurried to catch up with them.

“Really, Cassandra, must you go charging in headfirst every time?” Sir Philip moved protectively in front of her. “You are going to get hurt one day.”

“Don’t be absurd. I am sure our quarry is long gone. Besides, I think we have already established that I am well able to take care of myself. Ah, there—” She pointed past him to a set of windows across the back of the house. “That is where I first saw him.”

The three of them moved closer, holding up their lanterns to illuminate the ground in front of them. It was Chumley who first spotted the footprints.

“There!” He pointed to the earth beneath one of the windows. “See? Where the ground’s a little damp.”

“Yes, you’re right. A definite footprint.” Sir Philip moved carefully closer, with Cassandra at his side. All three of them bent down and peered more closely at the imprint in the ground.

“Definitely a man’s,” Cassandra said, looking at the large outline.

“I would guess a big man, too,” Sir Philip offered.

“Aye, tall, maybe,” Chumley spoke up, “but I’m thinking not too heavy. The ground here is pretty soft. A heavy sort would have sunk in deeper, you see. But no lightweight, either.”

Tall, but not heavy, Cassandra thought. A man the size, say, of Sir Philip. She could not keep from sneaking a glance toward his feet.

He caught her look, and his mouth twisted ironically. “Large enough, Miss Verrere,” he said, “but not quite my style, don’t you think?”

He made a show of sticking out his foot and twisting it this way and that so that she could see that his shoes did not fit the outline. Cassandra sent him a disdainful look and said, “Really, Sir Philip, if you could refrain from joking, perhaps we could find something useful.”

She turned away, following Chumley, who was circling around the corner of the house, his lantern held low to the ground.

“Here’s another, Miss,” Chumley called out, stopping, and Cassandra and Philip hurried to his side. There, in the circle of his lantern’s light, was another imprint, this time of the man’s other shoe. It was obviously the same type of round-toed shoe, but this impression held something interesting, a small V in the imprint of one heel.

“What is that?” Cassandra asked, pointing.

“A mark on his shoe, I imagine,” Sir Philip offered, and Chumley nodded.

“Yes, miss, looks to me like he’s got a hole or at least a mark gouged out on the left heel there.”

“So all we have to do is inspect everyone’s shoes for an indentation like that on one heel,” Sir Philip said sardonically.

“It’s more of a clue than we have had so far,” Cassandra stated.

“Yes, but it’s only feasible if we have a suspect.”

“I thought you had one,” Cassandra retorted. “My American relative.”

Chumley’s eyebrows sailed upward at her words, and Cassandra regretted having said anything. The last thing she wanted was for the locals to be gossiping about treasures and hidden maps at Chesilworth.

“Believe me, he is still high on my list. But since we have no idea where your Mr. Miller is, it would be difficult to check his shoes.”

“I was only joking,” Cassandra said quickly, giving Philip a hard stare, which she hoped he would be able to interpret. “Just because you have taken an unreasonable dislike to David Miller does not mean that he is a thief. I saw nothing to indicate it. Besides, as Chumley will be happy to tell you, there is nothing in Chesilworth worth stealing.”

“Oh, no, miss, the silver and such is all locked up…what’s left of it.”

“Exactly. Mr. Miller was here. He would have seen the state of the house on the inside.” Cassandra hoped she had said enough to discourage any gossip about her American relative. She decided to turn Chumley’s thoughts in a more helpful direction. “No. I think it was some outsider—”

“Yes, miss,” Chumley agreed, nodding his head energetically. “Wouldn’t nobody from around here steal from you or your family.”