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A dreamy expression fell over Mrs. Halpert’s face, her lips curving while her hand absently rubbed her belly again. “I’ve always considered myself beyond fortunate that I was able to find love in my life. I know so many who marry for other reasons—good reasons, usually, but not love—and I counted myself blessed to obtain a love match. When George died, I wondered…well, to be perfectly honest, you’ve given me hope that I could find it again. I’m grateful for this babe, of course, but I don’t wish to be lonely.”
At least there was hope for one of them. “If you seek it, I believe you can find love again.”
“I do. No man could ever replace my George, but I do not think he would want me to remain alone, either. I do not feel he would expect that of me.”
Amelia tucked her hands together on her lap and stifled her melancholy. She pasted a smile on her face and turned toward the table beside Mrs. Halpert’s bed, where a leather-bound book rested. “Shall I read to you?”
“Please do. That would be lovely.”
* * *
Sliding down from the uncomfortable saddle, Charles gripped the reins and surveyed the trampled ground, grass pressed flat with the imprints of wheels and hoofprints spotting the vacant woodland. He rubbed his thigh where the unfamiliar leather of his uncle’s saddle had rubbed, wishing his horse, Maximus, had not run off last night and failed to return to him. Charles had hoped to find Maximus somewhere nearby that morning, but a quick ride around his property and down the main road in town failed to produce his horse. There was no way to know if the gypsies had found Maximus and taken him as well, but Charles was operating under that assumption until proven otherwise.
By the look of this land, the gypsies had certainly camped here at one point, but they were now gone. They’d probably left directly after returning from their escapade on the road the previous evening.
Charles could kick himself for allowing them to go, for not going after Amelia’s horse directly after it was taken. How would she feel when she learned of this development? She’d lost so much already, and now her horse, too?
“Blast.” Andrew pulled his horse around, facing Charles. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell Amelia.”
Charles scrubbed a hand over his face. “You don’t have to tell her anything. I was the fool who promised I would retrieve her horse.”
“She will understand.” Andrew was a good man, but even he did not look convinced as those words left his mouth.
Charles dropped his hand and speared his friend with a look. “She wanted to chase after them last night. On foot. And I stopped her.”
“And you likely saved her life—or at least her reputation—by not allowing her to follow that senseless idea.”
The truth sat before him plainly, but his stomach flipped despite the logic. He hated to disappoint Amelia. There had to be something he could do. If only he hadn’t had those drinks last night, then…that was it. Jolly, the innkeeper. “Maybe I will go into Graton and question Jolly.”
“I’ll come. If anyone knows anything, it would be him.”
Charles sighed, sliding his hand over the horse’s thick mane. “Yes, but getting that information from him will be tricky.” He mounted his horse and turned toward town.
Andrew pulled up alongside him. “Depends on how much blunt you have on you.”
Chuckling, Charles rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got some. I was afraid the gypsies would require payment.”
“Not that you should have complied if they had.”
“Perhaps not, but I’d rather avoid a dangerous confrontation when possible.” They left the wooded grove behind and joined up on the road. “How do things go with Mrs. Halpert? I cannot help but feel responsible for her in some ways.”
Andrew lifted his hat to rub at his forehead before placing it back over his bright red mop of hair. “I understand why you feel that way. It was your uncle’s charity that brought her to Graton, was it not? But you may rest assured that bringing the woman under my roof has not been a hardship. My sister has grown fond of her, and I fear it is part of my profession that I cannot know of an ailing person without doing my utmost to assist them.”
“Your words should put me at ease, but I feel the burden of responsibility, nonetheless.”
“There could be worse things than being a man with a conscience.”
Charles laughed. “Perhaps. But life might be easier without one.”
They pulled onto Main Street and weaved past a carriage waiting in the middle of the lane. The inn yard was bustling with men going about their work, and Charles and Andrew paused at the entrance before sliding from their horses and tossing their reins to a stable boy. Charles tucked an extra coin in the boy’s hand, winking when he received a grin that was missing two front teeth.
Where the outer yard was alive with activity, the taproom was quiet and slow, mid-morning sunlight streaming through the open windows and highlighting swirling dust particles as they floated lazily about. A half-eaten meal remained on one table, a man slumped forward on the other side, his head resting against his outstretched arm.
Sounds came from the kitchen, the bustling of pots and women speaking, and a low voice carried from another room on the other side of the long bar. “Just information, Jolly. All I seek is information.”
Andrew leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It looks like we aren’t the only ones here on business.”
“If I hear of anything, you will be the first to know.” Jolly’s voice, deep and smooth, reached Charles’s ears and deflated his shoulders. The man didn’t seem to be in a sharing mood.
