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But the sounds were rising in volume.
“He’s coming this way,” said her mother. “He doesn’t come here.” She shrank back in her chair even as she gazed at the window as if she might climb through it and escape.
Harriet rose. “I will go and see.” She didn’t enjoy her grandfather’s temper tantrums. But they didn’t frighten her as they did Mama.
“No, no. Let it be. Don’t annoy him.”
“Clearly, he is already annoyed, Mama. And coming to tell us why. I will try to stop him.” Harriet went out into the hallway and intercepted her grandfather before he reached the parlor. He was red-faced and glowering. “What has happened?” she asked.
“The earl has given permission for those wretched Travelers to camp on his land,” he answered. “It is an outrage.”
“What?”
“Sir Hal received a letter from him, saying as much. Nothing he can do, he says, if a landowner approves. Not that he seemed to care very much, the dolt. He thinks ‘the Travelers rarely do any harm.’” The old man shook a sheet of paper in his hand. His cheeks trembled with rage. “He writes that I shouldn’t worry. The man is an imbecile.”
Harriet realized that her mouth was hanging open. She closed it. “I…I thought the earl was missing. Has he come home?”
“He has not! I sent someone over there as soon as I got this ridiculous note. The idiots at Ferrington Hall know nothing about the matter. They claimed they didn’t even know the Travelers were there. Which is impossible, of course. No one is that stupid.”
Harriet’s mind filled with questions. How had the earl learned about the camp? Or the complaint about it? Where had he written from? Who had brought the letter? Were they certain of its authorship? She asked none of these, because she didn’t want her grandfather to begin wondering about the letter’s origins. As she was. With a growing sense of horror and a touch of admiration, she suspected that any investigation would lead straight to Jack the Rogue. “How…odd,” she said.
“Odd? It’s unconscionable. The end of the matter, Sir Hal says. Letter on the earl’s special, crested notepaper. Hopes the fellow will return home soon. Blast them! They think themselves above us all.”
Harriet wisely held her tongue.
“You are not to go beyond the gardens, Harriet. Not with a pack of tramps given free rein to roam the countryside.” He stomped away without requiring her promise, which was a relief since Harriet did not like to lie. Shewould have, but it was good not to need to. Her mother called anxiously from the parlor, wanting to know what was amiss, and Harriet had to go to her rather than rushing over to the camp as she really wished to do.
In fact, Harriet could not get away until early the following morning. Her grandfather was with his London messenger in his study, and her mother lay abed late. She evaded the eyes of several servants and a trio of workmen carrying planks from a wagon, slipped out through the shrubbery, and nearly ran across the woods to the camp.
They were all still there—the wagons and tents and brush shelters. The scent of woodsmoke wafted over them. People went about their daily tasks with no sign of concern. Harriet scanned the peaceful scene, spotted Jack setting down a load of wood near the central fire, and hurried over to him. “What did you do?”
“How splendid to see you,” he replied. “And that we did not have to say goodbye after all.”
“You forged a letter from the Earl of Ferrington,” Harriet accused. He must see it had been a dangerous thing to do.
“I did not. I give you my solemn word.”
She was brought up short. She heard truth in his voice. But believing him would bring down the whole edifice of her explanation. “You know that the magistrate received a letter of permission from the earl?”
“So we heard. Good news, eh? Perhaps they’re friends, and this magistrate asked him about it.”
“No one knows where the earl is,” Harriet pointed out.
“Someone must.”
Harriet brushed this diversion aside. “And how couldheknow the camp was here? Since he is not.”
“Perhaps he keeps tabs on the place.”
“From quite nearby?” Harriet asked sarcastically. “Close enough to send a letter on the heels of my grandfather’s complaint?”
“That’s it.”
“Why would the earl stay near Ferrington Hall but notinit?”
“Some of these noblemen are eccentric, are they not? I’ve heard they are.”
“Do you imagine they hide in caves like ancient hermits? From which they can nonetheless send letters on crested notepaper?”
