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“Mr. Kenver.”
“This is my wife.”
He looked curious. “Ma’am.”
“We came to see you because I received a letter from Tamara Pendrennon Deane,” said Sarah. “And we wondered if you might have heard something about that.”
“Me, ma’am?”
His expression was bland, but Sarah noticed that his blue eyes were twinkling under shaggy white brows. “I have heard that Tamara was a bruising rider,” she added.
“She was that.”
“And a friend of yours perhaps?”
“I wouldn’t like to presume.”
Sarah waited. She thought Benning would say more in his own time.
“Should see to your horses,” he said.
He and Kenver loosened girths and put their mounts in the pasture with the others. When they were settled, the old man nodded approval and indicated a bench in front of his house. “Naught to offer you but well water or small beer,” he said.
Sarah accepted the former, Kenver a glass of the latter, joining their host. They sat down together.
“Miss Tamara loved horses, and they loved her,” Benning said finally. “She used to hang about the stables back when I was head groom over to Poldene. Now and then, she’d get to talking, to the air like, on account of having no one else to tell. She knew I’d listen and keep my mouth shut.” He eyed Sarah.
“You kept her confidence as long as it was necessary,” she said.
“Do you know what happened between her and my parents?” Kenver asked. “No one would ever tell me.”
“I doubt it’s my place to say anything,” Benning began.
“She entrusted you with this letter to me, didn’t she?” Sarah was certain of this. She pulled the page from her pocket.
He looked her over again, finally gave a nod. “When Miss Tamara was eighteen, up London way, she met a man she liked. But he weren’t good enough for my lord and lady.”
“What a surprise,” murmured Sarah.
“They forbade her seeing him. But up there in town, with all the people about, seems they couldn’t always keep them apart. According to what she told me later.”
“Good,” said Sarah.
“So they hauled her home.”
“Of course they did.”
“But the fellow followed them down here.”
“Mr. Deane?” Sarah suggested, assuming it from the letter’s signature.
Benning nodded. “Mr. Donald Deane, I believe it was. He came and asked his lordship’s leave to marry Miss Tamara.”
“Which was denied,” Sarah guessed drily.
“Was he so unsuitable?” Kenver asked.
Benning shrugged, disavowing any expertise on this subject. “Miss Tamara said he was a small landholder from Lincolnshire. Well able to provide for a wife, she told me. And she liked him very well.”
