“Yes. Or that.”
“Well,” said Aunt Hester. “The only silly question is the one unasked.” She smiled at the girl, who waited with wide-eyed anticipation. “Miss Eversley.”
“Ma’am?”
“Might you know something of a particularly pockmarked and elderly man?”
The girl frowned in consideration, apparently not thinking the question as silly as it sounded. “Let me see. Hawkshead has its fair share of pockmarked old men. Not likely as many as Coniston does, though. Since the mines closed and the young people left, Coniston is nothing but old men these days. And when they visit here, they seem to speak of nothing else but the old man. His condition. His health. Whether or not he will revive.”
Jane touched the young woman’s hand. “Which old man?”
She shrugged. “I know not. They never mention a name.”
Jane leaned toward the shop girl. “This may sound odd, Miss Eversley, but could this particular old man be one hundred and fifty years old?”
The girl expelled a giggle into Jane’s startled face. “One hundred and fifty years old? Don’t be silly!” Then, her eyes shot wide and she gasped. “Do people live that long in London?”
“No, no. People live no longer in London than they do here.”
The girl deflated. “Oh.”
Adam stepped toward her. “Miss Eversley. Where is Coniston, exactly?”
She considered her surroundings briefly before pointing through the door of the shop. “That direction, about four miles over Hawkshead Hill.”
“West, then?”
“Is that west?”
“Yes.”
She clapped her hands again. “Wonderful. Coniston lies four miles to the west.”
The travelers huddled into a loose circle.
“It seems we should inquire in Coniston,” Barlow said.
Aunt Hester nodded agreement. “Yes. If we find nothing, we may return here within a couple of hours to search for an alternative answer to the riddle.”
Adam pursed his lips, seemingly approving of the plan. He peered at Jane. “What do you say?”
She considered the thirty-day deadline. In the worst case, they would lose only a day if Coniston proved fruitless. It seemed worth a try. “I say we go to Coniston and ask about a pockmarked old man.”
“And then what?”
“Trust unto chance, I suppose.”
Adam shook his head. “Seems like a poor plan.”
“I agree. However, it appears to be the only plan available.”
He lifted his eyes to regard the sky, perhaps attempting to determine if they could make the journey before evening. She intercepted his thinking.
“I ask only that we wait until morning. The walk from Ambleside has left me fatigued. Apparently, I am not as recovered as I had hoped.”
He seized her hand yet again. “Very well. Let us see about finding you a place to rest your feet.” He released her and addressed the shop girl. “Where might we find an inn?”
“Just down this street. Impossible to miss.”
