“Yeah, yeah. So what is so important?”
“Did Thornbridge ask you to take a message to the Branstokes?”
“Yeah, somethin’ about a kidnapping on the docks.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd, there being a kidnapping in the daytime from a busy dock? Lots of people around?”
“Didn’t think much about that.”
“Well, think about it. I’d wager a groat it’s all a hum. A scam, probably, to extort money from the Branstokes.”
Romley looked confused. “Why?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t believe a word of that tale. You can’t trust those Indians.” Charwood paced the small room.
Romley rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not makin’ sense, Charwood. “
“I know what I’m saying. My brother was killed because of an Indian he thought was his friend,” Charwood shouted, his eyes glistening in the lantern light. He collapsed onto Romley’s bed, his head in his hands. It had been over six months since he’d learned the details of what happened to his brother, and this was the first time he ever told anyone else.
“My brother was in the Indian Army. He loved it there. Wrote to me about the landscape, the pace of life, the people, the food. He loved it all. Then his commander, Major General Ochterlony, secretly sent him and his lieutenant north on a mission. They got ambushed by the Nepalese. Ochterlony’s staff officer wrote to say they tortured them, and it was three days before my brother died. It was his friend he’d written to me about, Amar from Calcutta, who betrayed them, who’d sent the message to the Nepalese.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Charwood. Does Sir James know?”
“No. I’ve told no one until now,” Charwood said miserably.
“So why are ya here?” Romley asked.
“So you can warn the Branstokes it’s all a hum!”
“How do you know it is?”
“Be reasonable, Mr. Romley, the Earl of Soothcoor’s nephew? From India? And the woman, I don’t think she’s any better than she should be. Too young and too pretty to be a nursemaid. And says she comes from a respectable family. I don’t believe none of it, not with that gold trim on that thing she wore like a dress, and her wearing Mr. Thornbridge’s coat, and so I want you to tell Sir James and Lady Branstoke.”
“All right, I will. I will. Now, can I get back to sleep?”
“You believe me, don’t you?”
“The only thing I believe right now is I need me sleep. But I promise I will tell them your concerns. But you should know any unusual activity on that dock will have Lady Branstoke back here quick-like, no matter your doubts.” He opened the door to his room, waiting for Charwood to leave.
Reluctantly, Charwood rose from where he sat on Romley’s bed. He picked up his lantern and shuffled out the door.
5
George Romley arrived at Summerworth Park early the next morning. He hadn’t slept well after Mr. Charwood’s visit, so he got up at the first lightening of the sky. He didn’t know Mr. Charwood well, the man having the airs of a proper butler and better than the rest of the staff. However, he’d never struck him as a fanciful man. He clearly thought the story of a kidnapped child was a hum. And it might be. However, Romley didn’t want to be the one to take that chance and fail to give proper intelligence to Sir James. Remembering his days with Sir James in the military, Branstoke always said no crumb of intelligence was too small to pass on.
Then again, he didn’t think Mr. Thornbridge a fanciful gentleman, either. Very proper and serious was Mr. Thornbridge.
So he would tell Sir James and Lady Branstoke all, but he wouldn’t put Mr. Charwood’s intensity into his message, just as he hadn’t traveled faster than normal pace.
He stabled his horse, then went in the back servant’s entrance to the house. His fellow servants hailed him as they saw him enter, but he didn’t stop to chat. Time enough for that later, he supposed.
He remembered to take his cap off as he went up the three steps to the living area’s ground floor and walked to the breakfast room. He grinned to himself as he considered how casual he was at entering the house. He remembered the last time he’d interrupted Sir James’s breakfast six months ago. Coo, but that was a ramshackle business.
With sunlight streaming over his shoulder, James sat at the table reading a newspaper as he sipped his coffee.
George Romley hesitated at the door. “Beg pardon, Sir James,” the self-assurance he’d felt moments ago fleeing him. He bowed awkwardly.
James looked up. “George!” he said. He rose and gestured for him to come in. That his groomsman would come in the house to seek him out did not bode well.
