“And, no doubt, recommended Camden House to Mr. Montgomery Senior when you heard Malcolm was at Autumnvale and wanted to leave that facility.”
“Yes,” he drawled, obviously pleased with himself. “Malcolm didn’t know I lived so close when he agreed to come here. He thought Autumnvale was too close to his father and his family. He didn’t want visitors.”
“He wouldna come here if he knew you were close,” Mr. Ramsay said dismissively.
“No doubt.” Mr. Ratcliffe smirked.
The library door opened. “Boyd—Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know you had company,” said a short, gently graying blonde woman from the doorway.
James and Mr. Ramsay stood up.
“It’s all right Karen, this is Sir James Branstoke, and you know Cameron Ramsay, don’t you?” he said as he walked around the desk to his wife’s side.
“Yes, I do. And nice to meet you, Sir James,” the woman said briefly, scarcely sparing them a glance before turning back to her husband. “Boyd, I just wanted to tell you that the new statue you ordered has arrived and the carter wants to know where it goes,” she said, apologetically.
“Excellent!” Mr. Ratcliffe said, rubbing his hands together. “We are finished here, aren’t we gentlemen?” he asked, walking dismissively past them toward the door.
“Yes,” James said. “Thank you for your time.”
“Pleasure, pleasure. Give my best to Mrs. Montgomery. Must see to my new treasure,” he said, striding out the door.
“I’m sorry gentlemen.” Mrs. Ratcliffe twisted her hands together. She was an attractive, though timid older woman. “He has been waiting for this new statue for a week now,” she explained. “He loves his statues. He says there is somethingabout the feel of the smooth marble under his hand he can’t get enough of. He likes to caress them while he’s thinking,” she said. “It helps with his concentration.”
James and Mr. Ramsay collected their hats, gloves, and greatcoats from a footman in the hall. They said their adieus to the obviously nervous woman as they went out the door. Outside, they saw a coatless Mr. Ratcliffe giving orders to the carter as he uncarted the statue. As the wood enclosure, and then the canvas tarp fell away from the statue, they could see that the statue was another cupid.
Mr. Ramsay drew in a deep breath. James looked at him. The man shook his head, his lips compressed in a tight line.
They got in their coach and started back to The New Bell Inn.
“That new statue,” Mr. Ramsay said after a moment. “It looks like Malcolm.” He shuddered. “Malcolm as a cupid. Why?”
“I’m beginning to have an idea,” James said grimly, “and it would explain a lot. We should pay a visit on the magistrate.”
CHAPTER 20
AGAIN WITH THE MAGISTRATE
Magistrate Squire Eccleston’s butler informed James and Mr. Ramsay the squire was out walking his fields and obligingly pointed them in the direction the squire had taken. They set off to find him. Once they were past the neat hedges and trees around the manor, it was easy to see the magistrate in the distance due to the flat nature of the former fen lands. He was in the company of two other men, walking along rows of young wheat plants, gesturing as he talked. Getting to the magistrate was not straightforward. It involved jumping newly dug drainage ditches between wheat rows. James silently commended the man for planting another harvest of winter wheat and having ditches dug to drain away excess rain. But such attention to solutions for his farm should not come at Soothcoor’s expense.
One of the men the magistrate talked with saw them coming and pointed out their approach to the magistrate. Eccleston stopped and, arms akimbo, awaited them.
“Sir James,” the magistrate said stiffly.”
“Magistrate,” James returned. “This is Mr. Ramsay, Mr. Montgomery’s solicitor.”
“Mr. Ramsay, this is Squire Eccleston, magistrate for the area.”
Mr. Ramsay acknowledged the introduction.
“Do dead men need solicitors?” the magistrate asked caustically.
“’Tis the solicitor’s obligation ta see that the terms o’ the will are adhered ta,” Mr. Ramsay politely said.
“I was under the understanding Mr. Montgomery didn’t have a will,” the magistrate said.
“Och, he did. Someone led you to think incorrectly,” Mr. Ramsay said pleasantly.
“Ah. When did he draw up the will?”
