“Mud,” he said aloud, turning back to the carriage.
“Mud?” Mrs. White echoed.
“The wheels and the sides of the carriage are covered with mud.”
“Of course they are.”
“Yes…but look here, the back of the carriage is nearly clean.”
“Well.” She snorted. “Hate to see your footman’s coat, then.”
He frowned. A man on the back of the rail would be an explanation. Only, again, he didn’t have a footman.
“So? How about that room?”
“You have a lodger.” He called over his shoulder. “I’ll be in as soon as I’ve had a word with Jack.”
“Praise be and thank you! I’ll have your bed and your dinner ready by the time you’re done.”
The door to the inn closed behind Mrs. White. He studied the splatter patterns. If someone had been clinging to the rail, it must have been another postilion—the blank spot was too small to have been a man.
“Oi!” Jack rounded the back of the carriage. “There’s one postilion that’s willing to continue north if you insist.” He rocked back and forth on his feet. “But I say, if you do, you’re fool as he is.”
“I’ve changed my mind and taken a room,” he said, meting out payment.
Jack slipped the coins into his pocket. “By the by, that upstart footman of yours looks ill, if you don’t mind my sayin’. He’s kinda small, too. Not much substance for traveling through the night.”
“Did you say”—Rayne leaned forward—“myfootman?”
“Ya.” The boy scrunched up his features as if Rayne was daft. “Your footman. The same one’s been riding on the back since your last stop.” He nodded toward the carriage. “You know, the scrawny thing that helped me brush down the horses when we watered?”
Rayne’s gaze moved from the boy to the carriage and then back to the boy.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The boy whistled. “Iknewit. Had the right livery, though. Your crest stitched in gold. Still, I knew, I tell you. Iknew.” A wicked gleam entered his eye. “Don’t you worry.” He turned back toward the stables. “Me and the boys’ll take care of him.”
Livery?His nonexistent footman had on his livery?
“Wait.” Rayne laid a hand on Jack’s arm. “You may send my footman to me.”
“What? He ain’t your footman. Plannin’ to thieve from you, too, I bet. Got a beating due him for it.” The boy cracked his knuckles. “Come, now. He don’t deserve your pity. Let me and the boys have some fun.”
“While I,er, thank you for your protection.” He wedged his hand into his pocket, pulled out an extra coin, and tossed it into the air. “Of coursehe’s my footman…” He cleared his throat. “I was just surprised he got himself sick.”
The boy pocketed the coin with narrowed eyes, reluctant to give up the bigger prize. “Suit yourself. I’ll send him over.”
Rayne’s gaze followed Jack to the stables.
Farring.
Rayne quelled his unease.
Farring must have hired someone to watch out for him. That was the only explanation as to how a footman wearing his livery had crossed more than thirty miles without him knowing.
Inside the open barn, Jack yanked a short figure into the light of a hanging lamp.
A low, heated exchange followed. Two more boys flanked Jack, one on either side—fight formation if Rayne ever saw one.
The footman hurtled his small body at the largest of the three. Then, the boys tackled him to the ground.
