“It took me all morning to persuade the magistrate, Mr. Trumbill, but …” A roguish grin spread over his wide lips. “You are to be under my custody until the true cad who poisoned my sister is caught.”
So. He did still believe her—and the thought squeezed her chest. She smiled in full. “How did you manage that?”
“I reminded Mr. Trumbill that I never actually signed any papers for your arrest, that no formal charge had been made, and that holding a lady without solid evidence would reflect poorly on how he carries out his duties. I also may have mentioned that when my father returns, he would not appreciatelearning a guest of his household had been left to rot in gaol while the real criminal ran free.” One of his brows arched. “And my father happens to be the reason Mr. Trumbill holds the magistrate position to begin with.”
“Ahh, I see. You employed a veiled threat.”
“If you will.” He rubbed his chin. “I prefer to think of it as creative persuasion. Besides, I needed you out of there posthaste. It turns out you do me no good behind bars.”
“Is that so?” She smirked. “And what if I should decide to run off in the night and flee this custody of yours?”
His smile faded, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Then I would follow you, for I will never lose you again.”
She swallowed hard as his gaze met hers—almost reverent, as if she were a priceless gem he valued more than life. Would that time might stand still, for she could live forever in such a look of devotion.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For all you have done.”
“I only wish I could have done more.” He reached for her hand, rubbing little circles on her palm, quiet for a moment. “But …” he said at length, “I fear I do not bear good news.”
While his touch felt delicious, she pulled away, acutely aware of the grime on her skin and not just a little nervous about what he might mean. “What is it?”
“I went to the old stone gate.” With a sigh, he kneaded a muscle at the back of his neck. “Carver and I dug half the night, but we found nothing.”
“Hmm.” She stared out the window, unmindful of the oranges and yellows blurring past. Why would someone have troubled to write that note if Henry had searched the area and uncovered nothing? It had been so specific.“Near the old stone gate …”
A jolt shot through her.
“There are two gates!” She twisted to face Henry with her whole body.
He frowned. “What?”
“There is—I think—another gate. Or I mean there was. It is nothing but an ivy-covered lump in the southwest corner near Mr. Dankworth’s property line. I know because I tripped over it one night, scraping my shin on the rock beneath.” She leaned towards him. “Take me there! Take me there now.”
He reared back his head. “But what about a bath and change of gown first? Are you not—”
She held up her hand. “I am sure you suffer more from my filthy state than I do. An hour or more longer will not make a difference to me.”
Henry shook his head. “But we have no shovels, nothing to dig with.”
“The ground is surely soft from yesterday’s rain. A stout branch ought to do, leastwise to poke about and see if there is any hint of something buried.” Lightly, she squeezed his arm. “Please?”
He exhaled hard through his nose. “Fine. But if you swoon from exhaustion, I will not be held accountable, is that clear?”
She grinned. Victory!
“Such a minx.” He chuckled as he let down the window and hollered the new route to the driver.
For the rest of the ride, Henry filled her in on how well his sister had slept last night—unlike him—though he’d left too early to see how she fared this day. No doubt she was even stronger and would be glad to see Juliet. While Charity still had many questions and doubts, she bore her no real malice, for like him, she refused to believe Juliet guilty of such wicked intent.
Juliet let him talk, soaking in the comforting bass of his voice and the warmth of his presence beside her.
Sometime later, the carriage rolled to a stop. Henry helped her out, ordering the driver to wait for them; then they both dove into the trees. It was a slog through the greenery in hergown, the brush and bramble still heavy with yesterday’s rain. Despite it all, she pressed onwards, Henry at her side, her breath quickening as they neared the property line.
She slowed her pace and narrowed her eyes, scanning the autumn foliage.
“There,” she whispered, then louder with a point of her finger. “Over there. Just beyond those alders.”
Henry’s brow wrinkled. “There is nothing but more overgrowth.”
