“For his offer. Alfred tells me that Mr Lomax came to see him privately today, and was very open about his intentions. He has four thousand a year, and no debts or encumbrances. I believe he will speak before you leave town, so you will need to have your answer prepared.”
“I know what I will say, if it comes to that point, Aunt. I shall accept him, of course, subject to Papa’s approval, naturally. And I should like to see his house first, before I commit myself irrevocably.”
“You doubt his description of it?”
“No, not at all, and I know that Uncle Edmund has verified everything from his friends at White’s and the Treasury. No, I should like to see his house and estate to understand what sort of man he is. Are his lands in good order? Are his tenants well cared for? Are his servants contented?”
“And will his mother move out when he marries?” Aunt Sofia said with a laugh.
“She has already told me that she will. She seems to accept his choice. I assume that he has made the same enquiries of my family that Uncle Edmund has made of his, and is satisfied.”
“Then you are decided,” Aunt Sofia said, a hint of surprise in her tone. “I confess, this is not the outcome I expected when I first suggested you come to visit us. I thought…” She chewed her lip anxiously. “No, let us have no secrets between us. When I heard about Walter’s situation, and that his engagement to Miss Franklyn was at an end, I saw the opportunity. I had Edmund write to Alfred to persuade him to bring Walter here on some pretext or other, and to invite you too. My hope was that a few weeks together would bring him to value you as he ought, and to begin to return your affection.”
Winnie blushed at this frank speaking. “You know of… my affection for Walter? Did Mama tell you?”
“No, indeed, I observed it myself. Alfred has noticed it, too. You conceal it very well from the world at large, but those who know you best can see it. What I cannot understand is why Walter is unaware of it, and why he so stupidly does not snatch up the treasure that could be his. Bea Franklyn, indeed! Whatever was he thinking, when he could have had you? And then, when a respectable man courts you, what must he do but make fun of the poor fellow!”
“He treats me as a sister — exactly as a sister, for he used to tease Josie and Izzy about their suitors in just the same manner. It is only his way, and he means no harm by it, but he will never see me in a romantic light. Look at what happened at the Andersons the other night — he did not dance with me once, even though he stood up with all the other young ladies. I too thought that this journey might spark some response in his breast, but I have now given up all hope of it. I cannot waitfor ever, so, if Mr Lomax should honour me with a proposal of marriage, I shall certainly accept him.”
“Very well, dear,” Aunt Sofia said, but Winnie thought her tone was sad.
***
Michael left his horse at the inn in the centre of Birchall village, strapped on his sword, and strolled across the road to the smithy. There were three men hard at work, an older man easily identified by his size and strength as the smith, and two younger men, tending the forge and passing tools as needed. Michael waited patiently as the three finished the piece they were working on, admiring the silent but efficient way they moved around each other, like a strange dance punctuated by clanging metal, wheezing bellows and the hiss of hot iron in water.
“You wanting me?” the smith said eventually, tossing aside his gloves and wiping his sweating forehead with a meaty forearm.
“If you can spare the time for a chat, Mr Whyte. And perhaps a drink across the road?”
“I don’t drink with no strangers,” the smith said.
“Captain Michael Edgerton, formerly of the East India Company Army, and more recently, Tattersall’s. Currently employed by the Earl of Rennington to investigate the murder of Mr Arthur Nicholson.”
“Him!” one of the younger men said, and spat on the floor.
“Hush, Jack. The man’s dead,” the smith said. “Joe Whyte. These are my sons, Jack and Will. Tattersall’s, eh. That’s worth a pint. Jack, get the other hinge ready while I’m gone.”
It cost Michael three pints in the end, and he had all but exhausted his stock of tales from his time at Tattersall’s by thetime the smith had slaked his thirst, but eventually he led the way back to the smithy, picked up his hammer and said, “So say what you want to say, Captain, while I work.”
“I should like to talk about your grandson, John Whyte.”
“Got three o’ those.”
“The illegitimate one.”
“Got two o’ those.”
“The one who is a groom at Westwick Heights. Supposedly by Mr Nicholson, chaplain at Corland Castle.”
“Formerchaplain,” Jack said, spitting again.
“You dislike him,” Michael said.
“Aye. Hate the man’s guts, and that’s the truth.”
“Did you hate him enough to kill him?” Michael said conversationally.
The effect was immediate. Jack picked up a heavy iron bar and closed the distance to Michael in three swift strides. He was not as muscular a man as his father, but he was taller and considerably more powerful than Michael, and he carried the metal bar as if it weighed nothing, tapping it menacingly against his other palm.
