“That is my son Bertram’s mount, Catullus,” Atherton said. “Ah, here he is now.”
Bertram Atherton was a slender young man of scholarly inclination, who would, one day, be just such another as his father, a respectable country gentleman spending much of his time shut away in his book room, letting the world pass him by unnoticed. It was perhaps unfortunate for both of them that the Earl of Rennington’s marriage had been rendered invalid and his children illegitimate, and Mr George Atherton was now heir presumptive to the earldom, and his eldest son after him.
“Captain Edgerton!” Bertram called out, as he strode into the yard, dressed for riding. “It is always a pleasure to see you, naturally, but I am very sorry that Shapman’s confession has now collapsed and you must begin your endeavours again.”
Michael had no wish to dwell on the dispiriting prospect of beginning again, so he made some bland response and then added, “I have not yet seen you since your betrothal to Miss Franklyn. May I offer my felicitations, sir?”
“Thank you!” Bertram said, his face lighting up. His father made a noise that might have been laughter, and Bertram chuckled too. “My family think I am insane, since I protested so vehemently against her when she threw over my cousin Walter and set her sights on me, but I am very happy with my choice, I assure you.”
“Have you set a date for the wedding yet? Mrs Edgerton will want to know.”
Bertram laughed. “Not yet. It all happened rather quickly, so we are not rushing things, but I hope it will be before Christmas. Ah, this must be your horse, Captain. No one else rides with a sword strapped on. Are you going back to Corland? If so, I can accompany you part of the way. I am bound to Highwood Place to ride with Miss Franklyn.”
“I planned to head out onto the moors for a while,” Michael said. “I need to ponder my next steps, and I can do that best if I can clear my head with a good dose of fresh air.”
“Then you may ride onto the moors with us, if you wish,” Bertram said easily.
“With a betrothed couple? I should be very muchde trop.”
“Not in the least, and it would reassure Miss Franklyn to have you and your sword with us. She has become a somewhat nervous rider of late.”
“Oh? She had a fall? That can be distressing, even if no injury results.”
“Nothing like that,” Bertram said. “On several of her rides recently, she felt she was being watched. Spied on, possibly. On the last occasion, she was certain there was someone observing her from the woods to the north of Highwood Place. She turned her horse into the trees and gave chase, and heard noises but could not see the fellow. Happily, when she returned to the track, my cousin Mr Eustace Atherton was coming along, and he escorted her home. Since then, I have always accompanied her when she rides.”
“Was she riding alone? That is not a good idea, even without strangers wandering in the woods.”
“She had a groom with her, but she had outridden him, and it was not sensible to leave the track alone to pursue the fellow, whoever he was.”
“If Miss Franklyn does not object,” Michael said thoughtfully, “I should like to see the place where this man was lurking.”
“I am sure she will be happy to show you,” Bertram said.
The two mounted their horses, waved farewell to Mr George Atherton and trotted out of the yard.
Miss Beatrice Franklyn was a young lady of exuberant character, who had set her heart on marrying the Earl of Rennington’s son and heir in order to make herself a countess. When he had lost his inheritance, she had turned her gaze on Bertram instead, and somehow, in between her attempts to ensnare him and his to avoid this fate, they had contrived to fall in love. Even though it now seemed likely that the earl would marry again and sire a son or two to put Bertram out of the inheritance, Miss Franklyn was not troubled by the loss of the title. She had discovered the joys of Latin, and looked set fair to become just as scholarly as her betrothed.
She was delighted to see Captain Edgerton, and very excited to show him the spot where she thought the man had been hiding. Riding ahead of the two men, her abundant black curls bouncing vigorously, she stopped at a point on the track where the trees pressed close.
“In there,” she said, pointing with her whip.
“What precisely did you see?” Michael said.
She thought about that. “A movement. A glint of something shiny.”
“Any sounds?”
“No, not then, but when I turned the horse into the trees, I heard the fellow crashing through the undergrowth. I could not get very far, not without damage to Blackthorn’s legs, so I retreated and it went quiet again. But then Eustace came along, and when my groom caught up, Eustace went off himself to seewhat he could find, but there was no trace of anyone. He made me think I was imagining it, but I was not, I assure you.”
“Are there Romanies in the area just now?” Michael said.
“Not at this time of year,” Bertram said. “We had a small group of discharged soldiers last year, but they kept to themselves and quickly moved on.”
“I think, if you do not mind, I shall go and have a look for myself,” Michael said. “There may be traces of a fire, or rabbit snares, if anyone was camped out here.”
“You believe me, then?” Miss Franklyn said in some surprise. “Everyone else thinks I imagined the whole thing.”
“But it happened more than once, I understand. And the sounds of a man running away are very distinctive. You would not have imaginedthat. You will appreciate, Miss Franklyn, that I have a strong interest in any news of a stranger wandering these parts, a stranger who might have been here in June when Mr Nicholson was murdered.”
