“Good afternoon,” Elise returned, inclining her head with the degree of politeness owed to a stranger on one’s own land.
Jane executed a small, graceful curtsy, her eyes bright with curiosity. “You must be the gentleman stranger,” she said, because Jane never believed in leaving any question unspoken. “Mrs. Grey says you are a writer.”
A flicker—almost a smile—touched his mouth. “Mrs. Grey is remarkably well-informed,” he said. “Yes, ma’am. I am attempting to be a writer. Edward Leigh, at your service.”
His gaze moved, briefly but unmistakably, to Elise. “I hope I have not trespassed, ma’am. I was told this path runs over ground belonging to Mrs. Larkin’s school. I seek her permission to wander.”
Elise’s fingers gripped imperceptibly on the handle of her basket. There was nothing in the words themselves to alarm—only courtesy, deference even—but something in the way he spoke them made the back of her neck prickle. He knew the name of her house, and had gone to the trouble to learn that the land was hers.
“Mrs. Larkin is before you,” she said evenly. “The path is open to locals and visitors, provided they do not chase my pupils over the edge.”
He bowed over his hat. “Then I am doubly obliged to you, ma’am. I have no intention of chasing anyone anywhere. I am only endeavouring to understand the lie of the land. The cliffs, the view.” His hand shifted on the notebook. “Local colour.”
“Local colour is mostly grey,” Elise said. “Rock, sky, temper.”
Jane made a muffled sound that might have been a laugh.
“Grey can be most instructive,” Mr. Leigh replied. “London has rather too much of the lurid about it, in my experience.”
“You are from London, then?” Jane asked.
“For my sins,” he said. “I have been sent down—” He checked himself so quickly Elise might have missed it had she not been watching him. “That is, I have come down to see whether the coast might furnish materials for a small volume.”
“A volume about Stonehouse,” Jane said. “We will never recover from the shock.”
He looked genuinely amused. “I shall treat it with all due reverence, I assure you.” His eyes returned to Elise, steady,assessing without being overt. “I was acquainted with a Larkin, years ago. When I heard there was a Mrs. Larkin here, I wondered if there might be a connexion. Forgive me if the question is impertinent.”
Elise’s heart gave one hard, painful thump.
“My late husband was Captain Larkin,” she said, keeping her voice calm by force of habit. Practice had taught her how to speak of him without flinching. “He served in the Navy.”
“Then it must be the same man.” Something softer entered his gaze—memories, perhaps, of a boy in a blue coat, ink-stained and full of plans. “I knew him at school. There was a Singleton one year ahead who also kept company with him. We were all of an age.”
The name slid between them like a knife. Elise did not let it show. Singleton. She had seen it on reports, on dispatches, on the folded, official letters that had brought such wreckage in their wake.
“I was most sorry to hear of his passing. My deepest condolences.”
It was a correct thing to say, and he said it correctly. Yet Elise felt again that queer stirring of distrust. Men who were what they proclaimed themselves to be seldom chose their words with such care.
“You are kind,” she said. “Now, if you will excuse us, Mr. Leigh, we must attend to the post. The Admiralty will not wait upon my convenience, however much I might wish it.”
His eyes flickered, just once, at that word, Admiralty.
If she had not been watching, she might have missed it.
“Of course,” he said. “Pray, do not let me detain you. I shall only walk a little further and try not to butcher the scenery in my notebook. Good afternoon, Mrs. Larkin. Miss…”
“Archer,” Jane offered and bobbed a curtsy with a charming smile. No caution or wariness about her. “Good day to you, sir.”
He stepped back, giving them the path.
As they walked on, Jane waited until they were out of earshot before saying, very softly, “You are right. He does walk like a soldier… and he looks at you as if you are a piece in a mystery he cannot quite place.”
Elise kept her eyes on the ruts in the lane. “Then I hope he finds the mystery too dull to pursue.”
“Do you?” Jane asked shrewdly.
Elise did not answer. Behind her breastbone something small, wary and long-sleeping had woken.
