'How can that be? James told me he knew little about this cousin but had been assured by his lawyers the man would make a suitable Earl of Avon.' Something else occurred to her. 'Recently James removed his business from those lawyers in London, thought them inadequate. I've a horrible feeling you might be right. Do you think he'll have thought of this himself?'
'You do realise, sister, that if these men die at his hands then it could be considered murder?'
'Of course I know that, but none of the men who work here would stand witness to that fact. I sincerely hope it won't come to that. I might well have killed one of them myself – does that mean that I'll stand trial as a murderess?'
'How can you be so calm? I never thought you to be a violent person, to be impetuous, but in the weeks since our father died you've changed out of all recognition. I'm not sure if it's for the better.'
'I must change and be downstairs to take care of Othello when he comes.'
Her sister remained with her whilst she stripped off her ruined undergarments – these would go into the ragbag – but her scarlet riding habit could be sponged down and used again.
Her maid was holding out one of the new gowns but Sofia shook her head. 'No, I'm going to be nursing a sick dog, that will be ruined. Please find me one of my old garments.'
Dressed as she was she'd be mistaken for a servant, although possibly not as her gown wasn't as smart as those worn by the staff that worked here. She was tempted to run to the stables and speak to James. Telling him her fears about his cousin could wait until he'd dealt with the miscreants.
