‘Ah, ’twas a sad business with his late lordship. I was in the search party that found him.’
‘Tell me where the accident happened.’
‘His lordship liked to take a shortcut across the fields. He’d done it a hundred times afore.’
‘I heard the girth broke.’
Wilkins nodded. ‘Saw the saddle myself. It had come off, of course, when he fell. Brand new it was.’
Sebastian leaned forward. ‘And Lord Somerton? What were his injuries?’
Wilkins pulled a face. ‘His neck was broken, you could see that as soon as look at him. Not a pretty sight, but you’re a soldier, my lord. I don’t need to tell you ...’
‘Quite,’ agreed Sebastian. ‘Were there any other injuries?’
‘Broken leg and… no... I think that was it.’
‘What are you gossiping about now?’ Martha Wilkins swooped down on the table. ‘I tell you, m’lord, he’s worse than an old woman.’
‘His lordship was asking about the late lord’s death.’
Mrs. Wilkins shook her head. ‘That was a terrible shock. God’s punishment for his wicked ways, I say.’
‘Now then, Mrs. Wilkins ...’ the landlord protested, but Sebastian ignored him.
‘What do you mean?’
Mrs. Wilkins bridled, smoothing an imaginary crease from her spotless apron. ‘I’m not one to gossip but they do say he was over visiting that Lady Kendall. A frequent visitor, from what I hear, and he’s not the only one. Like bees to honey ...’ She shook her head in approbation. ‘Three husbands she’s had and not content that she’s got to have someone else’s husband.’
‘That’s enough now, Mrs. Wilkins.’ The landlord pushed his chair back and stood up, signalling the end of the conversation.
Sebastian, too, rose to his feet, narrowly avoiding bumping his head on one of the low beams.
‘Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins. That was the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. You may see me on an early morning stroll more often.’
Mrs. Wilkins picked up the clean platter and smiled with satisfaction.
‘My lord, you are more’n welcome and I won’t think of taking payment for it,’ she added huffily as he set some coins down on the table.
‘Well, save it for someone who needs it,’ Sebastian said. ‘Thank you both for your hospitality. Ouch!’ he exclaimed as he failed to miss the door lintel. ‘I fear your inn was built for shorter people.’
‘You are uncommon tall for these parts, m’lord,’ Wilkins observed. ‘Just like your father. He was a good six fingers taller than his brother.’
A familiar sense of regret at the mention of a father he had never known tugged at Sebastian. As he strolled past the pond, he wondered if there had been any likenesses of James Kingsley preserved up at the hall, among the gallery of ancestors that seemed to line every wall. He made a mental note to ask Lady Somerton.
A pretty church built of the local grey stone with a single, squat Norman tower stood on the far side of the village green. Despite the early hour, the door to the church stood partly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside, allowing his eyes a moment or two to become accustomed to the gloom.
A woman knelt on the steps of the sanctuary, scrubbing the well-worn stone. She started at the sound of his boots and rose to her feet, turning to see whom the intruder could be.
‘My apologies, madam, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Sebastian said.
The light from the window fell on her face and he took a step back. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, he thought he had come face to face with the ghost of his mother. The instant passed, and he saw just a small, middle-aged woman whose grey hair had escaped her sensible cap with the exertion of her work.
The woman stared at him and then, as if recovering herself, dropped into a curtsey.
‘You’re not disturbing me, my lord.’ She set the cloths down and approached him, her eyes not leaving his face. ‘You are the new Lord Somerton, aren’t you?’ Seeing him in the light, her hands flew to her face, and she gasped. ‘You’re so like your father.’
She reached out as if she intended to touch his face and then dropped as she remembered her place. Sebastian held his breath. Another person who not only knew his father, but probably his mother as well.
