The big man gave him a pitying look. “It burn-a down.”
“So I see. Do you know when?”
A crafty expression dawned. Twirling his fine moustachios the organ-grinder said, “Might.”
Gideon extracted a florin from his purse, and held it up. “Try. And you need not trouble with the accent.”
The man grinned. “I knowed you was a downy file, Guv’nor. Right y’are, then. The shop catched fire Tuesday night. Poor old Doc was workin’ late. The constable says as he fell asleep while he was meltin’ dahn some gold, or summat and woke up makin’ his excuses to Saint Peter. Funny.”
Much shocked, Morris said, “You’ve a dashed strange notion of what’s amusing! If you want to know, it ain’t in the least funny to be burned. I’ve never burned to death, mind you, but I burned my hand once, and—”
“No disrespeck intended, sir,” interposed the organ-grinder hurriedly.
Gideon asked, “Did you mean that there was something odd about the fire, perhaps?”
“Ar. You got it right, sir! We called Mr. Shumaker ‘Doc,’ ’cause he were school eddicated. And—clever? Cor! You shoulda seen the way he could put broke things back tergether. Funny, though, that with a name like Shumaker he were a clockmaker!”
Morris gave a shout of laughter in which the organ-grinder joined heartily. “Now thatisfunny, begad,” Morris agreed. “Blister me, but the fella should better have been called Mr. Time, eh?” The two men howled anew and the monkey jumped up and down chattering excitedly.
When the uproar quieted, Rossiter said, “Is that all you have to tell me, Mr. Organ-grinder?”
The big man wiped his eyes with an end of the purple kerchief, and said breathlessly that Doc had been a very tidy worker. “You’d never a thunk he’d cause no fire. He’d a good trade, poor chap. The gentry useter come wi’ their timepieces from miles around, they did. Workin’ on summat o’yourn, was he, Guv?”
“I’d heard of his work. I pity his widow. Does she live nearby?”
“Useter. Gone now, poor creeter.”
Morris inserted, “I say! Was she killed too?”
“No, sir. Moved away, she did. Yestiday. Her brother come and helped her pack up. Poor old mort. I ’spect she couldn’t stand bein’ all alone. So she upped and went to live wi’ her brother. Not that he was no bargain, by the look of him.”
“Had she no friends hereabouts who would have stood by her?”
The organ-grinder fingered his chins, pondering the matter. “Yus and no. Doc had. But his missus—a queer sorta woman, she was, if ever I see one. ’Course, they all is, ain’t they? Women I mean. All touched in the upper works, one way or t’other. But that Mrs. Shumaker—Cor! I dunno how Doc coulda stood her! Nervous as two cats in a thunderstorm, she were. I come up behind her once. Bright as terday it was, and bein’ a kind-hearted soul and meanin’ no harm, I says, ‘Mornin’, ma’am.’ That’s all. Jest—‘Mornin’, ma’am.’ And she goes straight up in the air and gives a screech like a ungreased wheel, then gallops orf dahn the road so that everyone’s a-starin’ at me and wonderin’ if I give her a pinch where I shouldn’t oughter. Me face was that red it pretty nigh catched light all by itself it did! No tellin’ what a woman like that’ll do next, is there?”
“No, by Jove,” said Morris with ready sympathy. “Dreadful thing! I recollect once—”
Gideon interrupted quickly. “Do you know where this brother of hers lives, by any chance?”
“No, I don’t, Guv. It come as a surprise ter me, matter o’fact. Never knowed as she had a brother. I wish her well of him. A big’un, and ’andsome as a bearded cockroach. The kind you wouldn’t wanta meet in a alley of a dark night!”
Gideon thanked him, handed over the florin, and watched him stroll away, the little monkey clambering up to his shoulder to sit there chattering, and the strident music ringing through the warm air.
The two men walked on, side by side, Morris humming along with the melody, and Gideon deep in thought. When the organ-grinder’s efforts were diminished by distance, Morris asked, “What now?”
“Emerald Farm,” said Gideon. “I really must look in on the old place, just to be sure all’s well. May have to move my family down there, and I’ve not had a chance to see it since I come home.”
Morris glanced at him obliquely. He took setbacks well, did Ross, but this must have been a blow to his hopes, as far-fetched as they were. He said carefully, “Look, m’dear fella, if there’s anything I can do…? I mean, I know you’ve suffered a great disappointment, and with the duel fixed for Saturday, I—”
“Disappointment!” Gideon’s eyes were ablaze with excitement. “To the contrary, this confirms everything I’d suspected! The jeweller was silenced, do you not see? And his wife, heaven help the poor lady, has been borne away, heaven knows where, lest she say something untoward! I am on the right track, my James! By Jove, but I am!”
“Lord help the Archbishop of Canterbury!” groaned Morris.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Because they’d had a late start and Rossiter must return to London before nightfall, he had been most particular in his selection of a coach and four. The light vehicle he’d chosen had not taxed the team unduly, the postilions had set a spanking pace, and with two brief halts they came in less than three hours to the Sussex border and the chain of hills known as the Weald.
The road swung in an easterly loop to bring them around to the south and the access road, and from their high vantage point they caught several glimpses of Emerald Farm. During his grandmother’s lifetime, Rossiter had visited it in winter and summer and never failed to find it a delight. The house itself faced south and was built on a low rise, with higher hills lifting emerald shoulders behind it. A long, low, half-timbered structure, the roof deeply thatched, it stood serenely amidst its lush pastures and fields as it had stood for over a century, the many windows twinkling in the sunlight that painted a golden glow on the whitewashed walls. No smoke rose from the chimneys, and the silence was broken only by the distant lowing of cows, the twittering of birds and the occasional bustling stir of the breeze.
