Andrew unexpectedly swept in on a gust of damp wind. Thank heaven their laundry had been delivered earlier, before the drizzle. What had he been doing outside?
The lad answered without questioning. “I thought I’d try to ride into the tavern, but it seems likely to pour. Might I borrow the curricle?”
The wretches had planned this, Grey was positive. But he’d prove his wretched cousin’s notion about superstition if he refused.
“Fine then, let us both go in. You can see what’s to be learned from the tavern, and I’ll try the pub.” He grabbed his cloak from a hook in the hall.
A short while later, Andrew took up the reins and sent the horses down the drive. With nowhere else for his wandering thoughts to travel, Grey searched the shadows for bearded men and what. . . nooses? Snares? This place would turn him into a lunatic.
“Shall I inquire about the threatening cove El described or just keep a watch for him?” Andrew asked, reasonably enough.
Grey still wanted to order him to stay out of sight.
Andrew was a full-grown man, Grey reminded himself, not his responsibility. “Ask for a name if you see a likely suspect, but do not let anyone know you’re interested in more than ale.” There, that didn’t sound superstitious at all.
“Well, I’m also interested in finding work,” the lad admitted. “The tavern owner owns the men’s clothing shop. You really do not need me except as my sister’s chaperone. I like to keep busy.”
Her twin had a point. If it would get one of them out from underfoot. . . “Your aid has been invaluable, but you are far too educated to be a laborer. Can your sister ride? I’ve been thinking we need a horse or pony cart so she needn’t be molested by strangers again.”
Then give her lots of tasks that took her away from his dangerous presence.
“Growing up, we had a cart and pony, but El never learned to ride like I did. The assumption was that El wouldn’t need to, that she’d marry and have servants.” Andrew shrugged. “Life doesn’t happen as planned.”
Given this glimpse into what must have once been their respectable upbringing, Grey winced. No, as he well knew, life tended to hit one with deadly meteors out of the blue. He really didn’t wish to be another destructive force in their lives, but he wasn’t the best one to figure out how to prevent it. “Look into a pony cart she can use, then. With both cart and gig available, you might work in town but stay at the house in the evening. Now that we have staff, that should satisfy propriety.”
That would at least remove one twin from his immediate proximity. Perhaps he could find an excuse to send his sister to the manor.
Andrew steered the curricle into the innyard. “Thank you, sir. El doesn’t need much looking after. She’s been taking care of us on her own for years. She really ought to have been a professor, like you.”
And there was the rub. He was the only one who respected her capabilities. The manor folk would treat her as a mere secretary. “A woman would never be allowed to teach men, and I suspect a roomful of ladies who can afford tuition would prefer to learn watercolors, not art history.” Grey didn’t hide his disdain for female schools. “Your sister is a rare breed.”
“She will argue that with you, if you give her a chance. Ladies without funds have little choice but to marry, and to marry, they can’t be bluestockings, so there is no reason for them to study. That doesn’t mean they’re incapable of learning.”
Grey tried not to give that too much thought. He wasn’t responsible for the world. Or Miss Leonard.
Andrew hobbled out of the carriage and held the horses until an ostler ran up to take the reins. “I’ll come find you in the pub in about an hour?”
“That should be sufficient.” Tearing his thoughts from the disaster his new home had become, Grey wondered if the innkeeper knew where to order wine. Rural living had its disadvantages—another of those reasons he left his estate to those more qualified. Grey preferred the sophistication—and anonymity—of towns.
It was not because he thought he’d bring disaster on his servants. Or his heir.
The pub was busy on a Saturday night. Grey didn’t recognize anyone in the light of swinging overhead lanterns. So he made his way to the bar where the ginger-haired giant of a bailiff conversed with his customers.
Rafe immediately turned to Grey. “Pint?”
“Cider, unless you know where to find wine and animal traps.”
The bailiff halted in the process of reaching for a mug. “Manor has brandy. Lady Elsa will tell you about wine. Animal traps?” At Grey’s gesture, he filled a mug and set it down.
“Large, rusted, set to kill. We were looking for a footpath through the back wall. It was set just inside where there might once have been a gate. Valuing our boots, we didn’t look further.” He tried to sound casual and not reveal his concern. Or his superstition.
Rafe muttered an obscenity. “Set for Comfrey or you? We’ve just learned Comfrey is possibly a descendant of the original owners.”
Grey sipped his drink but alcohol did not untangle this puzzle. “We can’t know how long the device has been there,” he concluded, because it was more comfortable to do so. “Comfrey may have set it to keep out trespassers or vandals. Did you discover aught else of the former owners?”
Apparently content to accept Grey’s explanation, the busy bailiff explained what the curate had discovered, adding, “The bank has spoken with Comfrey’s family and arranged his transport to the Stratford graveyard. As far as we’re aware, none of his family recently visited here. They seem unlikely suspects.”
Which meant the killer was most likely local.
