Grey returned inside where his assistant was already heading up the stairs. He called after her. “It is almost dinner time. Do not go starting the fresh copy tonight!”
“I have been working at a spare copy ever since the first incident, sir,” she called back, without stopping.
Grey had the ominous feeling that he could not afford to lose an assistant who stayed one step ahead of him at all times.
Thirty-two
Eleanor
Wednesday morning, Eleanor hurried in through the back hall door, encountering the professor just coming down the stairs in search of his breakfast. “Sir, what does your heir look like?”
Startled, the professor stopped at the bottom step. He wore his usual casual tweed and trousers but had taken time to brush his mane into order.
He’d run his hand through the mop and destroy the order shortly. El hated that she’d be the one to cause it. She hated worse the fear that he’d pack up and leave once she told him.
“Stupid Stew? I have no notion what he looks like these days. Why?” He narrowed his eyes. Unlike his heir, Greybourne was not a stupid man.
She took a breath to settle her nerves. “Because I was just outside, taking the air before I broke my fast, and I thought I saw you talking with Silas on the other side of the broken gate.”
He waited with a frown while she organized her words.
“Then I remembered I had just seen Silas bringing a pitcher from the cellar. So I started over to see who you might be talking to.”
“Nosy like that, I know.” He headed for the backdoor she’d just entered. “How’d you know it wasn’t me?”
“When I came closer, I saw he held a curly-brimmed hat and wore a fashionable green frockcoat you’d never be seen in,” she said dryly, following him. “They left as soon as they saw me.”
That didn’t halt Greybourne from stalking down the garden path, such as it was, and gazing down the alley to the village. As she’d warned, they were gone. “Stay here. I mean to talk to Black Dickie.”
“Mr. Bradford,” she corrected. “Let Andrew go with you. I’ll fetch him.”
“They’ll be gone by then.” He kept on going.
Wishing she wore trousers, El picked up the hem of her old bombazine and hurried after him. “You don’t know what your heir looks like?”
“He’s a second cousin or some such. Executor said he was next in line and one of us ought to learn the estate. Mostly, he does stupid things the lawyers must bail him out of.” He came to the end of the alley and looked up and down the road. The hens on the green gabbled. Dr. Meera waved at them from her garden.
“I’ll talk to Blackie. You talk to the physician.” Greybourne shoved his way past a broken fencepost into the yard of the cottage Mr. Bradford occupied.
If the wretched man wanted to get shot. . . El hastened across the dirt road to talk to the good doctor.
“Out early this morning,” Meera called cheerfully. “Is there aught wrong?”
“There may be shortly,” El said grimly. “Did you happen to notice a gentleman in green coat, accompanied by someone much smaller?”
“No, but I only just came out to clip some herbs. What is wrong?”
“I thought I saw strangers lurking by our back gate. And Greybourne has just gone to confront Mr. Bradford at this early hour. I hope he does not have a weapon.”
“Oh, dear. We really haven’t seen anyone about over there, but the hedges are tall, and we aren’t home much. Let me fetch Walker. He’s not left for the manor yet.” Not waiting for argument, she hurried into the cottage.
Greybourne stalked out from the overgrown hedges at the same time as the manor’s steward arrived, pulling on his stylish frockcoat. The coat wasn’t green, and his hair was African black, not lion-maned.
The professor looked rumpled and harassed next to the dapper steward, but they both wore the same expression of concern.
“No one is answering over there,” Greybourne reported. “Have you noticed strangers going in or out?”
“We’re usually gone all day. Besides, that used to be the butcher’s house. He had a service entrance on the other side, where he kept animals, I suspect. That door is more accessible. The butcher has been long gone, according to manor records.” Mr. Walker studied the disintegrating thatched roof just visible over the tall hedge. “Shall I have Rafe keep an eye on the place?”
