“I just asked Mary for tea but forgot to request extra milk.”
He nodded. “I assure you, the kitchen staff already knows you enjoy plenty of milk with your tea. It will come out just as you like.”
She offered him her thanks, turned away to retrace her steps, then remembered the nighttime horseman. Spinning around, she was faced with an empty hall. The damp butler had disappeared as swiftly as dawn mist. Frowning, she returned to the morning room.
During tea and toast, she was greeted by Leo the cat, then the Angsleys’ long-time nanny, Mrs. Wendall, and her charges, who were Beryl’s two youngest siblings. Lastly, the three other young siblings arrived before Eleanor vacated the room.
Dashing upstairs to retrieve her cloak, she was determined to have a walk while there was still a little mist hovering over the sodden ground.
When in the country, Eleanor always brought her well-worn leather Wellingtons, as everyone called them for the war hero who designed them. At the back door, she removed her indoor kidskin shoes and slipped on these water-repellent boots with ease before heading out.
Due to the dripping trees and wetness everywhere, she hadn’t brought out her sketch pad. Settling her hood over her head, she strode off the terrace and into the rose gardens and the wilder terrain beyond. Everything smelled rainwater fresh, and she breathed deeply as she walked.
Halfway across the field at the back of Angsley Hall, a grouse flew out of the long grass ahead of her, startling her into giving a single shriek. In seconds, it had flown away.
Clapping her hands with amusement and to release the surge of energy caused by her initial alarm, Eleanor continued to walk with her heart beating a little faster. One never knew what one would encounter in a meadow or forest. To her, that was part of the appeal.
After walking at least a mile, she began to circle back toward the manor, hoping by the time she reached the hall, the adults would have arisen, and someone could identify the mysterious horseman she had seen the night before.
Better yet, maybe he would be seated in the morning room, and she could see him for herself.
On the path back to Angsley Hall, she came upon what Beryl and her family called the old granary lodge, a remodeled granary set close to the river where the older servants with nowhere else to go, who could no longer offer service, lived out their years. The year before, Eleanor and Beryl had experienced many a delightful afternoon eating sweet biscuits with Mrs. Latbury, the Angsleys’ former cook.
When the cook’s legs became too bad to stand at the worktable all day, she had retired to the outskirts of the property. She still managed to create batches of the best baked goods, inviting the girls there for lively discussions and slices of toffee cake.
Was it too early to intrude?
The old mill powered with an enormous waterwheel fed by the River Great Ouse had been replaced by a modern mill in the nearby village. Eleanor thought the whitewashed stone building to be cheerful, and the mill stone and surging water threading through the channel under the wheel to be rather romantic. It belonged to an era of folks making their own butter and cheese, neither of which the current staff at Angsley Hall or the larger one at Turvey House still did.
She walked around the old lodge, recalling which door led to Mrs. Latbury’s two rooms, thinking perhaps she would smell something good cooking. Finding the entrance, a blue painted door, she knocked, again hoping it wasn’t too early.
The door snapped open, and an unfamiliar face appeared—an old woman with her face scrunched up and her eyes narrowed as she peered out menacingly.
Eleanor flinched and tried to step back.
“You’re early!” the woman stated, grabbing Eleanor by the hand and hauling her inside.
Chapter Two
Eleanor shrieked inalarm, tripping over the threshold, her hood falling back over her shoulders as she did.
“Unhand me,” she demanded at once to the crone who’d attacked her.
“What on earth is wrong with you, Phoebe? I only wanted you to come out of the morning damp.”
Eleanor hesitated. Phoebe was the next youngest of Beryl’s sisters, and it dawned on her the woman was not wearing a threatening expression but trying to see her properly. What’s more, she wasn’t a scary old hag. She was no more than forty-five, Eleanor guessed.
“I’m sorry,” she said more calmly. “I’m not Phoebe Angsley. I’m—”
“Eleanor Blackwood,” a male voice interrupted, startling her.
Turning, she found herself staring up at the black-haired Grayson O’Connor and feeling her stomach do a little flip of excitement. He must have entered the granary room directly behind her.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, making her take a step back.
*
Having gone tothe main house searching for Eleanor, Grayson was surprised to find his quarry right back where he’d started, after awakening that morning in his mother’s home, a crick in his neck from sleeping on a cot.
