She stopped and put her hand on his arm. Her pretty face bore a frown beneath her fetching hat.Definitely cross-purposes.“We can return to London soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow.”
Although he planned to do precisely that, he suffered a swift rush of regret. “Good.”
“Sally can seek employment with a relative who runs the inn. Cook wishes to retire to Plymouth and live with her brother. Mrs. Peebles shall return to my London house by stage. The stable boy assures me he can find employment at the village inn, and the gardener will continue to tend my garden.”
He admired how she cared for her servants. Once back in London, their lives would take them in different directions. He searched her face for a sign that she was as disappointed as he was to leave so soon, but she lowered her head, and her hat blocked his view.
“Have you discovered who killed Lord Churton?” she asked.
“Not as yet.”
“I would have expected Bow Street to investigate. Why are you involved?”
“Our monarch wishes it.” He took her arm to cross the road. Ahead, a square Norman tower rose above a copse of yew trees.
“The king?” Althea’s eyebrows rose in amazement. “What interest does he have in this?”
Once they’d gained the footpath, Flynn paused. He stared into the distance. While he and Barraclough had been searching fruitlessly, the Home Office had been caught up in another plot against the government and Viscount Sidmouth displayed little interest in this affair. Flynn doubted the truth of King George’s conspiracy, which made the whole matter sit uncomfortably on his shoulders. He had to find thistricoleur. Before these plotters did.
“Flynn?”
“If I knew, I would tell you, Althea,” he said, frustration deepening his voice.
She withdrew her arm with a sharp glance. “I understand if you can’t tell me, but please, don’t treat me like a peagoose.”
Flynn shook his head. “You are hardly that, Althea.” He moved to the road edge and drew her arm back through his.
They walked on in silence as his mind wrestled with the mystery. He had always wondered why King George had involved him when there were men with more experience to be had. Unless this was something the king did not want commonly known. Flynn took that idea and ran with it, for it made perfect sense. If only Churton had left a letter or a diary. Perhaps his wife? He would call on her when he returned to London.
Flynn left Althea at the door of the ancient church, which appeared to be in sore need of renovation, the pudding-stone walls beginning to crumble. In the bustling village, the second stage to change horses out of London, traffic was backed up on the Great West Road. He crossed behind a heavy cob pulling a cart laden with coal, his master walking beside the horse, one hand on the harness. Flynn gained the pavement, dodged around a peddler, and strode toward the Crown Inn.
“Lord Montsimon.”
Flynn raised his head from stepping over a puddle to find Sir Horace Crowthorne standing before him. He touched his hat. “Crowthorne.”
Crowthorne raised a shaggy gray eyebrow. “It’s a surprise to find you rusticating in Slough. Or are you passing through?”
“A brief visit,” Flynn said, refusing to elaborate. “I wonder what has brought you from London when parliament is in session.”
“Urgent estate business.” Crowthorne shifted his gaze to a passing carriage. “You must come to dinner tonight. It’s difficult to find good company in the country this time of the year. My wife particularly enjoys your conversation.”
“Unfortunately, I must refuse. Please offer my sincere apologies to Lady Crowthorne. Another time perhaps.”
Crowthorne hesitated; manners did not permit him to question Flynn further. “Lady Crowthorne will be disappointed. We shall send you an invitation when we are next in town.”
Flynn bowed. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
He could sense Crowthorne’s hawkish gaze on his back as he continued along the street.
News would travel fast in a small village. The man must know that Flynn stayed at Owltree Cottage. And it was unlikely to be a coincidence that Crowthorne came across him here in the street. He no doubt wanted to find out what Flynn was doing there. Had coming to Slough done its job and made Crowthorne’s cohorts nervous enough for him to desert London while Parliament was sitting, a time when the business-minded Crowthorne would be fully occupied? Flynn sensed these men were growing dangerously impatient. Time for Althea to return to London.
He located Ben and gave him his instructions, then returned to the church.
Althea rushed to meet him in the street. “I’ve discovered where Hazelton lives.” Her eagerness brightened her eyes, reminding him of bluebells in his woodland in Ireland. “It’s not so very far, and the rain seems to have gone,” she said. “We can hire horses in the village.”
In the crisp daylight, she looked incredibly beautiful. And Flynn enjoyed having her around a little too much, which was dangerous for them both. He must send her back to Mayfairtout de suitewhere they could continue this later. “We might economize by hiring one horse.”
She shot him a withering glance. “Thank you, but I shall ride my own. I don’t recall much pleasure in sharing a horse with you.”
