Half an hour later, Jack returned to his horse. An exercise in futility. The town was a busy place with passing trade. The proprietor saw fresh faces almost every day.
“You could try the coaching inn,” he’d said as Jack had drunk his ale. “But unless someone makes themselves known, they would go unnoticed amongst those piling in from the coaches.”
He’d been right.
As Jack mounted his horse, he noticed a cleric in black garb trudging along the road into the town. He rode over to him. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day, my good man.”
“I wonder if I might have a word.”
The man, not young, his hair grizzled, nodded wearily. “But of course.”
Jack dismounted. He explained what had occurred. “Have you heard anything about it on your travels?” he asked him.
The man removed his hat and scratched his head. “Might have done. Not sure if it’s helpful.”
“Anything.”
“Well, two riders did pass me in the woods. I took note of it due to their apparent urgency.”
“When was this?”
“Late morning, it would have been. Took me another hour before I reached open country. They rode east, away from Dunstable.”
“What did they look like?”
The cleric shrugged. “A well-dressed gentleman and a scruffy one. His servant, perhaps.”
“Ages? Size? Anything about the horses of note?”
He shook his head. “The well-dressed man was older, but apart from that, nothing. They had their horses at a gallop.”
“The servant was not leading the other horse by the reins?”
He widened his eyes. “I don’t believe so. I would certainly have noticed that.”
“You’ve been most helpful, thank you. Can I stand you an ale? A glass of wine?”
He smiled. “Kind of you. But I must get on. I’m on my way to my new parish.”
“Far to go?”
“Another eight miles.”
“I hope the weather holds.”
“Thank you. God speed.” The man squared his shoulders and trudged on.
Jack rode east into the woods. It proved fruitless. There was nothing to show where the holdup had taken place. Interesting, though, ifthe cleric was right. Might it not have been an abduction at all?
On his way back to Ivywood Hall, Jack had no idea what else he could do to help. Unless he could learn more from Lady Althea or Lady Butterstone. He remembered how little surprise the latter had shown at her husband’s confession. In what manner had he been a fool? Had a dreadful mistake on his part resulted in his death? Lady Althea might have her suspicions. If she did not at least toss him a crumb, something to lead him in a new direction, he might as well continue his journey.
It was dark when Jack arrived back at Ivywood Hall. He was dusty and smelled strongly of horse and wished to wash and change before he met Lady Althea.
In the entry hall, Billings relayed the invitation for Jack to dine with the ladies. “Lord Butterstone’s valet is happy to assist you in dressing,” the butler said with an eye on Jack’s leather breeches.
“Thank you, Billings. I should like a bath and a shave.” Jack ran a hand over his shadowed jaw while thinking of his limited wardrobe. One thing was sure: if his services were needed for a few days or more, he would need better clothing than those he’d brought with him. He would send a missive to Harry in the morning, in the hope that he may be able to bring his evening clothes.
