Mrs Buckley set the scones between them and poured the tea. They sat for half an hour over refilled teacups, speaking of the Masque: candles ordered, musicians engaged, the house bracing for another spectacle.
“I expect Mr Beattie is ticking jobs off his list, making sure it’s all ship-shape. That man would walk through fire for Mr Hawke.”
It was good to know someone looked after him. She doubted he made it easy.
“There were over thirty tasks on the list he gave me.”Daphne dabbed the crumbs off her lips with a napkin. “Mr Beattie will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
“I’m surprised Mr Hawke could spare you today.”
“He’s in London and doesn’t know we’re here.”
Mrs Buckley’s frown deepened. “London? The day before the Masque?”
Mr Ramsey excused himself and rose abruptly. “We should return before Beattie sends out the cavalry.”
They thanked her for her hospitality, but Daphne paused at the threshold and gripped Mrs Buckley’s hand.
“I intend to lock myself in the cottage tomorrow night, but is there anyone I should be wary of? Men I should avoid at all costs?”
Mrs Buckley patted her hand. “Spend the weekend here. Two maids are coming from Shadowmere. You won’t be alone.”
Daphne glanced at Mr Ramsey pacing the lane, then lowered her voice. “Perhaps I should. But I find myself drawn to Mr Hawke as surely as a compass points north. I must see him in his worst light if I’m to make any decisions about the future. I believe he finds solace in my company too.”
Her pulse quickened at the admission.
None of it was a lie. He did not wear his armour so tightly when he was with her.
Mrs Buckley’s smile faded. “Mr Hawke carries ghosts heavier than most. I’ve never known him seek comfort. Only justice.”
Justice. As though that were enough.
“Because of his father?”
“Because of the company his father kept.”
The journey might not be a waste after all.
“We’re seeking his creditors in a bid to find answers. Myfather was one. Someone killed him and threw him in the Thames.”
Guilt stirred.
She wished she cared enough to mourn him properly.
Mrs Buckley clutched her chest. “The past is best left buried.”
Buried men had a habit of resurfacing.
“The past will destroy Mr Hawke. I need to know the names of his father’s creditors. One will suffice.”
Mrs Buckley hesitated but described a few men she called gamblers and rogues. No one Daphne recognised. “That’s all I can tell you. It’s all I could tell Mr Hawke when he asked.”
“Did his mother not say anything that might help us discover the identity of these men?”
Mrs Buckley shook her head. “No. Mrs Hawke kept her own confidence. She was afraid the truth might damage her son.”
The truth had damaged him anyway.
Daphne squeezed the woman’s hand. “It’s the not knowing that hurts him most.” She paused. “If you think of anything that might prove useful, please send word to Shadowmere.”
