Gideon took in the open ledger, the ink bottle, and pen.Spying? Altering the accounts? If so, why?It was a conundrum for another day.
“Where is Marshall?” Gideon asked.
“Out in the fields.”
“In the dark?”You can do better than that, Jem. How often did Marshall’s toady make free with the office? Did he have access to the key to the archives? The family papers?
Gideon filed his thoughts away while Jem babbled. “Oh yeah. I remember. Poachers. He rode out to the woodlot.”
“The one that borders Selwyn Court?” Gideon asked.
Jem nodded. “He, ah, he should be back. You need him?”
“Yes. I need to warn him. You, too, I expect. The sick woman has influenza. Staff is to stay away from that room.”
Jem paled. “That took my gran. Well one day, gone in a week. You best tell Marshall. He may, ah, be back. Try the stables.”
“I’ll do that. Are you finished with your message?” Gideon held the door open.
“Oh, aye.” Jem quickly covered the ink, blew out the candle, and wiped the pen before scurrying out the door and back toward the kitchen.
Gideon paused at his own office, raising the candle to check the room. Nothing appeared disturbed.
He reached the stables to find Marshall deep in convivial conversation with two of the grooms. Whatever was being said, laughter prevailed. Of a recently ridden horse or saddle, he saw nothing.
“Marshall, I need a word,” he said. At the sound of his voice, Hector bounded toward him. He might have knocked Gideon down, but a firm, “Hector. Down,” stopped him. The great hound halted at Gideon’s feet, peering up hopefully. Gideon rewarded him with a scratch to his ears.
The grooms stared in astonishment. “That monster listens to you,” Marshall said.
“He’s a big, shaggy beast, but he’s well trained,” Gideon replied, hand on the dog’s head. “Where is Pritchard?”
“Down at the pub with Peter and Frank. Taking to drink lately is our Pritchard,” the youngest groom said, snickering.
“What do you need? I heard you brought in a new doctor.” Marshall gestured to the door and waved at the grooms.
Gideon followed. He only had to tell Hector once to stay put. “I came to warn you. The sick woman has influenza. Mrs. Morrit is warning her people to stay away from the sickroom. All deliveries are to be left out in the hall.”
Marshall cursed under his breath. “Bad stuff. Few of my people would have cause, but I’ll warn them all away. What about Tavernash? Maybe they’ll leave,” he said hopefully.
“Mrs. Morrit said she would warn them,” Gideon replied.
They walked back toward the house in what, with another man, might have been companionable silence. Marshall kept his pace to Gideon’s, a small courtesy that surprised him.
“I also need to warn you about something else,” Gideon said.
Marshall dipped his head up with a raised brow. “What about?”
“Found Jem sitting at your desk. He appeared to be interfering with your current books.”
Marshall grunted. He took several steps before replying. “I’ll take a look at it. Thank you for telling me.” Whatever was going on, he didn’t seem alarmed by it.
Gideon went on to bed with much to ponder. He found Jem waiting in his room and let the man undress him. He didn’t want a valet, but this night, he was even more glad then usual he had decided to keep him close. “Do you help Marshall often?”
Jem reared up from where he was folding Gideon’s waistcoat. “Now and again. I do what I’m asked.”
That, Gideon suspected, was the truth, at least. The valet left, and Gideon sank into his bed. Much to ponder indeed. But when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t the puzzle of Marshall and Jem, or worry for Pritchard down at the Cockcrow, that absorbed him. Euphemia Selwyn’s lovely face, her fear overlaid with determination and courage, loose tendrils of honey-brown hair encircling it like a halo, took over and saw him off to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
