They were quiet on the way back, exhausted from the flood of words that passed between them. As they approached the stables, she spoke.
“I know someone who will not be happy when this information surfaces,” she said.
“Who?”
“Felton Tavernash.”
*
Gideon had decidedto ride into Bristol that very afternoon to consult with the bishop or archdeacon who could provide a common license. Once it was obtained, they would speak with the vicar and schedule use of the church. Mia smiled at him. “A week will do for me, I think. Marriage! I don’t need any great show.”
The shadows and smells of the stable, earthy and familiar, put Mia in mind of horse and hound. She went instinctively to Hannibal’s stall, and the horse responded to the sound of her voice with a whinny and bright eyes.
“Sorry, old friend. I have nothing for you today. Next time I’ll remember. For now, your master needs you,” she said, soothing his neck.
A cry from the tack room broke into her reverie and sent her running while a string of curses fouled the air. She found Gideon in a rage and could see why. His beautiful custom saddle lay on the ground, in pieces.
“You, boy. What is your name?” he snarled at the youngest groom.
“I’m Bert. Yer funny gear must have fallen from the sawhorse, gov,” the boy said, backing away.
“No fall caused this much destruction!” Gideon shouted. He knelt on the ground to examine the damage. “This thing cost me a fortune.” Mia had never seen him shout before; cold authority had always been effective.
“Kin you use a regular saddle?” Bert asked.
Gideon ignored him. “How did this happen? No more nonsense about it simply falling.”
“I dunno! Truly.”
“Who was in here? Who had access to the tack room?” Gideon demanded.
“Frank and Peter are still in bed. Harv and I are the only ones. He and I were cleaning out stalls after.”
“After what?”
“After that high and mighty who thinks he’s a duke got saddled up for a hack out. Keeps us running, he does. Wouldn’t have time to think about the tack room,” the boy said.
Tavernash. Mia couldn’t see him vandalizing Gideon’s saddle.Thinking it, yes. Bestirring himself to do it, no.
“No one else was here in the past few hours?” Gideon asked.
Bert shrugged. “Marshall stops in. Jem came for coffee and left. Dint see anyone else. Who’d want to wreck your gear?”
“Good question,” Gideon said. He glanced at Mia.
Another mystery to solve. “Can you and your friend Harv repair it?” she asked.
“Never saw the like, but Harv can fix most things.”
She glanced up at Gideon, who stared at the ruins of his tack.
“There’s a sovereign in it if he succeeds,” he muttered. “For now, hitch the tilbury for me. I have an errand in Bristol.”
Mia waited impatiently for Gideon to return; she spent her time entertaining her increasingly restive cousin. When she came down to breakfast two days after he’d left and found him there ahead of her, she felt both relief and delight, even more so because for once, there was no sign of Lady Tavernash.
“Success!” he said. “I’m going to visit the vicar this morning and arrange use of Saint Peter’s for Friday next,” he said.
“I’m coming with you,” Mia said. Gideon glanced up and blinked. She went on. “We need to talk, and I can assure the vicar of my well-being. I should have considered it before,” she said. He didn’t argue.
