It was Jacob.The man in the shop, the one who seemed to be the gentleman artist’s servant. Kat was almost sure of it. Not completely certain. Men change a great deal in the eight years between fifteen—the age he was when Jacob went off to find his fortune—and twenty-three, which he would be now.
His hair was still an unruly mop of brown, and brown, too, his eyes, but the rest had changed. He was taller, for a start. His shoulders were broader and his chin more square, though the ghost of the half-grown youth peeped out in the shape of his eyebrows and the way he moved.
He looked older than twenty-three, mind, but perhaps he had been to war. Men who had returned from the wars did look older than their peers, Kat had noticed. This man had the same hard-eyed chiseled look, as if the things he had seen had burned years off his life and left him expecting danger at any moment.
The master was the same, but with the air of command that was natural to officers.HadJacob joined the army, then? They had been unable to keep in touch after he left, for he didn’t know where he was going, and any letter addressed to Kat would have been confiscated, especially one from an unrelated man.
“Kat Fivepence,” said Mrs. Kirby, “Isn’t CaptainHarraway the man who is going to marry our lady? What is he doing here?”
Mrs. Kirby had the right question. Why was Captain Harraway here in Ealing pretending to be an artist? Was he looking for an excuse to cry off? Or so head-over-heels in love that he couldn’t wait to see his beloved?
Mrs. Dove-Lyon knew where Miss Ellen lived and might have told Captain Harraway, and Kat couldn’t blame her, if so.
And yet, he had seemed surprised to hear Miss Ellen’s name. If he had come on purpose to see her, why not just knock on the door? Why claim to be in the neighborhood looking for landscapes? Was he really a painter?
Kat had many more questions than answers. “Mrs. Kirby, that was Jacob with Captain Harraway.”
“Yes,” said the housekeeper. “I thought so, too. Perhaps he is the reason the captain came to Ealing for his painting. Perhaps Jake found out you were here and came to see you.”
Kat’s heart jumped at the thought. Stupid organ should have known better. “After eight years?” she asked. “Besides, no one from our old life, except for you, knows how to find me.”
Kat was confident that Mrs. Kirby would never betray them, and the only other person who knew the truth about Miss Ellen’s identity—and Kat’s—was Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Kat had no idea how that lady had known Kat was female and that Miss Ellen was an imposter as Lady of Carr Abbas, but once she faced Kat with that knowledge, Kat had seen no choice other than to take Mrs. Dove-Lyon into their confidence.
She and Miss Ellen had been careful to cover their tracks, for Kat was worried that Miss Ellen’s eldest sister would discover Kat’s trick with the purse in the safe, and Miss Ellen was convinced that Miss Clara Miller would want to spoil Miss Ellen’s chances if she happened to find out about them.
Had Mrs. Dove-Lyon sent Captain Harraway and his servant? Orsent Jacob, with Captain Harraway as cover? And if so, for what purpose?
“Well, Kat Fivepence, he is coming to visit,” said Mrs. Kirby. “You shall have to ask him whether he knew you were here, and why his master came.”
True. So that’s what I’ll do. But in the meantime…
“Mrs. Kirby,” said Kat, “Captain Harraway is expecting to meet the Lady of Carr Abbas. Can we please stop at every field and tenant’s cottage along the road to Carr Abass? I need to make sure they all know what to say if the captain asks them whose fields and cottages these are.”
Mrs. Kirby shook her head. “You are a caution and a half, young Fivepence. Be careful not to be so sharp you cut yourself.” She sighed. “I suppose we are on this track now and must continue to the end. But I shall be pleased when the next week is over and our lady is safely married.”
So, for that matter, would Kat.
“You were right,”Captain Harraway said. “Lady Ellen is masquerading as the Lady of Carr Abbas. But I cannot believe she means any harm. She is not that sort, Jake.”
“I don’t think she is, either, captain,” Jake said, remembering even as the words left his lips that the captain didn’t know he’d met the lady. “At least by your description, sir. We need more information.”
“We’ll reconnoiter tomorrow,” the captain decided. “Today, my lad, I need you to ride to the nearest place you can buy paints, paper, canvases, and an easel. If you do it here in Ealing, Lady Ellen will find out, and then she’ll know I lied to her about what I’m doing here.”
It was easy enough. The market town of Brentford was only a few minutes ride away, and within half an hour, Jake was back with enough supplies to at least look credible, even if the captain grumbled about the quality of the oil paints.
“I purchased what was available in a small town, sir,” Jake pointed out. “If they are not acceptable, I can go back into London tomorrow.”
Captain Harraway looked repentant. “I am sorry, Jake. I was being unfair. They are just for cover, after all.”
The captain’s willingness to apologize when he was in the wrong was one of the reasons that Jake was devoted to the irritating pig-headed man. That, in addition to his life-saving intervention in stopping the lieutenant from hell, his appointment of Jake as his servant, and the fact that, from day one, he had treated Jake like a human being.
“This Lady of Carr Abbas has knocked you for a six, captain,” he observed.
That fetched him a sour glare and the comment, “I just want to know what she is up to.”
Fair enough. Jake was intrigued, too.
They had been alone in the tap room’s snug, but the door opened and someone entered. Jake didn’t turn to look until he heard a hated voice. “If it isn’t Captain Harraway and his dog.”
