“Will you tell me when you are able, Rosalind?”
She nodded, and before he could think on his actions, he picked up her hand and lightly brushed the inside of her wrist with his lips.
“Tell Stone I’ll suggilate him when I see him.”
She responded with a watery chuckle.
“I am away to Sir Hector’s now. I doubt I’ll be back for dinner. Tomorrow, I will have a gentle mare readied for you and we will begin our lessons, ten sharp.”
His mouth itched to touch her soft skin again, but he resisted, instead releasing her wrist and walking from the room.
“Going somewhere, Sir Hector?”
Lucas enjoyed the look on the magistrate’s face, caught as the man was with one foot in the stirrup. Arriving early, he had thought to question some of the servants, but as he’d given the reins to the stableboy, the lad told him Sir Hector had asked for his horse to be tacked.
True enough, he’d found him in the stables ready to leave. The magistrate glared, brimming with irritation.
“An emergency with a tenant. I’m needed in Knutsford.”
“Rather late, wouldn’t you say? You’ll be travelling in the dark.”
“I know the road well. Our…chat will have to wait.”
“The Duchess of Lowton holds Mrs Risley in very high regard and expects a scrupulous search for Miss Risley’s killer. I am sure she would be most displeased to hear of your…reticence. Indeed, I expect your position as magistrate would be under close scrutiny should my investigation be hindered.”
Sir Hector bristled but stayed silent.
“I presume you have heard of the Duke of Lowton?” Lucas enquired.
Everyone had, even this far north. The duke was known as an utterly ruthless sort. The type to ask questions after he’d ruined his prey financially, socially and usually bodily.
Sir Hector inclined his head, his foot slipping from the stirrup. “You had all my notes in the report that was sent to London.”
“Really? That was all of them?” Lucas opened his satchel and made a fuss of removing the two sheets of paper. “There is scarcely a description of Bridget’s body. There are no interview notes…with anyone, no lists of suspects, no description of either girls’ attire, and no attempt to find Bridget’s family.”
“The woman was a doxy and most probably killed by a passing itinerant. I know this village, Major, its people and its foibles. I have lived here all my life.”
“You were seen speaking to Bridget on more than one occasion.”
“What can I say? She liked the prestige of talking to a baronet.”
“And Miss Risley? Was she also the victim of an itinerant? How many do you have passing through?”
“Miss Risley was sweet but stupid. Easily lured. We could be looking at coincidence, or there was someone else who wanted Miss Risley dead and after the maid’s murder thought it an opportunity.”
Lucas frowned. He’d thought the same thing, but hadn’t considered Sir Hector clever enough to think of it. He’d underestimated him as a blustering bully.
“Any sign of your wife?”
“No.”
“You do not seem unduly worried?”
“She was affected by all strange types of fancy–”
“Was?”
“Just a term, Major. She could have fled to a relative in a fit of pique. I have men checking every inch of the county. If she’s here, they’ll find her. Now, I really have to leave before it gets much darker. I will be back on the morrow, if you need more information.”
