“Aye, my Mary, but I-I never hurt tha bird, thee must believe tha weren’t I. I couldn’t…” Cripps wiped his eyes. “Just lookout, I was, and Mary never said what she were doing.”
Hebe took his pale fingers in hers. “Oh, Cripps…”
“But I-I have to tell thee… Tha gunshot in the forest…tha were I. Never meant to hurt thee none or Thos but she…Mary said she’d love me if I did as she asked. We’re going to marr…” He clenched his jaw, eyes dropping to the grass. “I thought we were going to marry. F-forgive me.”
She glanced over but Ernest merely shrugged, for Hebe had been the one to suffer due to this man.
“Oh, Cripps,” she said softly, patting his hand. “I do forgive you. It seems you were deceived like the rest of us, and there is no shame in that. But you should apologise to Thos also.”
“I-I will, Madam, of course. I thank thee.”
Ernest smiled but a thought struck him.
“Lord Jack. Is he in his stall?”
Twisting, Cripps bit his lip. “No, my lord, the old manor. In the barn, awaiting Mary. She used the place for her dying and kept folk away with her talk of ghosts.”
“How on earth did she get that temperamental stallion all the way out there?”
A flush blotted Cripps’s cheek. “Oh, I did tha. L-lovely horse, it be. Calm and so friendly.” He cast his eyes shyly to the ground. “I like the horses, I do.”
Flabbergasted, Ernest just stared. “Why on earth didn’t you train as groom?”
He shrugged. “Orphanage sent me as underfootman, so that I be. I was lucky to have a job, so I didn’t mention it to no one, not even Mr Garvey.” His face crumpled again. “And Mr Garvey’s been so good. W-what will happen to I?”
Hebe raised a brow, Redmond kicked a heel to the ground, and Ernest rubbed his nape.
What a damnable mess.
30
“’TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER, LEFT BLOOMING ALONE.”
(THOMAS MOORE)
Cold cider, a slab of Cotswold cheese, Mrs Pettifer’s homemade chutney, a bath and a kiss from Hebe.
Not necessarily in that order, thought Ernest, as his faithful steed ambled the short-cut through the forest, snickering as though in agreement.
“Only oats for you, my boy.” And yawning, he patted Stanley’s neck. “The last time you munched fallen apples, they gave you an iffy tum.”
The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaf canopy, causing Ernest to squint, before the forest thinned and the path broadened.
Wychmere Castle came into view, proud and timeless, the bright sun and shifting clouds casting silhouettes upon the mighty walls, and if he was in a whimsical mood, he would say those silhouettes depicted characters from the castle’s past – knights and their ladies, battles and beasts.
And lud, he was tired. Sleep a distant memoryafter the passion of last night, the watery escapade of this morning and the day spent in monotonous bureaucracy of the magistrate’s office in Witney.
Redmond had been with him till just after noon before returning with Sir Henry to oversee the return of Sir Oswald to the castle. The baronet had been rather disgruntled until Ernest had promised him the first foal that the stallion sired.
Another yawn seized him, so severe he felt his jaw crack.
He tugged Stanley’s reins to plod towards the meadow that had yet to be cut, to smell the sun-crisped grasses and see if any mares were in the paddock across the way.
Cripps had confessed to the magistrate all that he knew with head bowed and cheeks flushed.
Mary, it seemed, had been recruited by a gang of horse thieves but had begun to resent sharing proceeds from the stolen horses, and so for Sir Oswald, she and Cripps had travelled to Witney Fair themselves where the horse had caught Sir Henry’s eye.
The valuable stud Lord Jack was to be their last theft before they left the area, Cripps had said, as Sir Oswald’s dyed coat would have soon grown out, yet Mary had been anxious about incriminating sketches emerging and so had sought to scare Hebe back to London, sought to steal the book to give them more time.
