Daniel went to the mill foreman and returned with large piece of canvas, and tossed it on the back of the wagon. Beau climbed up the back, scrambling over the lumber, taking the tarp with him. Even with the wide brim of her straw hat shading her face, there was a tension cutting across her brow that Beau felt determined to dislodge. He wanted to believe she was truly concerned for his wellbeing beyond the mere transactional nature of their relationship.
They made their way into town. Since the rail lines had been laid down, the coaches from Halifax had almost entirely disappeared, passengers choosing the faster, more comfortable journey to Windsor by train. As they approached, Beau sat down on the bed of the wagon between the stacks of lumber and prepared to pull the tarp over himself, when to his surprise, Miss Murray settled beside him, then helped him pull the canvas over them. The warm-sweet smell of the linseed-treated canvas filled his nose and with the sun overhead, cast a dark orangey glow over them. Crowded under the tarp, they were forced to sit next to each other, Miss Murray’s arm and hip pressed into his, the fullness of her skirts spilling over onto his trousers. The weight of them felt strangely comforting.
The rumble of the cartwheels and the steady clopping of horses came to a stop.
“We’re here,” Daniel said. “I won’t be long.”
Neither of them dared speak, even to whisper. While there was little chance they would be heard over the general noise of the busy town streets, it was not zero. Miss Murray sat next to him, her posture as stiff as a coiled spring.
Time stretched as they waited. Between the two of them, and the heat of the afternoon sun, it was growing uncomfortably warm under the tarp. Beau started bouncing his knee as he began to grow impatient. It was an old habit that he’d mostly rid himself of—an unfortunate tell, Frank used to say, that could let competitors know he was nervous.
Before a memory of Frank berating him for that habit had fully formed, a firm hand landed on his knee. Madeline Murray fixed him with a stare, her lips forming the most perfect ‘no’, without breathing a word.
“Master Chandler,” came a voice nearby. Very nearby. “Is your father about?”
Beau stilled and Miss Murray, who’d turned to silently admonish him, was still looking in his direction, not daring to move.
“He’s just gone to the telegraph office,” Teddy answered, with the detached politeness of a young boy answering an adult.
“I have a letter for him and seeing you here saves me the penny to mail it,” the voice said. Beau strained to recognize it, because he had heard it before. “See that he gets it, will you?”
“Yes sir,” Teddy answered.
“Mr. Taylor.” Daniel’s voice entered the conversation. Like his son, Daniel was polite, but the warmth Beau had become accustomed to was notably absent. “Can I help you?”
Mr. Taylor. Nelson Taylor. Beau recognized the voice.
“Just saving myself the postage to send you a letter,” Mr. Taylor said, his voice laced with that brightness that Beau himself had employed when he was trying to disarm someone he wished to make a deal with. “I haven’t heard from you since we spoke a few weeks ago. I wanted to ensure it was in writing, to let you know it is a serious offer.”
“I appreciate that,” Daniel said. The cart lurched slightly. Daniel must have hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Doing some work around the property I see,” Mr. Taylor continued.
Mr. Taylor was only a few feet from where Beau and Miss Murray were hiding. So close, Beau was certain that if he breathed, it would be noticed. It was hot under the canvas now, and beads of sweat ran down the side of his face. It was all he could do not to scratch his nose. For her part, Miss Murray’s hand was still on his leg, but her grip had tightened, digging into him as if she was holding on for dear life. Save for her stillness, she gave no sign of fear, or panic. But there was something about that stillness that prompted an unexpected flare of emotion—that same anger that had caused him to lash out at this same Mr. Taylor, who’d insulted Miss Murray when they first arrived.
Without thinking, he laid his hands on hers. She did not pull away.
“There’s always work to be done,” Daniel said, with the same polite tone as his son. “I should be getting on now.”
“Of course,” Mr. Taylor said. “I hope we’ll be in touch.”
To Beau’s relief, the horses started moving, and the cart heaved forward again. He and Miss Murray stayed still, under the thick protection of the tarp. They stayed as they were until Daniel called out.
“It should be safe now,” he said. “You can pull that off your heads.”
Beau didn’t need another invitation. With his free hand he pulled the tarp off, squinting from the sudden brightness. Miss Murray pulled her hand away, wiping the errant strands of hair that stuck to her face from the heat. Her expression was equal points relief and indignation.
“Never again. Do you hear me?” she said under her breath. “You do not move from The Grove until I get a letter from Dominic or Everwell telling me they have arrested someone else. You may get to run that empire of yours when this is over, but you will never get to do that if you can’t listen to me.”
The fierceness of her tone that left Beau fighting his instincts reply with a joke or some rapier sharp comment to deflect her criticism. But her panic, laced through those harsh words, deterred him.
“Was that who I think it was?” Beau ask, awkwardly turning himself toward Daniel.
Daniel gave a quick nod. “The very same.”
Beau sucked in a quick breath. He’d been right then. Nelson Taylor, the man he’d been. corresponding with since his decision to sell The Grove. The man who’d insulted Madeline Murray.
“What does he want with you?” he asked, even though it wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t feel obligated to the Chandlers—a week ago he hadn’t even known they existed. But given everything they’d done for him of late, never mind the years spent keeping an eye on the otherwise abandoned property for his aunt, he felt a sense of responsibility for bringing a man like Nelson Taylor into their sphere. And while he really didn’t know the man, Beau had learned everything he needed to about his character the day he so casually stomped on Madeline Murray’s dignity.
