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"No. I did not mean it should."

For some moments the two men watched the wheelwright at work. Saye removed his gloves and examined the coachman's box, the rail, and the place where Tom Ellis had been thrown.

"When we were boys," he said, "Richard used to believe I could prevent every disaster by having a plan. A failed bridge, a lost pony, a broken window—if there was trouble, he came looking for me."

"He still does," Darcy said.

"He does not ask for rescue now. He asks for a second opinion, which is often more alarming. Elizabeth has never imagined me capable of preventing every disaster. She only imagines that I shall help her understand what happened afterward. I should like to deserve that confidence."

Darcy looked at his cousin. "You have always deserved it."

"Then let us do the next sensible thing. Discover who hired this man."

Before the gentlemen left the farmhouse, Elizabeth asked to see Tom Ellis. Saye had urged her to leave the inquiry to those able to walk without wincing, but she insisted that an injured groom should not be made to fear he had disappointed the people he served. They found Tom sitting by the kitchen fire with his arm carefully supported and a bowl of broth upon the table. He tried to stand and was immediately ordered down again by Mrs. Hales.

"I should have pulled him from the box, miss," Tom said. "I knew the lane was wrong. He would not heed me."

"If you had struggled over the reins while the horses were running, there might have been no one left to help us," Elizabeth answered. "I was frightened, too. But I remember you calling out before the wheel struck. You tried to warn him."

"That did not stop it."

"No. And I am sorry for your pain. Yet what the driver did was his decision, not yours. Lord Saye has made arrangements for your wages and care until you are recovered."

Tom looked at Saye, startled. "His lordship already told me, miss. I had not expected the family to remember."

Saye regarded the young man steadily. "I am afraid my sister has made a habit of expecting better from everyone. It would be embarrassing to disappoint her before a witness."

Elizabeth smiled at his familiar humour. Tom, who had never before heard an heir to an earldom refer to a ward as his sister, seemed briefly to forget his anxiety. He promised to tell the magistrate exactly what he had heard, neither improving his own part in the accident nor denying his fear.

On their way out Elizabeth leaned upon Saye's good arm for the few steps to the carriage. "You have given him his dignity back," she said.

"I have only told him the truth."

"It is astonishing how many people find that an unusual gift."

"Then we must take care it is offered frequently," Saye answered. He helped her into the carriage with the solemn attention that had always made Richard tease him. This time she was glad of it.

At Matlock House, the steward's papers provided the first firm direction. The Earl's household had ordered a travelling carriage from Whitcomb and Sons, a reputable concern long employed when an extra conveyance was needed. The order was entered properly, with the expected pair of horses and a change at the posting inn. The name of the driver, however, was unfamiliar. The dispatch slip identified Jonas Pike as a substitute furnished by a smaller concern trading under the name Voss.

The clerk at Whitcomb's explained that one of their regular men had been engaged elsewhere, and that Voss's office had offered a replacement. Nothing in the arrangement would ordinarily have attracted notice. Voss had supplied men and horses before. The yard clerk had entered Pike's name and the firm's payment on the accustomed pages.

"We have a man to question," Richard observed when Saye returned with the papers.

"We have a merchant's name," Saye corrected. "It may prove no more than a link in ordinary business. We shall not accuse everyone who has touched a carriage wheel."

"A pity. You have made the wheel very nearly as interesting as the merchant."

"If you speak of that wheel once more, Richard, I shall send you its account and oblige you to read it."

Elizabeth was back at Matlock House two days later, after Mr. Fenwick permitted a carefully arranged journey in a well-sprung carriage. Her shoulder had been supported, the cushions adjusted, and the pace kept slow enough that the passage consumed most of the day. Lady Matlock accompanied her, and Mrs. Ashby remained at the farmhouse until her ankle could safely bear travel.

Back at the house Elizabeth paused with her hand upon the banister. The quiet was welcome, yet a carriage wheel passing in the street made her fingers tighten against the polished wood. She waited for the sound to recede before climbing the stairs.

That evening, as she sat near the drawing-room fire with a book open but unread, Lord Matlock came to sit beside her. For a little while he said nothing.

"You saved me once because you would not accept that a bad moment had decided the rest of my life," he said at last. "I hope you will permit us to return the kindness."

"You have returned it a thousand times, Uncle."