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“The ladies of the night sky have calamitous luck, don’t they?” she asked bitterly. “Pursued by hunters, chained to rocks, beheaded.”

And before he could think what to say, she was gone.

17

Retirement Planning

September 21, 1823

Earls Trip, day 14

They left in reverse order the next morning, settling the ladies into Archie’s coach after breakfast—after a breakfast everyone ate together, so Simon could not get Diantha alone. Not that he knew what he’d have said if he had. He had stayed up most of the night trying to think how he might help without betraying her confidence, or, barring that, trying to puzzle out what her supposed solution could be. Perhaps whatever her plan was, it would work. She was intelligent. If he knew it would work, he could rest his mind.

As it was, his mind was exceedingly unrested when the three gentlemen said their goodbyes to the staff—he was going to miss Christine and told her so sincerely—and rode off.

So much for the restorative effects of a holiday. So much for respite and fellowship and a balm to the soul and all that rot.

At least he didn’t have to talk.

He had hoped the ride would soothe him with its repetition, or, barring that, exhaust him.

It was not to be. They hadn’t been underway more than an hour before Archie, who was leading the way, suddenly pulled up his reins. “May we take a detour here? Stop for refreshment?” He nodded at a directional sign that read Greychurch.

Such a request, given that they’d decided to break the back of the ride before stopping for a midday repast, was odd, and Simon wanted to get home, but before he could voice an objection, Effie was agreeing and Archie was turning off the main road.

They rode into town, and Archie stopped in front of a church where a woman was watering some autumn flowers. He slid off his horse, tipped his hat, and said, “Good afternoon. I understand there is a brook in or near your lovely village?”

“No, sir.”

“Ah, well, I must have been mistaken.”

“Perhaps you mean the river? Little Boar River?”

“Oh, perhaps I do. Is it … quite little?”

The woman looked at him like he was daft. “It is indeed, sir, especially when it turns south of town.”

“Would you be so kind as to point us toward it?”

“Turn back the way you came, make a left at the first road, and that will take you directly to its banks.”

“What on earth was that about, Archie?” Effie said.

“Just following a hunch.”

Effie shot Simon a bemused look and shrugged as they turned around.

The river was unremarkable, as rivers went. It was indeed small. It had muddy banks and a few scraggly willows were growing at odd angles at its edge.

Archie pulled out a compass, and after a moment, said, “Let us follow the river a way.”

“Are you going to tell us what this is about?” Simon asked, for clearly they were not stopping for refreshments.

“Not yet,” Archie said cheerily.

“Well, I do love a mystery,” Effie said, and they set off at a trot parallel to the water. There wasn’t much to see, the vegetation being rather pathetic.

As the river veered, Archie pointed at a large oak that looked to be in better shape than the trees they’d seen so far. “Look. Someone has mounted rather a lot of bird feeders on this tree.”