Page 13 of A Gentleman in Possession of Secrets (The Lord Julian Mysteries #10)
“I knew it was you,” he said. “The blue specs, and then the bell tower caught your eye. You were a great one for church towers, way I heard it.”
His voice, a particularly grating bass, did not suit his spare frame, but it did tickle a chord in memory.
“You had that trick donkey,” I said. “You taught that creature to count. He earned you a packet. MacInnes, is it?”
He grinned, showing remarkably good teeth. “I taught the beast to paw until I took my hand off my belt buckle, and yes, he was worth his weight in grog and bread. A pleasure to see you, sir.”
I rose and extended a hand, which seemed to fluster him, but we got through the handshake.
“Miss West,” I said, “may I make known to you Corporal Hunter MacInnes, late of the Royal Artillery. He had the best bass voice in Wellington’s entire army and entertained the whole camp with his magic donkey. ”
“I left wee Killian with the nuns. They needed him, and he’d be pampered like the smelly little prince he is. I miss him, though. What brings you to Chelsea?”
For a moment, I was not a ducal heir or even a disgraced former prisoner of the hated French.
I was one soldier passing the time with another on a muggy summer morning.
The river was growing riper, I was still disappointed, and I’d failed to uncover a single additional detail about Tom, but I beheld a friendly face and recalled some reasons to smile about my military ventures.
“What happened to the eye?” I asked.
“Shrapnel. Can’t see outta that one. The other’un works just fine, but for the carving, I hardly need my eyes.” He fished in his pocket and produced a spectacularly detailed wren.
“She’s lovely,” Hyperia said, touching the wood with a gentle finger. “I could almost believe those feathers are real.”
“She is yours.” MacInnes bowed with a flourish and put the bird into Hyperia’s hand.
“Oh, I cannot. She’s too… Julian, please explain. She’s too lovely, and you made her with your own hands.” Hyperia was truly moved and, doubtless, truly at a loss.
MacInnes was likely subsisting on what his carvings could earn him, and nobody needed a little wooden wren, no matter how exquisitely she was carved, so his income would be sparse indeed. Hyperia did not want to be the reason a former soldier—a wounded former soldier—went hungry.
“Join us,” I said, gesturing to the hamper. “We’ve come to Chelsea seeking some answers. If you can help us empty the larder, so to speak, Cook will be pleased, and I can use the time to explain our quest to you.”
MacInnes arched a brow that would have had recruits backing slowly toward their tents.
“Oh, do,” Hyperia said. “The woman packed enough to feed the whole village, and in this heat, the food won’t last. His lordship eats less than your little wren, and I can only do so much.”
MacInnes succumbed to Hyperia’s importuning, and while he dispatched three sandwiches, all of the shortbread, the remaining meadow tea, and two oranges, I explained the reason for our presence in Chelsea.
“I wasn’t here five years ago,” he said. “Otherwise detained, don’t you know? But I am here now, and when I’m not scaring small children with my evil eye, I do pass the time with the stable lads and crossing sweepers. Somebody will know something, eventually.”
“Take these,” I said, passing him one of the spare pairs of blue spectacles that I always kept about my person. “Your eye might heal if you protect it from the sun.” I lowered my spectacles and peered at him directly for a moment. “Word of an officer.”
He snorted. “You’ll keep my little wren?”
Hyperia cradled the bird in her hands. “For all the rest of my days. She’s beautiful. Thank you.”
We parted cordially, the hamper empty and the morning well advanced.
Considering that the outing had been a complete failure, I had little excuse for my improved spirits. But then, Hyperia was accompanying me to the Hall, we’d made some progress with MacNamara’s problem, and I now had a reconnaissance officer on the job in Chelsea.
Not a battle won, but modest advances on my objectives, and enough to content me for a time.
The gamekeeper’s inquiries regarding Strother Stadler’s routines had borne fruit. The Standish heir followed a series of bridle paths and lanes that in the course of five outings would take him past every tenant farm, stand of hardwoods, trout pond, pasture, and hayfield on Pleasant View land.
His pattern never varied, save for delays for inclement weather or the lung fevers to which he was prone. I chose a stretch of bridle path that ran beside a shaded stream, a location unlikely to be frequented by foot traffic.
“Stadler, good day.” I nodded rather than put Atlas’s reins in one hand. “A fine morning for a hack.”
He sidled his bay closer. “Lord Julian Caldicott. It’s been an age. Salutations, and my best to your dear mother. What brings you and that fine beast to our corner of the shire?”
The greeting was friendly, the gaze he turned on Atlas appreciative.
Stadler was not strikingly handsome, but his looks were genial.
Brown hair neatly curled against his collar.
His field boots were polished to a shine, his doeskin breeches were spotless, and his dark green riding jacket emphasized eyes of the same hue.
His features were regular, though his brows were a bit heavy and asymmetric. The left arched higher than the right, giving him an air of friendly inquisitiveness rather than hauteur.
And yet, Hyperia had called him forgettable.
“I’ve been in Town for the past few days,” I replied, though I’d in truth spent less than forty-eight hours in the metropolis.
“Atlas here was ready to cover some ground upon my return. One must atone for one’s absences.
My mother and I paid a call on Pleasant View recently, and I was reminded of how pretty your neighborhood is. ”
“We are fortunate in our situation,” he said.
“Might we amble along together for a patch? I try to keep to a schedule, and that way, the tenants always know where and how to find me. What they would never bring up in the churchyard, they somehow find a way to mention when we’re chatting by the stream. ”
I urged Atlas forward in the direction Stadler had been traveling. “Leaking roofs, a broodmare who won’t catch, that sort of thing?”
“Yes, though the steward is expected to stay on top of those developments. Never hurts to have a means of keeping that worthy on his toes, though. One also hears about who is walking out with whom, or getting up his nerve to ask to walk out with a certain young lady. My mother takes an interest in those matters. You would never think it, but her hand is everywhere.”
Was the viscountess’s hand involved in Miss Stadler’s absence? Good heavens, that was a possibility to be discussed with Hyperia and Her Grace.
“The duchess is similarly effective without seeming to do more than tend to her correspondence. All very mysterious. Tell me, has your sister returned from her travels?”
Stadler’s bay caught a toe on a root and took an uneven step. He patted the horse and adjusted the reins.
“Steady, Lars. Hannah is off taking the waters or something of the sort. A fellow doesn’t inquire too closely lest he be pressed into service as an escort.
I cannot imagine anything less stimulating than swilling water that tastes of rotten eggs in order to hasten one’s progress to the privy.
If that’s what old age holds, my lord, may I be forever young. What do you hear from the duke?”
Harry had been a genius at winkling information by indirection and verbal stealth. Between his charm and his cunning, even his foes had spilled secrets to him when the topic was nothing more compelling than the weather.
I was not so gifted. “His Grace is enjoying the South of France. I fear he’s enamored of the milder climate and in no hurry to return home.”
“We cannot begrudge him some fashionable travel. Then too, the Continent is said to be very affordable. I’d love to go, but Papa puts too much faith in the steward, and Mama is prone to the outlook of the proverbial dour Scot.
I don’t dare leave them unsupervised for very long, or both the household and the larger property would fall into squabbling and disarray. ”
He regarded the situation with patient humor rather than longsuffering. Hard not to like a man who took on life’s challenges with such equanimity.
“Stadler, if I might speak in confidence, and somewhat awkwardly, I was hoping to cross paths with you because of something your granny said to Her Grace on our last visit.”
“Oh dear. If Gran is involved, I must brace myself for the fanciful. Poor thing is growing vague, but I refuse to let Mama ship her off to Scotland. Not unless Mama goes with her, and Papa won’t hear of that.
Hannah managed to remain above the affray—keeping her nose in a book has advantages—but I haven’t the luxury of obliviousness. ”
“Her ladyship seemed quite lucid when the duchess called on her. When Her Grace asked about Hannah, your grandmother claimed that two men took Hannah away. Your grandmother whispered this to Her Grace in the Erse, clearly trying to avoid notice by the lady’s maid and companion.
Your mother, by contrast, offered no details about Hannah’s whereabouts, her expected return, and even her itinerary and the company she’s traveling in. ”
The path curved away from the stream to run along a stone wall that bordered a field ready for haying. Stadler halted his horse before we left the shade.
“This is an extraordinary tale, my lord. Do you imply that Hannah was abducted?”
“I don’t know what to think. My mother’s Gaelic is rusty.
Your granny is venerable. I wasn’t present for the exchange, but a fellow soldier of my acquaintance, Captain James MacNamara, says a sudden disappearance is out of character for Miss Stadler.
I thought it best to bring the matter to your attention, you being the apparent adult on the premises. ”