Page 31 of A Gentleman in Possession of Secrets (The Lord Julian Mysteries #10)
Chapter Thirteen
“What do the solicitors have to say?” Lady Ophelia asked as I folded yet another missive from Town and stashed it in my pocket.
Hyperia kept silent. I sat beside her on a small sofa in the sitting room attached to Godmama’s overnight quarters, and I could feel my intended’s curiosity about the solicitors’ epistle. Hyperia had the gift of silence, of composure in the face of chaos, and how I envied her that quality.
“The bankers are most apologetic,” I said, “but given that the Season has emptied many a pocket, raising the sum requested in the time allowed hasn’t been possible. I had only stocks to liquidate in the immediate term, and apparently my investment choices aren’t that attractive to polite society.”
“ You intended to pay the ransom?” Lady Ophelia traced a slender finger around the rim of her glass. The ladies were drinking hock, a libation I preferred to avoid.
“If necessary.”
This little parlor enjoyed a view of the pastures stretching out behind the inn.
To the west, a haying crew was making slow progress scything in two ranks across a field of tall grass.
The first rank sang the verses to an old haying song.
The second rank, coming between and behind them, joined in on the choruses.
I knew the words, I knew the feel of a scythe in my hands, I knew the exquisite variety of pain across the shoulders, hips, and back that resulted from the first long day’s work, and how it was possible to get blisters even when wearing gloves.
Something about the sharp blade cutting down rank after rank of verdant grass made me want to bellow at the lot of them to stop, to leave the grass to its season of flowering in the sun.
“Julian?” Lady Ophelia said, clearly not for the first time. “Might I lend you some coin?”
“Generous of you,” I replied, “but our deadline approaches, and by the time your bankers did your bidding, it might be too late.”
I was furious with my bankers and solicitors, certain that if Arthur had done the asking, the coin—come fire, flood, or flaming thunderbolts—would already be in Caldicott Hall’s safe.
But then, it truly was the end of the Season, when even the best families had beggared themselves shopping, entertaining, and being outfitted to be entertained.
“What do we know of Sylvester Downing?” I asked.
“Not enough,” Lady Ophelia replied. “I’d thought to return to Town and see what I might learn, but I would have nothing of value to share for another few days. He’s not awful, but also not seen as a catch.”
“Why didn’t Hannah Stadler give him a second look?” This bothered me. “She is supposed to be practical, and a viscount’s heir would have been a suitable match.”
“Not if he was stupid.” Hyperia spoke up for the first time, and with surprising vehemence.
“Not if he was arrogant. Hannah clearly has standards—in that sense, she is like her mother, though Hannah’s standards are not limited to etiquette and deportment.
The captain meets her standards. Mr. Downing did not.
If she was to marry a man of limited means, why not at least marry the one who charms her and values her gifts? ”
What wasn’t my beloved saying? I valued her gifts, but as for charming her… a work in progress, at best.
“Hannah had gold,” I replied. “That likely explains Downing’s interest in her, and if he was obviously mercenary in his wooing, she might have objected to that. Could I borrow the coach for the afternoon?”
“We are at your disposal,” Lady Ophelia said, setting aside her wineglass. “I will expire of boredom if you don’t give us an assignment, Julian.”
Couldn’t have that, though much of military life had been a battle with boredom.
“The errand is beneath you, my lady. I have reason to believe that somebody with a sizable canine has been wandering at large over Pleasant View holdings. The dog’s owner appears to be mounted on a substantial horse.
I cannot rule out poachers.” Though poachers would tend to hounds and spaniels rather than larger canines.
Interesting thought.
“Poachers typically leave their horses at the edge of the woods,” Hyperia observed, “and check traps and whatnot on foot. Have you found traps and snares and the like?”
Right to the point. “We have not. The wildlife is abundant in Pleasant View’s woods, and if the family is short of coin, that makes sense. They would need that game to fill the lockers and larders.”
Her ladyship rose. “Then what is our errand?”
Manners had me rising as well. “I had thought to dispatch one of the captain’s men to chat up the local butchers.
Who has been pestered to part with his last juicy hambone daily for the past two weeks?
Who has a new customer coming around for an order of tripe?
It’s an unlikely gambit, but as Carstairs pointed out, dogs eat meat, and large dogs eat large quantities of meat. ”
“Especially,” Hyperia said, standing too quickly for me to assist her, “if that dog is gallivanting all over the countryside. We’ll ask the innkeeper for a list of village butcher shops in, say, a ten-mile radius.”
“Avoid the smallest villages. If we are looking for a well-dressed Irishman on a fine horse,
he’ll be drawn to the market towns, where he has a better chance of blending in.”
“Also,” Lady Ophelia said, “avoid the establishments in the immediate surrounds, because if our man is Sylvester Downing, he might be recognized from his earlier attempts to court Miss Stadler. The list should be short.”
“We will chase hambones,” Hyperia said, “while you do what?”
“I will consult with my eyes and ears here at the inn, assuming I can find him, and pay a call at Pleasant View. To provide ransom instructions, the kidnappers must somehow contact the manor. The how and when that feat is accomplished might provide some insight into from where and from whom the instructions are coming.”
I was grasping at straws, in other words. Days of fruitless searching, a resounding failure at the bank, the Stadler family resenting my every question, and all I had to show for my efforts was ongoing suspicion directed at Sylvester Downing.
Wherever he might be.
“Don’t give up.” Lady Ophelia patted my cheek. “‘It is always darkest just before the day dawneth,’ and so forth.”
I had no idea which pontificating cleric had coined that phrase, nor did I care.
“We live in hope.” And my hope was somewhat justified. If Downing was our man, he apparently hadn’t found the gold either—the signs I’d seen of his passing were fresh—and he thus had every reason to keep Hannah alive and well.
“I still don’t understand the why of all this,” Hyperia said, studying the field where the haying crew slowly advanced. “If Downing lacks funds, then he should have spent the past month assiduously courting some heiress in Town.”
“So should Strother,” I countered, “but he wore out his welcome with the shops. He probably came home to cozen more funds from Hannah, but she’s not on hand to bail him out this time.”
“Money, money, money,” Lady Ophelia muttered. “So tiresome. Hyperia, will you consult the innkeeper regarding the various abattoirs?”
“I shall.”
She decamped with me, and when I should have offered some flowery bit of verse alluding to loverly longing, I instead paused with her outside Godmama’s door and simply held her.
“You’re worried,” she said.
“Nigh panicked. I have no earthly idea where Miss Stadler might be, no inkling why Downing thought he could get away with kidnapping her—if Downing is even involved.”
Hyperia stepped back. “He is, Jules. What other well-dressed young man could accost Hannah in her own park and talk her into strolling away with him? Granted, she was within view of the house—the proprieties were observed up to a point—but then, she wasn’t within view of the house, and still she wasn’t unduly alarmed. ”
That we knew of. “I feel as if I ought to be back at the Hall, explaining my lack of progress to MacNamara, and at Pleasant View, shaking some overlooked detail from the viscountess or her clodpated son. Then I recall that Hannah’s own papa went haring off to Town like the proverbial thief in the night at the first sign of trouble.
And speaking of London, why hasn’t our lookout in Chelsea seen anything of interest? ”
The boy Tom haunted me, not as relentlessly as Harry did, but the child lurked in the back of my mind, a shade composed equally of guilt and ignorance.
“If Tom is alive,” Hyperia said, “he has likely spent the past two weeks in relative safety and comfort. This is the most pleasant time of year, the gardens are yielding their bounty, the soft fruits are ripe, the pastures lush. You will find that boy if he’s extant to be found.”
I wanted to find him that instant. I wanted to find Hannah Stadler in the same instant, and, for good measure, I wanted to summon Arthur home.
I kissed Hyperia’s cheek, taking in a whiff of roses. “Thank you. You steady me. Off you go on the trail of hambones. I will locate Jem Bussard.”
She made for the common and would not hesitate to intrude on the kitchen beyond if necessary to locate the innkeeper.
My objective was less clear, but to my surprise, I found Jem lounging in the shade of a large oak that spread over half the innyard.
“Milord.” He scrambled to his feet, hastily setting aside a bound volume as he jammed a pamphlet between the pages to serve as a bookmark. “Fine day, isn’t it?”
I had the impression he was struggling not to salute me. “Beautiful weather after last night’s rain. Nothing to report, Jem?” I did not eye the book that had so absorbed him. Even a stable boy well knew that reconnaissance meant keeping eyes open, not trained on some Gothic novel.
And he hadn’t been pretending to read. He’d been utterly absorbed in whatever tale the book told.