Page 26 of Submitting to the Widow

“Um…not far, I think.”

“Trevellyn House, then?”

“I think so.”

“What about her rough-and-tumble brother?”

“She said he left as soon as she agreed to give him more money.”

“Do you believe that story he told her?”

“She believes it.”

“But you don’t?”

“In your experience, Murray, what’s the fastest way for a young buck in London to end up short on blunt?”

“Getting cleaned out at one of the gambling hells.”

“Exactly.”

“So you don’t believe his story of his restaurant failing in a town like Bath.”

“Absolutely not. There’s more to this tale than he’s telling his sister.” Stephen opened the door at the tap of one of the inn’s servants arriving with buckets of hot water so he could have a bath after his rolling in the mud that afternoon with the ducks and Jane’s brother.

After they’d left and he’d stripped down behind the screen before lowering himself into the comforting steamy water, he called across the room to where Murray still worked on making his jacket and trousers presentable. “You know what I’m thinking?”

“Probably close to what I’m thinking.”

“I’d bet my last rouleau at the gaming table that he’s met one or more of our suspects in the card rooms. If you’re a sharper, Bath and the surrounding area is a very small pond for fishing.”

“What about scouting out the men who are out to harm the baroness?”

“Remember how you used to flush out the Frenchies on the Peninsula?”

“Yes sir.”

“They always circled back and tried to ambush you, didn’t they?”

Murray slapped his knee. “Damned right they did. And when this lot does the same, we’ll be ready.”

Stephen held up his index finger in caution. “But first…we have to flush them out.”

13

THURSDAY, APRIL 27, 1826

TREVELLYN HOUSE

Combe Down, England

Raj and Molly sat at the long chopping board table in Trevellyn House’s vast subterranean kitchen. Molly worked with a flashing sharp knife at extracting petals and stamens. Raj pounded furiously with a mortar and pestle, grinding the essence from various plant and flower parts.

They were lucky in that whoever had built the foundation of the vast estate house had submerged the kitchen area only half-way into the rocky bowels of the thermal-spring-riddled land. A long-ago baron had chosen the site no doubt because of the elevation and sweeping views all around. On a clear day, one could see the steeples of the churches in Bath.

Thin sunshine escaped intermittently from behind a constant flow of clouds scudding eastward from the vast ocean to the west. The flitting spates of light supplemented the glow of oil lamps used to illuminate the half-dark kitchen.

Jane wore a full apron and worked as feverishly as her cook and her aunt. A huge basket next to her stool filled rapidly with the petals from mounds of roses she’d culled from the conservatory.