 
# The Marquess of Gorsewall Manor

After the Swan's Nest Book 1

Adella J. Harris

{---*---}

After being caught up in a raid on a molly house, Thomas Brook escapes on his way to the pillory. Collapsing from exhaustion on the moors of Yorkshire, he's rescued by the handsome Lord Elmsby and taken to Gorsewall Manor. As he recovers, Lord Elmsby offers him a position cataloging the library. It would be an ideal situation, isolated, with a hansom, solitary lord and servants who don't ask many questions, except for the strange sounds in the corners of the library and the feeling he's being watched. And then a body is found on the moors, a body that could be the long missing fiancee of Lord Elmsby, and Thomas must find out the truth of what happened at Gorsewall Manor.

{---*---}

Copyright (c) 2018 Adella J. Harris

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Author

# Chapter 1

IF YOU HAD ASKED ANYONE who knew me to describe Thomas Brook, they would have prevaricated a bit to avoid hurting my feelings, then said something along the lines of "a nice fellow, but a bit dull," the _a bit_ being added for politeness's sake. I'd always been a good son. Even my rebellions were neatly contained. Father was a well-known barrister, my oldest brother followed in his footsteps, the next was distinguishing himself in the army, and I was expected to be a junior to my oldest brother. The only trouble was that I couldn't stand to argue in court, so I insisted I would study to be a solicitor. There were a few calm arguments at supper, which I hated, and in the end, Father declared my arguments on my own behalf so poor that I could never do well by a client and at least I was studying the law. A neat, quiet, dull rebellion.

I was even more circumspect in my own more personal interests. At school, it wasn't so hard; a dormitory full of young men meant there was plenty of barely repressed desire, and so long as I occasionally moaned a woman's name, no one thought it odd that I was willing to help a fellow out in exchange for the same. Despite my caution, I managed to make a few close friends who shared my proclivities, and by few I mean two, both discreet, both careful, and despite that, quite amusing to spend time with.

And so I managed to work out a neat, respectable life. Acceptable to my family even if they were not always best pleased with my choices, and acceptable to me even if it was a bit dull. I was set up as a clerk in the office of a solicitor my father often worked with, handling dull but respectable clients and contracts and not needing to argue cases. I advanced more slowly than I might have at other firms, but it was an old, plodding sort of place, and I didn't particularly mind not having the added responsibilities. I took rooms that were suggested near the inns of court in a building with other clerks, none of whom I was friendly with.

The bright spot was the time I spent with William and Arthur. They were also quite respectable, Arthur even gaining a knighthood for his service to the Crown financing trading vessels and William working as an accounts clerk in his family cloth business. We met twice a week at a club in St. James, and at least as often at one flat or another. We shared interests outside of men, which made our friendship seem both natural and respectable, although we did also share that interest and similar tastes in how we satisfied that need.

I knew I would never marry, much to the chagrin of my parents, but I also had too much sense to do something as scandalous as form an attachment to, or even worse, fall in love with, a man. Not that there was much chance of that as my dullness extended to my looks, which were monochromatic to be kind, sandy hair, light-brown eyes, average height, average-to-slightly-scrawny build; there was nothing to distinguish me, no feature that would attract someone's eye, nothing out of the ordinary way. I contented myself with occasional evenings of fun with William and Arthur or trips to very discreet molly houses with them, often outside of London. As I said, a neat, respectable, dull life.

So when Arthur mentioned he'd been to a new molly house in town that seemed quite respectable, I had no hesitation in agreeing to accompany William there. Arthur was nothing if not methodical, and I knew if he said the place seemed well run, he knew who the landlord was and had checked everything from the staff to the hiring practices to where the linens were sent to be laundered.

William and I went there on a Wednesday night when we thought it might not be crowded. It turned out to be a worthy place, with a good-natured landlord and drinks that were passable and not watered down. The rent boys wandering around plying their trade were discreet enough and good-looking enough and appeared well-fed. The gambling in the back room was noisy but seemed free of cheating. Even fastidious William warmed to the place enough that we agreed to split the cost of a room and have a bit of fun together.

We had undressed and William was kneeling on the rug in front of me while I tangled my fingers in his soft, gold curls, worn a little long because they suited him so well, when the door burst open and three members of the watch marched in. From the combination of sneers and grins, they knew exactly what to expect of the clientele of the Swan's Nest.

I was shocked into silence, but William had the sense to turn and say, "You're not the girl. What sort of trick is this? We paid for a girl."

I followed his lead. "And a fair bit of coin it was too. We were promised she'd do two at once. Where is she?"

The guards weren't fooled though, and it was all we could do to grab our shirts and trousers as they shoved us towards the door, both of us still insisting there was supposed to be a girl coming to the room.

As we were dragged to the staircase, a serving girl did come running out of the staff staircase. From the glimpse I had of her, she'd probably been working in the kitchens, but she was a game one and started to make a fuss at once. "Hey! Where're you taking my clients? They haven't paid yet, and I get triple for two at once!"

It fit our story perfectly, but the guards ignored her and shoved past. I turned back to try and express my thanks only to see her mouth "Sorry" in our direction.

Downstairs was chaos, with the landlord insisting that he had been assigning girls to rooms and it wasn't his fault if his girls were so well-known for their willingness to try anything that the waiting punters had been impatient and resorting to "something to take the edge off." It was a good bluff, but not one the guards were falling for. While we were struggling into our clothes I heard one of the men of the watch say, "You should be more careful who you try to extort money from when you run a place like this," and the landlord began to shout that he made more than enough in his business to make him a fool if he tried it, while turning a shade of purple that told me he was genuinely outraged.

William and I were separated at the prison and locked in small cells, each alone to prevent any "unnatural acts," as the warden put it. It was a miserable two days with no one but the guards bringing bad food for company. I was allowed to send word to my father and beg him to take my case. I was not surprised when he never responded. I'd done the thing I was not supposed to do, stepped outside of our neat, respectable existence, and in the worst way possible.

On the third day, the guard came to collect the plate he'd brought my meal on and said, "Your brother's here to see you."

I felt a flicker of hope. Father had ignored my plea, and I hadn't expected him to do otherwise, but if George had seen it, perhaps he could help.

But it wasn't my barrister brother who came down the stairs but Fred, in his full army uniform. "Disappointed I'm not George?" he asked.

"Disappointed you're not a barrister. But I'm glad to see anyone."

Fred smiled. "I did try to convince them, you know, pointed out that you've always been a credit to the family."

"Thank you. I take it it didn't work?"

He shook his head. "Even if it had been a plain brothel, I don't think Father would have relented."

I nodded. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. Someone spotted someone important there a few nights ago and attempted to blackmail them. The person in question retaliated by ordering a raid on the place. Someone I know from the army now works in the right department to know things like this, no names, you understand, so I went to see him and see what could be done. The blackmailer was in the gambling room, not staff, and he wasn't there the night you were arrested, so it was all for naught anyway. Not that it makes this any better. The prosecution is going forward."

"There's no hope then?"

"The landlord was in court yesterday. He has a chance, I think, and he tried to help you lot, but it didn't work."

"What did he try?"

Fred laughed. "There were ten girls of shall we say easy virtue there, all insisting you lot were their clients, and it was a sort of theme night, and they were getting astronomical sums for two at once."

"Why were they all late then?" I asked, hoping he understood it wasn't a criticism of them for not getting to us in time but curiosity and caution in case we were being observed.

"Two of the girls got into a fight over one's best corset and the others were watching it unfold in the alley behind the house. They all told a hair-raising, or perhaps I should say cock-raising, accounts of it, and two of them offered to demonstrate what happened. I've never seen so many brains flow south at once. If that didn't get you lot off, it must have been a powerful man at the center."

So Arthur had been right; it had been a good molly house, with the landlord trying to insist we weren't doing what they had seen and probably paying the workers at a nearby brothel to help. I hoped he got free of the charges at least. "I was there with my friend, William."

"I remember him. Blond, looked like some Renaissance painting, more clean linen than any ten fellows I know. He was arrested too? Poor fellow. I'll try to see him for you."

"Don't put yourself in danger."

"I was at Salamanca. No one is going after me. And if they do, my commander will go after them, and with the medals he's got, they don't stand a chance. I just wish I had some influence somewhere that would get you out."

"It means a lot that you're trying." I wanted to change the subject, so I asked, "How are things at home?"

"I'll almost be glad to be back in Portugal."

Justice rolled slowly for us, and it was months before we were finally given trial dates, not that it helped anything. The trial was nothing but a show. I didn't see any of my family in the courtroom, although I hadn't really expected to. Arthur was there, looking grim but smiling at me when our eyes met. That had been a kind gesture. It was good to have one friendly face in the crowd. My barrister did his best, reminding the court of the story that we'd been waiting for a woman to join us and calling on the prostitutes who'd testified before to tell their story of the stolen corset and high wages again. It was a decent case, and might have worked, but the judge looked bored, and I could tell the court had made its mind up before I'd even been led to the dock. The sentence was read in a loud, bored voice. An hour in the pillory followed by two years' hard labor. At least it wasn't transportation, I told myself as I was led back to my cell.

After the trial, things moved quickly enough, and a week later I was being brought to the courtyard where an open wagon and a troop of guards waited to take us through the hostile crowds I could hear already gathered outside to the pillory. As we were loaded into the wagon, I saw William for the first time since the molly house. He managed to get seated next to me, and I almost didn't recognize him, not only because I'd never seen him exhausted and unwashed, but because his beautiful hair had been cropped close to his scalp. I couldn't tell if it had been done to humiliate him--he was justly proud of his guinea-gold locks--or if he'd done it himself in fear of prison lice. Either way, it made him look wrong, even when he managed a shaky smile for me. He had never been able to hide his emotions, and I could see he was miserable and terrified. I was about to say something comforting to him, but before I could come up with anything that sounded even remotely helpful, the guards took up their positions around the wagon One was quite near us, so I did my best to smile back and stayed silent as the wagon pulled out of the prison gates and met the crowd of spectators waiting for us.

No rocks were thrown. At first, I took that as a good sign, a sign that perhaps the crowd was less hostile than we'd been led to believe, but then someone threw what looked like the remains of a fishmonger's task, and I realized it was only that the crowd hadn't found anything more lethal. I turned to William as a volley of something vile flew at us. "At least it isn't rocks," I murmured as we were both pelted by some filth that smelled like rotted vegetables and dung.

"Arthur's doing, I'd wager," he whispered back as he winced and tried to hide it.

He was probably right. I could almost imagine Arthur sending out a flock of street urchins promising to pay them for every stone gathered from our path.

By the time we arrived at the pillory, the wagon had become so vile, the prospect of the pillory almost seemed a welcome escape from it. Almost, particularly when I saw the crowds gathered, most already having some sort of missile to throw at us, expecting a good afternoon of entertainment at our expense.

William was in the first group sent up. I managed to squeeze his hand in spite of the manacles as he was led out of the wagon. The grateful look he gave me almost broke my heart. If I'd had any doubt of the crowd's viciousness, it was put to rest at once. There were no rocks here either, but plenty of filth in the street to throw, and a succession of urchins selling everything from offal taken from the butcher shops to dung collected from other parts of the city for the crowds to throw, and finding many eager customers.

I meant to watch, to smile at William if he looked my way, to offer him what little support I could, but when the first of the crowd threw their missiles at him, when he shuddered and kept walking as he had no choice, I couldn't bear it and stared down at my hands, at the manacles holding them together, at the chains, at anything but the crowd. For an hour I sat there, hearing the creak of the pillory as it turned, the monotonous tread of feet moving in their endless circle, the splatter of things I didn't want to think about hitting the pillory and the prisoners and William, while the sun beat down on us and made everything sweat and rot and stink even more which hadn't seemed possible only moments before.

And there was a pause in the sounds, all but the screams and taunts of the crowd which became louder. I looked up as the guards put the first group back in their seats and chained their legs together again. William flopped beside me, looking miserable, filth dripping down his face and covering the stubble of his hair. "At least that's over," his whispered as the guard came by and fastened his hands together and his ankles to the wagon.

The guard must have heard him as he said, "Now you get two years hard labor. How do you think those soft hands'll like picking oakum, eh Mary Ann?"

William didn't answer, just stared down at his hands, probably wondering that very thing.

The guard turned his attention to me. "You're next." He unlocked the chains on my ankles.

The spectators had been getting steadily louder as the first group was led away, and now they pushed in, eager for more entertainment and impatient for the next group to begin. The guards watching the perimeter of the pillory went to deal with the worst of the crowd, then called for more assistance as the crowd pushed further into the barriers and there was the risk of those in front being crushed or trampled. The two guards collecting us shoved my shackles in place and went to help their colleagues. I rattled the chains half-heartedly as I'd done many times that hour, not expecting anything different, but the guards had been in too much of a hurry to help control the crowd and hadn't locked my shackles properly. They fell off my ankles easily, leaving only my hands chained together. I turned to William, but he was looking at me excitedly. "Run," he hissed. "Go."

I felt terrible leaving him there, but he looked so genuinely pleased for me, and he had just been through what I was certain was the worst hour of his life. I tugged on his chains, but they held firm.

"Go," he whispered again. "At least one of us will be out. Hurry though, before they get back."

He was serious and looked so pleased at the thought that I would escape. I took one more look at the guards to see they were still busy, one final pull on William's chains to be sure, then a squeeze of his hand in thanks, and I slipped out of the cart and ran around the side of the pillory and into the crowd. No one noticed as I darted along. I made it to a nearby alleyway and paused to listen. I heard a guard yell, "Isn't there one more?" but no sounds of pursuit. Then the crowd began to jeer again and I heard the creak of the pillory and the cries of the urchins selling their disgusting wares and risked a glance back at the pillory.

The second group was walking in the same slow circle the first had made, all of the spaces filled. One figure caught my attention at once. William. He was there, making the same humiliating circuit he had just made. He glanced up and spotted me and met my eyes, and I understood. He'd moved to my seat and given himself an extra hour in the pillory to give me an hour to escape. I gave him the smallest wave and ran down the alley.

At first, I just ran. I wanted to get away from the crowd, away from the pillory, away. I ducked down any alleyway I could find, the sort of places I would never have gone before for fear of everything from footpads to disease. Six months in Newgate made both prospects far less worrisome. When the sounds of the crowd had faded, I slowed and began to think. The first task was to get the shackles off of my wrists. I wouldn't get far with them. The second was to get out of London. I had a vague idea of how to do that.

The first proved easier than I'd anticipated. Most of the businesses around the pillory had emptied out as the workers went to enjoy our disgrace, so when I passed a blacksmith's shop, I peered through the window and found the place empty. The door had been latched but not well, and I was able to get inside. I'd spent the afternoon staring at my restraints, so I knew them well. The lock was sturdy, but the hinge was a metal pin shoved through metal loops on the two halves of the bracelets and flattened at the top and bottom. The length of the pin was not perfect for the loops, so with a bit of effort, I could slide the two halves of the bracelet apart enough to expose the thinner shaft of the pin. The blacksmith's shop had many tools, and it was simply a question of finding something capable of cutting through the pin and thin enough to fit in the space I could make for it. A pair of some sort of cutters handled the job nicely, and once I got myself arranged properly, I was able to cut away my restraints with only a small scratch on the top of my right wrist. I left the remains of the manacles in a pile of scrap metal and slipped out again to complete my escape.

Free of my shackles and hopefully looking more like a poor wanderer than an escaped prisoner, I made for the coach road leading out of London. When I'd been a very young fellow, before I'd gone to school and met William and Arthur, Fred and his friends had amused themselves by catching rides on passing coaches and carriages, clinging to the back of them, trying to stay on as long as they could before they were caught. As they were all clearly well-born, being caught normally meant little more than yelling and threats to tell Father, so the game had gone on for most of a summer, and I'd even been allowed to participate on occasion. I had been eager to impress the older, more worldly fellows--most of them spent the bulk of the year away at school while I had still been at the local grammar school--so I had practiced and studied the motion of the coaches, and even tried my hand at calculations, although as I had no idea what I was supposed to calculate, that hadn't been very helpful. But I had become quite good at catching rides. The trick, I'd learned, was to time the jump just so, so that the coach was going slowly enough to allow the jump to be successful and at a point where the coachman wouldn't feel the carriage move and realize something was wrong.

And so I waited, just past the coaching inn, where there would be no one to see me, until one of the fliers came by, not yet at full speed, bouncing along the road. I watched and chose my moment and scrambled out and onto the thoroughbrace at the back of the coach. I wedged myself against the coach, resting my legs on the splasher, and held my breath. But the coach didn't slow at all; in fact, it sped up. I relaxed as best I could while clinging for my life and watched London sink into the distance.

{--*--}

When the outrider blew his horn signaling they were preparing to stop, I kept my attention on the coach's speed. As it slowed to round a corner, I allowed myself to fall off onto the side of the road. The ground was soft and kicked up from the animals passing by, so I was uninjured and able to walk the last bit of the way to the coaching inn.

The inn was in a village I'd been through before but didn't know well. I could hear the driver telling a passenger he'd taken the wrong coach and would have to wait until the 6:00 to Brighton after dinner. I wandered around the yard, wondering if the advantages of having a coach driver unable to see me after dark would outweigh the disadvantages of not being able to see clearly myself and considered what I would do while waiting. There was no pawn shop in the village, not that I had anything to pawn. I'd barely escaped with the clothes on my back, and even those weren't worth anything now. I passed the alley where I knew men plied their particular trade just as my belly was protesting the fact that the smells of baking from the inn were no closer to filling its emptiness. I turned my steps to the alley.

It proved to be simple to find a man willing to pay for the use of my mouth, to beg a little and act as if I wanted him, and simple to kneel in the slime of the cobbles and allow it. And it was easier still in the next town the coach stopped in, and somewhere in the towns after, I stopped even thinking about the filthy cobbles, the rough handling, the sordidness of it all. I quite surprised myself with my facility for back-alley subterfuge, but then after almost more than six months of the weak gruel and gristly broth that served as prison food, I was quite prepared to do anything for a proper meal. I quickly learned that I would find a mark quicker if I used my proper, educated accent--it seemed they liked the idea of shoving their cocks into a well-to-do mouth--but that it also meant muckier cobbles and more often than not a hard slap across the face when they'd finished. The food varied in quality with the inns, but my belly was mostly full and I wasn't in prison, so I kept hopping coaches heading north, walking when there were no coaches I could safely hop on, sleeping anywhere I could find a sheltered spot under a hedgerow or a dry ditch by the side road, and hoping to find somewhere to stop.

{--*--}

I thought I'd been traveling about three days when I started to think maybe I was really escaping detection. We were passing through great open swaths of land, places where you could walk for hours if not days without seeing another person. It seemed just the part of the world for me to hide in and sort myself out. The coach stopped at an inn near a small town, and I managed to find a client, the blacksmith from the forge across the way who was willing to pay enough for two meals for the rough use of my mouth and throat and the treat of saying how much the filthy little lord loved a thick cock down his gullet. I didn't correct him on any point. I'd just finished my task and was trying to think how to wipe my mouth without offending the man when there was a flash of movement, or at least I thought there had been. It had been quick and only glimpsed from the corner of my eye. "Did you see that?"

"You trying something?" The man glared down at me, and I realized just how strong a blacksmith was.

"Not at all. I thought I saw...but it was probably just a bird. A crow or something. There were a lot of them in the yard."

He glared at me. "Not trying for more money then?"

"No more than what we already agreed to."

He nodded and flung the coins in the muck by my knees. I bent to pick them up, saying, "Thank you kindly, sir, for everything," as I knew he would like hearing that from my lips, then went to purchase a meat pie that I didn't look at too closely while I ate it, and continued on to find a good spot to jump the 4:15 to York.

Catching the coaches was beginning to feel routine. I waited in a sheltered place outside of town and, as the coach flew past, made my jump and got aboard. I fancied I was getting rather good at sneaking rides. If I didn't think too hard about what I did to fill my belly, it could be seen as a sort of adventure. But eventually, I would have to settle somewhere. We were entering Yorkshire and the moors, vast stretches of land now shrouded in mist, with no one but sheep and the occasional cow for company. Not that I wanted the company of cows or sheep, but it was remote, and it might be possible to hide out in some small village, or perhaps a mid-sized town would be wiser, less to notice. The vast emptiness meant people would hopefully take scant interest in the world outside.

That led to the question of what I was to do with myself. It was all well and good meeting men in alleys for the price of a meal, but I had no desire to do that for one second longer than need be let alone forever. So I would need some source of income. I knew nothing of farm work, and while I thought I could learn, it seemed quickest to find work as a clerk of some sort, only I had no references. If I told them to write to Arthur, I knew he would write me a sterling one, but then I would have to give my own name. It was possible he would figure it out if I could come up with a _nom de guerre_ that he would understand, but I didn't want to put him at risk. I wouldn't have been surprised if he hopped a mail coach in the more traditional way the moment he knew where I was, and I knew him well enough to be sure his guilt had already led him to take too many risks for us.

Perhaps I could offer to work somewhere for room and board. A nice vicarage perhaps. Perhaps they wouldn't ask too many questions. I could lead them to believe I'd served my time for some petty crime and wanted to make amends and start anew.

I was just starting to consider what sort of crime would elicit sympathy from a kindly vicar when the coach jolted, nearly shaking me loose. I wondered if there had been some obstruction in the road as the driver had been remarkably steady before that, but we passed nothing that could be a likely culprit, although in the misty fog that surrounded us it was hard to tell. I settled back and tried to regain my train of thought when something hit me from above. A rock, I thought. How on earth could that have happened? I'd had plenty of bumps and bruises from rocks tossed up by the carriage wheels, but none from above. I was prepared to say I was mistaken and return to my planning when another fell, hitting me on the shoulder.

One I could have mistaken, but two? I looked up, hoping to see the source. Unfortunately, I did. The coachman was staring down at me over the edge of the luggage rack. He must have allowed the young fool sitting in the box to hold the ribbons. Probably put them all in a ditch. Seeing he had my attention, he pulled out a long cane with a metal hook on the end and swung it at me. I leaned back and clung to the side of the coach.

"Get off now and stay off," he yelled down at me as he readied himself for another blow, this one sliding along the back of the coach so I had no choice but to leap off. As I landed in the muck of the road, I heard him yell, "And stay away, or I'll tell the watch how you earn your coins!"

So there had been someone watching in the last town, and the coachman had stumbled upon the one threat that would really scare me. If the watch arrested me for engaging in unnatural acts, it wouldn't be long before they connected me to my escape in London. I shoved myself to my feet and took off running across the moor.

When the coach had sped out of sight, I went back to the main road and followed it on foot. There had to be a turning before I reached the coach's next stop. Someplace too small to have a coaching inn, where I could earn some coins and eat and plan what to do next. I'd seen coachmen talking to the innkeepers and each other over the past few days. No doubt this old screw would tell the lot of them to be on the lookout for me and what to say to the watch if I was spotted sneaking a ride.

The walk took longer than I'd hoped, but I did eventually reach a village. It was far too small for a coaching inn, barely big enough for a regular inn attached to the tavern, but at least it was a village. And there was an inn next to the pub. And a dark alley not too far away. I was too tired to hunt for a client, so when I saw the tanner who'd leered at me as I'd passed his workshop on the outskirts of the village, I sidled up to him and using my most plummy tones offered him whatever he'd like for a bit of coin. We retired to the alley, and I knelt and let him have use of my mouth, making sure to moan prettily as he pounded his balls against my face. He was just reaching his crises when I heard someone walking down the alley. I'd learned my lesson outside of the last town and kept quiet, but I could see a fine pair of Hessian boots walk past and the edge of a travel cloak, dark grey with an elaborate patterned silk lining, bright green and blue birds against a violet background. I shifted my knees in the muck of the alley and tried to keep my face hidden as best I could without alerting the tanner to the fact I wasn't paying attention to his cock any longer. If the man didn't recognize me, he couldn't report me to the watch.

It seemed to work, or the tanner was so far along that he noticed nothing but what was happening between his legs. He spent down my throat and pulled out, slapping my cheek with his limp cock. "Not bad for a posh fellow."

I knew the sort of thing he wanted by now and said, "Thank you for the compliment, sir."

He reached into his coat pocket and tossed a few coins on the cobbles, then pulled up his trousers enough for him to turn towards the wall and began to empty his bladder. I collected the coins from the ground and hurried towards the square without counting them.

I tried to slip out of the alley without being noticed, but I wasn't terribly successful. At least three people looked my way, one of which was a good candidate for the Hessian boots being tall and cloaked. I kept my head down and started for the pub, but it was tempting to see if Hessian boots might be interested in a bit of trade. Something about the steps in the alley, the beautiful cloak perhaps, something told me he would taste better than the men I'd become accustomed to, and wouldn't slap me when he'd finished or push me back into the muck of the alley. He'd be polite, even while using me. I shoved that thought out of my head and reminded myself that I had money for a meal now. That should please my mouth more than anything.

As I approached the pub, I heard a sound I knew all too well; the hum of a crowd on the verge of becoming a mob. That sound had followed the wagon all the way to the pillory. I shoved my hands in my pockets and hoped I could skirt the group and get to the pub before they turned on whoever the poor fellow was.

I had no such luck. The group was beginning to coalesce into a mob at the small stand outside of the pub that served hot food to workers in a hurry. I kept my head down and made as straight a line as I could for the pub door. If I'd learned anything in prison, it was that other people's problems weren't mine; I had more than enough of my own.

And then I made my mistake. It seemed curiosity was another fault of mine. As I passed the group, I glanced over to see what the excitement was about. There was a lad in the middle of the crowd, a pair of meat pies in his hands, looking guilty as a cat with feathers in his paw. He wasn't a child--the mob wasn't the sort to turn on a child--but he was still young, not more than sixteen, I would have guessed, and trying to look defiant as he stood there.

"Eddie Welcher, I never took you for a thief," a man in an apron snapped. I guessed he was the owner of the meat pie stand.

"I'm not a thief," the lad said with as much conviction as I'd shown insisting I'd been waiting for a lightskirt.

"Then why haven't those pies been paid for?"

"Call the watch!" someone in the crowd yelled.

"Not the watch," young Eddie pleaded. "I did have the money, honest."

No one believed him, but then he didn't even believe himself.

"Where is it then?" the stand owner asked.

"I must have dropped it."

"Call the watch!" the same voice as before yelled, only this time there were echoing calls. The lad looked around, panicked, not that I blamed him. The pies weren't worth enough for hanging or transportation, but he'd be locked away in prison, and from personal experience, I could say that that was a terrible enough fate.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Hessian boots moving towards the group, shrouded in his cloak, watching but doing nothing. I wanted to be mad at him for his indifference, but I couldn't be, not when I myself would have been as indifferent a mere six months before.

So much for minding my own problems. I dropped the coins I'd earned from the tanner in the mud near the path, and when the lad insisted for the third time that he'd had money and lost it, I called out in the rougher accent I'd managed to mimic over the last few days, "Young fellow, is this it?"

Eddie turned in my direction and saw where I was pointing with my boot. He ran forward and gave me a good look. I couldn't blame him for being suspicious. He probably thought I'd knock him down or use him for some other sport for the amusement of the crowd. I pointed again, and he knelt, carefully balancing the pies in his left hand as he reached for the coins.

"Yes, that's it, exactly what I thought I had. It must have fallen out of my pocket. I bet there's a hole."

"You're paying, then?" the pie seller asked, although his tone was less hostile now.

"Yes, yes, here you are. That should cover it."

There was a boring sort of transactional discussion which caused the crowd to remember whatever reason they'd actually come to town square for, and they began to wander off, gossiping about Welcher's father's drinking and the missing heiress from Tyneridge and how Mrs. Ayer had cheated at the fair. There was nothing more for me to do. After that display, I was too noticeable to ply my new trade, and I had no more money for food, so I started for the road out of town, telling myself I'd gone longer without a proper meal in prison and there was no reason to feel sorry for myself. There had to be another town close by, with its own form of the tanner who'd pay, and a pub where I could spend what I earned.

But I'd forgotten where I was. The wide stretches of open space that had seemed so safe when I'd been thinking of escape also meant that there was nowhere to escape to. I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, being careful of rocks and marshy places along my path, with no sign of another village of any size anywhere along the road.

I'd been wrong about my belly as well. While I no doubt had gone longer on less food, I had not been walking miles over hilly and overgrown moors, and any energy I'd stored was long ago used up. I could feel a small tremor in my legs if I wasn't careful, a little weakness in the knees. The next town, I promised myself, the first likely man then a proper meal. As if my luck weren't bad enough, the mist that had seemed if not friendly then at least not terrible while I'd been riding on the back of a coach, decided to join together and form raindrops, soaking my coat and making the ground beneath my feet muddy and slippery.

And cold. It was cold. I was cold. I'd been arrested in late spring, and the only clothes I had were what I'd been wearing to the molly house that night, which had been meant for a warm spring evening, not a rainy fall afternoon. Every so often, a shiver would go through me. And walking was hot work. I could feel sweat on my back, mixing with the damp soaking through my clothes and dripping down to collect in the waistband of my trousers, making it moist and clammy. Another shiver and there was sweat on my brow as well, mixing with the rain and dripping down. The valley around me shifted in and out of focus, like a reflection in a pool of water that was constantly being disturbed by the wind. If I could just rest a moment and make it make sense.

But I didn't need to rest to know what it meant. If I hadn't been so hungry and tired and fever-muddled, I would have realized sooner that I was becoming feverish. I felt a certain detachment as I said the words to myself. I was feverish. Was it some prison illness that hadn't manifested symptoms until now, or had I caught some sort of pox in the short time I'd plied my trade as a prostitute? Funny I'd never said that word to myself even though I'd known that was what I was. Or perhaps these moors didn't want to shelter me and so were finding a way to do me in. I knew that was being fanciful, but I couldn't help thinking that anyone else, anyone not with me on the moor, would say better to die free than live imprisoned or some other such nonsense, but I didn't want to die, and I didn't want to be imprisoned, and if I could just find a place to sit for a minute, I would begin to feel better. If my legs would just carry me to the shelter of the next ridge, I could rest and gather my strength and see how far it was to the next town. But my legs wouldn't cooperate. They had worked too long on too little nourishment, and I had no choice but to sit where I was, in the mud of the shelterless path, and then I could rest and think of where to go.

I lost consciousness before I reached the ground.

# Chapter 2

I WAS TROUBLED BY STRANGE DREAMS as I hovered on the edge of consciousness. A flock of ridiculously colored blue and green birds swooped down out of a deep-purple sky and covered me. Then there was the feeling of flying above the moors, floating but with a direction and a purpose. And then a nightmare of being back in prison, of having my boots stolen from my feet and someone trying to wrest my coat away. And then nothing, and I slept.

When I woke next, I felt clear-headed and hungry. I was lying on a bed with proper sheets, although they were somewhat old and threadbare. Soft, though, not the coarse cloth of prison sheets, and there was a thick mattress beneath me, not the thin pallet of a prison bed. Hand-me-downs of some well-off household, I deduced, which gave me more questions than it answered. I held still, trying to sort out what it meant. I'd collapsed on the moors, that was obvious, and now I was indoors, in bed, and not tied down or restrained in any way, so perhaps not caught by the watch.

I could hear sounds coming from the other side of the door. There was the definite sound of metal clanking. It didn't seem hostile, but then I wasn't quite certain what hostile sounds would sound like outside of prison. So it was a choice of awaiting my fate or confronting it. In the end, it was the smell that decided me. There was the unmistakable scent of hot soup wafting under the door. I pulled myself out of the bed and found I was wearing only my shirt and trousers. My coat, cravat, and boots had been removed. I looked around the room but didn't see them. So had they been stolen or so horrendously ragged that my benefactor had thought I wouldn't want them, and what did I think of that? Did I want them so I could continue on? I supposed it depended on what those sounds were. And the only way to know that was to try the door.

I was almost afraid to turn the knob. The last time I'd slept under a proper roof and not in trees or a ditch by the road, I'd been locked in prison, and there was the slight fear, no matter how irrational I knew it was, that the knob would not turn, and I would find myself trapped once again.

But the knob did turn. And on the other side of the door was a large stone kitchen, the sort commonly found in large country manor houses. I had been in some sort of scullery off the kitchen, most likely put on their oldest mattress with sheets meant for the poor box, not that I blamed them one bit. Some of the mud covering me seemed to have been removed with my clothes, but I was far from clean.

"You're awake. Well, that's a relief." The woman who spoke was just shy of plump with a warm, open face, wearing a blue dress and a large white apron, and if she wasn't the cook then she ought to be. The metal sounds I'd heard must have been the pots and pans she was moving around. She smiled at me and pulled out a chair that I assumed I was to sit in then went to whatever was boiling on the hob and returned with a bowl of hot broth. "Just the thing for a recovering lad. Now eat up, and I'll get some tea going."

I didn't need to be told twice and attacked the broth with alacrity. I'd finished almost half of it, which is to say barely five minutes had gone by, when the door to the outside opened, and a woman I assumed was a kitchen maid came in. "Ralph says he can come later, but no one else."

"Not needed. He's up on his own."

The new woman spotted me then. "Well, that's good to see."

I realized I'd been wolfing down the broth like a starving man and tried to pace myself. "Was Ralph going to try to get me out of bed?"

"Oh no, we weren't sure you were ready," the cook explained. "But we thought you'd feel better if you were clean, and we certainly couldn't ask the master again."

"Not that we asked him the first time. He simply, well, got to it."

I tried sorting that out and deduced that it had been the master who had undressed me. As _deplorable_ and _disgusting_ were two of the politer ways to describe the clothes I'd worn through prison, the ride to the pillory, a flight across the country, and working on my knees in various back alleys, I was both grateful and mortified.

"And Mr. Connelly would help, but he's in York for his sister's wedding. And Mr. Grant, well, he's too high in the instep for anything but the master's orders."

I assumed Mr. Connelly and Mr. Grant were the butler and the valet. From her tone, I placed Mr. Connelly as the butler.

"And we could ask Simon, but he'd likely drown you as soon as wash you."

"Hey now, I know which way dunk him in the tub; that's enough to be getting on with." The newcomer had come down the kitchen stairs with a serving tray. So it was dinner time; that was worth knowing. He was wearing the slightly outdated uniform common among footmen in larger houses where they liked the men waiting table dressed as if they'd stepped out of the last century. "Glad you're awake."

"Thank you."

"And glad you're here," the cook snapped. "Get the tub and put it in the room. I'll get some water boiling while he eats. Moira, get him another bowl. And you, sit and eat. Dr. Barton said he didn't think there was anything wrong that rest and hot meals wouldn't fix, but that means you're to rest."

So a doctor had been called to see me and pronounced me well enough. No pox or prison fever. That was a relief. As I tucked into my second bowl of broth with a bit more care as I was feeling self-conscious, the cook kept up her stream of patter, whether because she thought I was listening or she simply liked to talk while she worked, I couldn't tell. "I'm Mrs. Hopkins, the cook at Gorsewall Manor, as you probably guessed. And that's Moira, my right hand, and Simon, the first footman. You'll meet the rest soon enough. What shall we call you, dear?"

"Thomas Brook," I answered before remembering it might be best to give a false name if I planned to start over here.

"Very pleased to meet you properly, Mr. Brook. His lordship found you out on the moors. He said he thinks you were waylaid by highwaymen." She gave me a look that told me she thought no such thing, nor did his lordship, in her opinion, but she wouldn't argue with him.

"Were you terrified?" Moira asked. Apparently, at least some of the staff did believe the story.

"I don't remember much of it." That seemed safe enough.

"Not surprised," Mrs. Hopkins said as she did something by the open hearth. "You were feverish when he brought you in, and that's enough to make anyone forget. Lord Elmsby won't press you for details, but it would be good to thank him for all the trouble he took."

Lord Elmsby. I'd heard the name, but it hadn't interested me enough to listen to the details. "I assure you, I am very grateful for any assistance I received."

I must have sounded sincere as Mrs. Hopkins came back and refilled my cup with tea and gave me a hunk of bread and cheese to go with the broth. "See if that seems to appeal."

It definitely appealed, particularly as the bread was warm and soft and the cheese a good strong cheddar. All it needed was a toasting fork and a bit of pickle to be perfect, but I certainly wouldn't say that. While I ate, Simon went in and out of the room I'd woken up in with buckets of water while Moira hurried in and out with armfuls of things Mrs. Hopkins seemed to be handing her. They had disappeared to other parts of the kitchen by the time I'd finished, leaving only Mrs. Hopkins to keep an eye on me.

"Now you'll want a bath while it's all warm. Come along, let's see how those two managed on their own."

I wiped the crumbs from my hands on my trousers, although I'm not sure which made the other dirtier at that point, and followed Mrs. Hopkins back into the storeroom. The bath had been set up by the small fireplace, with several extra steaming jugs of hot water nearby. Mrs. Hopkins looked over the arrangement with a critical eye. "There's soap and drying sheets, and Moira and I managed to find some clothes we think will fit you. They aren't much, but they'll do until you get yourself sorted out. Just leave those by the fire, and we'll deal with them."

By that, I assumed she meant burn them, but I doubted there was much else to be done with my clothes, and I had no desire to see them again, so I nodded, and as soon as she was out of the room, stripped and went to take advantage of the tub.

I gave myself over to the luxury of immersing myself in warm water and lavender-scented soap and washed away all traces of prison, the pillory, and my brief foray into prostitution. I was rinsing my hair for the third time when I felt a pang of guilt as I thought about William, still in prison, not allowed anything but the cold, brackish water and harsh carbolic soap of the prison, if that, to wash away the filth of the pillory. I wondered if there was anything to be done for him, but unless I wanted to be caught, I could not contact him. I had to trust that Arthur had managed something. I hurried to finish, guilt stripping some of the pleasure from the bath, and got out to dry myself.

The clothing I found folded on the chair was quite a mix, with trousers that were a bit snug but fit, and a voluminous shirt that was new, and a jacket that clearly wasn't. As it looked quite similar to the out-of-style one Simon wore, I assumed it had been borrowed from another footman or left behind by Simon's predecessor. The waistcoat was a hideous shade of green and too small to button anyway, so I left it off. The cravat had been poorly starched but did well enough for a simple knot. After I used the razor and comb that had been set out--clearly, Mrs. Hopkins had thought of everything--I went back out into the kitchen to thank my hosts.

Mrs. Hopkins looked up as I came out. "I suppose those will do. We'll find you something that fits better tomorrow. And once you're settled, you can go into town for something proper. Now sit down and eat."

She seemed determined to ply me with food, but I was in no position to argue and happily accepted the cheese on toast she handed over.

I was wondering if I ought to offer to help empty the tub when Simon walked past me, dragging it by one of the handles straight through the kitchen to the back door without seeming to so much as notice the weight.

"Show off," Moira said, but I could hear in her tone that she was impressed.

Mrs. Hopkins looked at the clock on the wall. "I think his lordship should be in the study now. I'll show you the way."

"The way?" I supposed I'd known I'd have to meet my host sooner or later, but I had been hoping for later. At least until I knew if he was someone who would know me from town, either London or one of the places I'd been on my knees in alleys lately.

"He's been anxious about you. He'll want to know you're awake."

I fumbled for some excuse to put off the meeting. If I said I was tired so soon after I'd woken up, that would worry everyone and most likely lead to another call from the doctor. I didn't think I could eat anymore. I allowed my gaze to drift around the room, hoping for some inspiration. That was when I noticed it. A travel cloak was spread out by the fire. Fine dark wool with a lining of blue and green birds. It had been stained with mud and muck, badly in some places, and someone in the kitchen had been doing their best to sponge it clean and was letting it dry before their next attempt.

"Come along," Mrs. Hopkins said. "The sooner you go up, the sooner you'll be done, and then you can have a bit of shepherd's pie."

After all of the bread and broth and cheese on toast, I wasn't certain I could manage shepherd's pie, but I was expected to meet the master, so meet the master I would. If he wanted to throw me out, it was best to know now and not after I was used to being somewhat comfortable. Mrs. Hopkins was already at the kitchen door. I squared my shoulders and followed her upstairs.

As we climbed the stairs to the main part of the house, I sorted my fevered dreams into some form of sense. I'd seen the blue and green birds, and the cloak had been stained as if wrapped around a particularly filthy fellow, so Hessian boots, now known to be Lord Elmsby, must have found me on the moor, gathered me up, possibly in his cloak or at least sheltered by it, and brought me here. On horseback, that would explain the feeling of flying. And the prison dream was clearly when I was being undressed and put to bed. By the master, I remembered and shuddered internally at the state I'd been in. At least there would be no danger of him mistaking that wretch for anything other than a poor wanderer on the moors.

It took two flights of stairs, and I lost count of how many hallways to reach our destination. Once we were there, Mrs. Hopkins opened the door and gestured for me to enter. The study was dark, lit only by the fire burning in the grate. It outlined my host, seated in an armchair near the fire, in a red glow and hid his features from me even as he turned towards the door. I wondered if he could see me any better. With nothing else to do, I watched him as he watched me, both of us staring at each other in silence while the fire crackled and sparked.

Mrs. Hopkins broke the silence by saying, "Here's Mr. Brook, my lord. Didn't anyone come to light the lamps? I am sorry, your lordship." She went to the fire and lit a taper then went around the room to light the lamps.

"I told them not to bother," Lord Elmsby said quietly, but he didn't object to the light.

Once the shadows were chased away, the study was actually quite nice. The walls were paneled in dark wood, carved with vines and leaves, which had added to the shadowy darkness. The fireplace was a huge, old, stone thing, interesting in a medieval sort of way. The windows were covered with drapes of thick silk embroidered with vines and leaves that matched the carved paneling, and then I remembered one of the things I'd heard about Lord Elmsby. He was the youngest son, not expected to inherit, and had angered everyone by being so uncouth as to go into trade, in his case, importing fabrics. William's family had done some business with him so I'd heard a bit more than the usual gossip from him. Lord Elmsby had made himself a fine business selling silks from Japan and China, cotton from India, and wool from Scotland before it became necessary for him to take the family seat, which had been done reluctantly.

And he was still watching me silently. I wondered what he saw. I saw an aristocratic man roughly my age, sitting very still. He was dressed rather formally for someone who wasn't entertaining, with tight, buff pantaloons outlining lean thighs, the Hessian boots traded for a pair of polished evening shoes, starched linen with a cravat carelessly yet artistically knotted, and a dark-blue jacket of superfine wool stretched perfectly over his shoulders, emphasizing their size and lack of padding. He was blond, which struck me as odd. This seemed the sort of place for a mysterious, raven-haired scoundrel, but its master was blond and blue-eyed, icy blue eyes that showed no emotion. He had a well-formed mouth that was almost sneering at me, but I suspected that was the way the curves of his lips rested.

And I should most definitely not be thinking about the curve of my host's lips, not with what I'd run from in London. With a bit of shock I realized that, while I'd been staring, Mrs. Hopkins had finished the lamps and left. I knew I had to stop staring at some point, so I said, "I believe I have you to thank for my rescue."

"It was the merest chance that I was passing that way."

I wasn't certain how to go on from there. All the small talk I used at social gatherings seemed silly when it was the pair of us.

"Besides, I saw what you did in town."

I felt my face go red as I remembered he'd passed me kneeling in front of the tanner in the alley. What must he think of me?

"Outside the inn," he clarified. "The young man was lucky you were there."

Not referring to my illicit activities then. "It was the merest chance I was passing that way."

He smiled at that. "You're not local, are you?"

I shook my head and said, "From London," before I realized how imprudent that was. They had my real name and now the fact that I was from London. A simple check of the newspapers ought to tell them the exact story of why I left.

"And do you have plans for your time in Yorkshire?"

A safe enough topic. "I was hoping to find work as a clerk."

"That shouldn't be too difficult. I take you write well and can do figures?"

"A good, clear hand, and accurate sums, but I'm afraid I don't have a reference. I thought perhaps the vicar might allow me to assist him and prove myself to earn a reference." I realized that his lordship might be willing to introduce me to the vicar and perhaps even tell him about my adventures in the village, and hopefully only those that put me in a good light.

"Does that have to do with the state you arrived in?"

I would have thought it would be difficult to discuss that, but now that we were, it was a relief to stop worrying about it, particularly as I suspected Lord Elmsby had a vague idea of what had brought me to the state I was in. "It is. I did not leave my last position under the most auspicious of circumstances." That was strictly speaking true.

"Were you involved in those circumstances?"

"No." Also true. "But some of the mud stuck, as it were."

"Literally, it would seem."

I managed to blush and laugh at the same time.

"So you were not an embezzler or a thief?" That was said quite clinically, making it hard to take offense.

"Nothing of the kind. In fact, the circumstance was not even directly related to my position or the company, but it had far-reaching consequences."

Lord Elmsby nodded. "Then I will see if I can think of anyplace in the area where you would be useful."

"Thank you." I wondered if I sounded as surprised as I felt.

"Now that we've settled business, would you like a brandy? There's a bottle on the table."

I was considering whether or not it would be proper to accept and whether or not I wanted to when I rendered both decisions moot by yawning, not a polite little exhalation, but a jaw-stretching yawn that couldn't be ignored. "I'm sorry. I have no idea why I'd be tired when I've been sleeping for..." I realized I didn't know how long I'd been asleep.

"I brought you here yesterday afternoon, if that helps."

So not as long as I'd feared.

"It seems perfectly natural that it would take some time to recover. If you ring, Mrs. Hopkins will come and show you to your room."

I was tempted to say I could find my way back to the kitchen, but I was fairly certain that would lead to me wandering down dark hallways all evening, so I found the bell pull, right where Lord Elmsby had indicated, and rang.

# Chapter 3

MRS. HOPKINS WAS AT THE STUDY DOOR so quickly I knew she hadn't gone far. She did not lead me back to the kitchens but up another flight of stairs to what had to be one of the guest rooms. "Lord Elmsby wanted to put you up here yesterday, but I pointed out that it would be easier to care for you if you were near the kitchen."

As I knew that wasn't the sole reason, and she might be a bit worried how I'd react, I added, "And easier to clean, I'd wager."

She smiled. "That was a consideration, I'm afraid."

"And quite a sensible one. But I would still be quite comfortable there."

"Nonsense. That isn't nearly as comfortable as this, and you know it. And heaven knows these rooms get little enough use as it is. Besides, it's what his lordship wanted. And you're to have breakfast in the breakfast room. He normally begins dining between nine and nine thirty."

"Then if you could have someone knock on my door at eight, that should give me plenty of time."

"I'll send Simon along. And if you need some valeting, I'm sure he'd be glad of the practice."

I had no intention of asking for the services of a valet while I was a guest, but I thanked her and went to explore my new quarters. It wasn't merely a guest room, but a suite of rooms. We had entered a small sitting room with a fire and two chairs and a desk and a small shelf of books. Off of that, there was a dressing room, small but still far beyond my current needs, and finally, the bedroom, with a large four-poster bed, the sort with carved posts and curtains, these the same sort of embroidered silk Lord Elmsby seemed to favor. I went to the window to look out and saw my room faced what had to be the front of the house, over the tree-lined drive, and not the moors. I was rather glad of that. I'd had enough of wandering out on the empty hills. I undressed and folded my clothes neatly on the chair by the bed, then climbed between soft white sheets and under the velvet blanket and fell asleep.

I was awakened the next morning by a brisk knock at the bedroom door. I opened my eyes to see light straining to get through the curtains and into my room. "Coming," I called.

The door opened a bit, and Simon peered in. "I left some hot water on the table in here and a razor if you want them. And I'm loaning you a clean shirt for the day. Just toss it in the laundry, and it'll get back to me. Do you need anything else?"

I remembered I hadn't had a nightshirt and pulled the coverlet up over my chest. "Just directions to the breakfast room."

"Turn left when you go out of here, and you'll find the stairs. When you're on the ground floor, there'll be plenty of people to ask."

"Thank you. And sorry for the extra work."

"Bit of water and a knock on the door? Hardly qualifies."

"Then thank you for the shirt."

He grinned at that. "You're welcome. I'll see you about."

I waited until I heard him close the other door to the dressing room, then gathered up my borrowed clothes and went to the dressing room myself to prepare for the day.

Simon's directions to the breakfast room proved useful enough. I found the main staircase, and when I descended to the ground floor, I found three maids moving around dusting and polishing. As none of them were wearing uniforms, I assumed they were girls from the village who helped during the day but didn't live in. They all gave covert glances in my direction, which told me the story of my arrival and supposed encounter with highwaymen had already reached them. But when I asked for directions, they answered promptly and pointed me in the right direction. I arrived in the breakfast room to find that Lord Elmsby had beaten me there but not by much. He was at the well-stocked sideboard filling his plate. He looked up when I entered. "Another early riser, I see."

I was going to make some comment on this being late for prison hours but stopped myself in time.

"But I suppose a clerk would have to be. Help yourself."

I took the invitation as an end to our conversation and filled a plate with what looked like an excellent breakfast.

Lord Elmsby said nothing until he had finished his first cup of coffee, and then his tone was quite casual as he said, "I've been giving your situation some thought."

As my mouth was full of egg and toast, the best I could manage was a look that I hoped conveyed something along the lines of _that's very kind of you_.

"I'm not sure the vicar has need of a clerk at the moment; however, I might. The library has not been cataloged in a long while, and while my own volumes are more or less in order, those that came through the family are not. We could arrange a salary and a reference when the job is finished. Is that something that would be of interest to you?"

I managed to swallow quickly without choking so I could reply, "Yes, that's certainly within my abilities."

"Excellent. And we can work out an advance against your salary if you have any items you need to purchase in town."

"That's very generous." And necessary, although I was fairly certain he was aware of that as I was dressed in the same mélange of decade-old footmen's cast-offs from the night before.

He waved his hand as if to indicate that it was nothing and returned to his food. I followed suit, although now that my near future seemed if not secure at least more promising, I was able to take a bit more interest in my surroundings, particularly in the man seated beside me. In the breakfast room, with the light streaming through the windows, I was once again reminded of my first reaction the night before. Someone so fair both in coloring and appearance did not seem to belong in a remote house on the moors no matter how luxurious. Then again, he didn't seem the sort for a London merchant's office either. He was dressed less formally this morning in a grey suit with a robin's-egg-blue silk waistcoat patterned with scrolling vines, and I found myself wondering if he was the sort to dress formally for dinner even when he was dining alone, and what I was supposed to do about dressing if that was the case and I was expected to take meals with him. That led to me thinking of my true first reaction to him--that he would have been a far more enjoyable client than the fellows I'd been selling my mouth to--which led to wondering what he would look like undressed and how much of that cool blond hair covered the rest of him. I immediately forced my attention back to my food. That was not the direction my thoughts ought to be going when he had just offered to hire me for proper, respectable work. Not that he would have any interest in me in that capacity. Even if he were interested in men, he would have wanted someone like William, someone handsome and clever, not someone as dull as I was.

Once we'd finished our meal, Lord Elmsby offered to show me the library. It was on the first floor, very near his study if I was remembering my half-distracted wandering of the evening before correctly. The room itself was large, even for a house the size of Gorsewall Manor. The walls were covered in bookshelves, and there were five rows of freestanding shelves as well. Everything was dark wood paneling and leather, save for the curtains on the windows, more embroidered silk there, this brown and gold. There were thick Arabian carpets on the floor and sturdy leather chairs by the fire.

"As you can see, several generations of Elmsby books," Lord Elmsby said as he surveyed the room. "I have most of my own volumes in the study, so I'm not sure what all I have in here. Are you interested?"

"Definitely." It was a large task, but that meant I would be able to keep the position for months if my past stayed buried, long enough to get settled and long enough to get a good reference from Lord Elmsby. And the work was congenial to me. The only difficulty would be remembering I was there to catalog the books, not read them.

"Then it seems we need to discuss terms."

What followed was a brisk negotiation, mostly on Lord Elmsby's part as I was willing to accept anything that kept me somewhere warm and fed and wasn't prison, which upon reflection, had done neither. I was given a fair, bordering-on-generous salary, more than I'd made as a solicitor's clerk, in fact, a month's pay to be advanced that afternoon so I could go to town with Mrs. Hopkins at some convenient point and get what I needed while she did the household marketing, and room and board. I hesitantly suggested he might wish to move me to someplace other than the guest room I'd been given, but he brushed that suggestion aside saying, "As you're settled, there's no point to making up another room." With that agreed, we had a brief discussion of my duties, and I was given ledger books and one of the tables in the room for the purpose. When I had received my instructions, Lord Elmsby rose to leave, and I went to the desk I'd been assigned and began to arrange my things. I didn't realize that Lord Elmsby hadn't left when he said, "Mrs. Hopkins lays out the midday meal at one in the dining room. Anyone can show you the way."

I looked up, wondering if I should say it wasn't necessary or I could take my meal in the kitchen.

Before I had a chance to say anything, Lord Elmsby said, "I will see you then," and left the library.

I stared down at the blank ledger book and tried to make sense of that.

By the time the clock in the hall struck one, I'd managed to get myself sorted out and had a list of questions about how Lord Elmsby wanted the inventory arranged and organized. As I made my way to the main staircase, I wondered if that was why he had asked me to dine with him, to check my progress and see if this arrangement was going to work. On the ground floor, the maids from the village had scattered, but I found one named Jenny polishing the banisters and got directions to the dining room from her. When I slipped through the doors, it was to find Lord Elmsby already there, seated at the head of the table. For a moment, I worried that I was late and he had been waiting for me, then I noticed the meal had been set out in the sort of cold supper I was used to seeing at country house parties when the cook didn't know who would be showing up for the meal and who would be out hunting. As I approached the sideboard, I passed Lord Elmsby and noticed that he had already filled his plate, so I hadn't delayed him. Staring at his plate seemed rude, so I quickly said, "Good afternoon, my lord."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Brook. Help yourself to whatever appeals." As he was sitting with the sun glinting off of his blond hair and wearing another perfectly fitted coat, this one a deep green over worn-in buckskin breeches that were molded to his legs, I couldn't help thinking that I ought not take what was appealing to me at the moment and turned my attention to the food.

Mrs. Hopkins had prepared another excellent meal, with roast chicken and several vegetables in sauces and fresh bread and butter, so I filled my plate and went to the table where I found the only other place setting to the right of Lord Elmsby's seat. At least I wouldn't have to worry about where to sit.

Lord Elmsby watched me take a forkful of chicken and swallow it. I was wondering if I was supposed to converse with him or if this had merely been a practical suggestion when he said, "I should have asked this morning, are your rooms satisfactory?"

"Yes, very." Wonderful conversation, I told myself. I certainly wasn't encouraging him to invite me again. And the rooms were far more than satisfactory being far nicer than what I was normally given at the few house parties we'd been invited to, when a few unmarried young men were needed by some distant titled relative to fill out the numbers, let alone what I had become accustomed to over the past few months.

"Good, good. I was hoping you'd be comfortable. If you need anything in the night, I'm just down the hall."

My eyes drifted to the perfect cut of his breeches, and I nearly choked on a bit of carrot. He certainly hadn't meant what I was imagining. I swallowed quickly and said, "That's very kind of you."

Lord Elmsby made a slight gesture with his hand that seemed to say it was a trifle, not to be thought of again, and continued to watch me eat. I wasn't sure what to make of that, but when I had swallowed another mouthful, he asked, "And the library? You're finding the job acceptable?"

Perhaps this was the purpose of the meal, then. He wanted to know how I was getting on. That made more sense than any of the thoughts flitting across my mind. I quickly began speaking before any of that could show on my face. "I'm finding it most interesting. And I think I've come up with a system of cataloging which might work for sorting your books..."

"I'm certain it will be most satisfactory. What were you planning for this afternoon?" Lord Elmsby didn't seem concerned about my system or my work once he'd heard it suited me. But what else could he have wanted to know about me? Surely he was expecting me to continue doing my job that afternoon. Perhaps he was simply trying to make polite conversation. I did my best to oblige.

"I was going to begin with the shelves nearest the door and work my way back." But Lord Elmsby didn't seem particularly interested in how I was doing the job he'd just engaged me for either. If we weren't discussing the work, why had he asked me to dine with him? Were we going to sit in silence, then? Or was I going to have to avoid questions about my past through the meal? Was that why he'd asked me? "If you'd like to look at it..."

"I'm sure it will be satisfactory. When you've gotten a start on it, I'll be happy to look it over and see if I'd like you to make any modifications. But I was going to suggest you might like to have a tour of the house or perhaps see the grounds."

I wasn't certain how to answer that. "I would, but perhaps I ought to get a start on the inventory, so I can have something to show you at dinner." Was that all right, or did I sound too eager to have the tour and shirk my new job, or too eager to be away from him?

"Of course, you'll want to get everything in order. Perhaps another time. If you'll excuse me, there are some letters I should write." And Lord Elmsby left the table with his food half finished.

With his lordship gone, I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I finished my own food as quickly as I could--prison was still too recent a memory for me to leave good food on a plate--and made my way back to the library. I was climbing the main staircase when I realized what was bothering me; Lord Elmsby had been looking for a bit of company. The poor man was probably lonely here in this big house, and I was someone new. Well, that was simple enough to solve; I'd ask for the tour at dinner, either after the meal or the next afternoon. And if he offered a drink after the meal, I would accept. Feeling a bit less guilty, I made my way back towards the library. I was passing the study when another thought drifted into my mind. Had he been flirting with me? Was that why he had wanted to show me the house? Was that why he had mentioned his room? I pushed that thought far away.

By the time I'd made it back to the library, I had convinced myself that Lord Elmsby had merely been hoping for a bit of company, nothing more, and I would do well to avoid looking at his breeches or anything else on the lower half of his person. If I wanted to keep my position at Gorsewall Manor, at least. So I settled in at the desk and began to set up the ledger books I would need for the system I was devising. If I could get a few shelves categorized that afternoon, not too many so Lord Elmsby would feel he was ruining a day's worth of work if he wanted to make changes, but enough so he could see what sort of changes he might want, it would give us something to discuss at dinner and even after if he was indeed going to invite me into the drawing room or study for drinks.

It didn't take long to set up the ledgers, and sorting through the books was really quite interesting. Whoever had set up the library had purchased books for their value and I suspected didn't know quite what they had. It meant that after half a shelf of mis-ordered encyclopedias, I found a lovely first edition of Cook's voyages complete with illustrated plates and, at the end of a row of dictionaries, there was a book of tinted nature prints. I wondered if I ought to organize the shelves as I was cataloging them, or at least put the encyclopedias in order, but realized that was another excellent topic of conversation for the evening, and I resolved to make a list of those sorts of topics in my mind in case we had another awkward silence.

Once I began working on the books again, the task became absorbing, and I quickly lost track of time, so I was startled when I realized there was someone else moving around the room. Someone I had not heard enter. They seemed to be in the back of the library. Perhaps someone had decided they needed a book, I told myself. But who other than Lord Elmsby would do that? I got out of my chair and went to the main aisle of the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was in the room with me before I made a fool of myself demanding they show themselves. There was a hint of a shadow in the back row of shelves and a vague smell of smoke. I went to investigate, only to find a curtain moving with some unknown draft, not uncommon in such an old house, I was sure. I returned to my desk and turned my attention back to the ledgers, only to almost jump out of my chair at the sight of Mrs. Hopkins methodically checking the lamps.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, Mr. Brook. I only wanted to be sure Agnes set everything up in here properly."

I put down my pen again and stretched my back. "You're not disturbing me at all. My eyes could use a rest."

"Is there enough light? I could bring more candles."

I didn't want to make her any extra work. "No, no, everything is quite well arranged. I'll have to thank Agnes." I assumed she was some sort of upstairs maid as I hadn't seen her in the kitchens.

"Then I'll just check the grate and be out of your way."

It seemed as good a time as any to satisfy my curiosity. "You've worked for his lordship for long while?"

"As long as he's been at Gorsewall Manor, and the old lords before him. He was the youngest of three."

I'd heard the public versions of those scandals, but never paid much attention to them so had no idea how widespread the facts were outside of high society, so I merely said, "Very sad."

"Sad, but not unexpected. A hunting accident for the eighth marquess, helped along by the quantity of gin he had before getting on the horse, and the ninth got himself shot in a duel over cheating at cards. We all say he was innocent, of course." Her tone told me that not only was it likely he'd cheated but it had been a regular occurrence.

"And the current marquess?"

"He had his own scandal, make no mistake, but really not of his doing, at least not to my mind."

I leaned in, prepared to hear about the shock of him going into trade and was shocked myself when she said, "It was perfectly obvious that she wasn't interested in the marriage, for all her guardian said."

"He was married?" I realized how shocked I sounded and that it was entirely due to my earlier thoughts about his breeches, but Mrs. Hopkins didn't seem to notice.

"Engaged. Her guardian brought her here to stay until the wedding. Everything was ready, the ballroom decorated, the wedding breakfast planned and bought for, and she slipped away in the night. Quite a scandal it was."

And not one that had reached London, at least not so far as I knew. "With someone?" I asked, hoping to hear more.

"It depends who you ask. The guardian insisted she'd been murdered in her bed by his lordship to get out of the marriage contract, but there wasn't a speck of blood in the room, and her small travel case had been packed, and her jewels were gone."

"And that didn't convince him?"

"He said strangled and the case packed to make it look as if she'd fled."

I could see she was waiting for a reaction, so I asked, "But you didn't think so?"

"Could you see his lordship doing such a thing? And while I'll admit he didn't seem particularly interested in the match, he has never married another. If that's not a sign of a broken heart, what is? And then there's Ellen. She was the parlor maid here, and his lordship assigned her to be Miss Talbot's lady's maid while she was staying with us. Miss Talbot confided in her, as girls do. Poor thing didn't have many to confide in, with her parents gone and her guardian an old uncle who wanted her properly and richly wed so he could wash his hands of her. She told Ellen that there was another man, one her guardian did not approve of, and he was going to spirit her away."

"That does fit the facts quite nicely then. Why did no one believe it?"

"It wasn't as good of a scandal as marquess strangles his bride in her bed on their wedding night. And it didn't help that she hasn't been seen since, not that that is surprising. If she married the young man, they're probably living quietly somewhere. She did get her own income from an inheritance once she married."

"Has she claimed it?"

"I wouldn't know. And there were the jewels. They were real. I saw them when they were brought in. You never know when a guest will say a priceless brooch went missing only to learn they'd never owned such a thing. But still, it would have been nice if she had let the world know she was alive once she'd married her fellow, if only to take the suspicion off of his lordship. But then you've work to do. But don't shut yourself up in here all day. You need a bit of fresh air in that chest after you've been ill, clear out the bad air. There's plenty of places for walking on the grounds, and well-laid-out paths so you won't get lost if you're careful. And if you'd like another gossip when you aren't busy, you know where I am."

"Thank you." I wasn't sorry to see her go, only because I needed time to unpack that bit of gossip and figure out what I thought of it. Lord Elmsby engaged and possibly living a solitary existence in his house on the moors because he'd lost the woman he loved was not the story I'd been holding in my mind, and it required a bit of thought to set everything in order.

# Chapter 4

BY THE EVENING, I still did not know what to make of the story Mrs. Hopkins had told me, but I had decided the most logical theory was that Lord Elmsby had become engaged to please his family and was using his fiancée's desertion as an excuse to lock himself away from the world. Mrs. Hopkins seemed to have ample proof that Miss Talbot had gone to Gretna Green or some other hiding place with her young man and used her jewels to fund their life, or perhaps had been left somewhere by the cad and hopefully was enjoying herself on her own with the proceeds of the jewels. Either way, I was quite willing to believe Mrs. Hopkins's contention that Lord Elmsby had nothing to do with murder. Of course, if I was being perfectly logical, I had to admit that quite a bit of that theory was very convenient both for my fantasies and for my current employment. Still, no other young ladies had been strangled in the area, and while the house was just the sort of place to find murders, the staff all seemed happy and well provided for, so I let the idea of murdered fiancées settle into the back of my mind and concentrated on sorting through the library.

By the time the clock on the mantel struck six, I had made some progress on the first set of shelves, come up with a plan to catalog everything and a way to explain it to Lord Elmsby if that was what was expected of me at dinner, a list of neutral topics if that wasn't, and a resolution to stay silent if the invitation had merely been to make things easier on the staff. In short, I was quite ready to meet my employer for dinner.

Unless he was expecting me to dress for dinner, which was a problem as I had no clothes other than the ones the staff had loaned me, unless I wanted to count the clothes I had arrived with, which, if they hadn't been burned, were certainly not fit for polite society, let alone the dinner table. Still, I told myself as I blotted my pages and put away my pens, Lord Elmsby had to be aware of the state I arrived in. If he expected me to dress for dinner, he would have found some way for me to be provided with appropriate attire. At least I hoped so. I went up to my room to wash up and comb my hair, which would at least show I'd made an effort at being presentable, then made my way back to the dining room.

I met Lord Elmsby in the corridor as I was trying to remember which turn took me to the dining room. Thankfully, he was still wearing the same green coat he'd worn at midday, although he'd changed his buckskin breeches for a more formal pair of trousers and re-done his cravat in a neat mathematical. At least he wasn't in full formal dress. It made me feel less conspicuous in my less-than-fashionable attire.

The table was again set for a less-than-formal meal, with plates of fish and roast and vegetables already set out when we entered. There was not a large variety of food, but what was there was generously portioned and smelled delicious. The meal of a large house that didn't feel the need to show off when there was no company. Lord Elmsby filled his soup bowl, so I did as he did and stirred the soup slowly, hoping it looked as if I were trying to cool it and not that I was nervous about the meal. Lord Elmsby sipped his soup quietly, not speaking except to ask if I wanted more before telling Simon to take away the serving tureen and remove our bowls. I waited until Lord Elmsby started to serve himself from the plates in front of us, then did the same, starting with the plate of perfectly cooked roast beef.

I was just swallowing my second bite when Lord Elmsby said, "You said you had some questions for me on the system you were working out."

I was so relieved he hadn't asked a moment sooner and given me the awkward moment of trying to answer and eat politely at the same time that I was able to answer quickly. "I wanted to be certain you approved of the arrangement before I got too far along."

"Very sensible. What sort of system were you employing?"

I realized too late that, in order to explain what I was doing, I needed to show him the ledgers, which made it terrible dinner conversation, and it was the only topic I had prepared to speak on. I fumbled for something to say. "I have a ledger started. It might be best to show it to you."

I had timed my own words badly, and Lord Elmsby had a mouthful of turbot just as I was finishing my sentence. He gave a brief nod.

I took the silence as a chance to shift the topic to something I could discuss. "I did have a few other questions. There doesn't seem to be a particular order." That sounded critical, so I babbled on and hoped I didn't make it worse. "I found a set of encyclopedias that were out of order and a few other items like that. Novels with the parts scattered among the shelves." He seemed to have finished chewing, so I forced myself to stop dithering and said, "So I was wondering if I ought to put things in order as I was cataloging."

Lord Elmsby swallowed his fish with a thoughtful look rather than the self-consciousness I'd felt then answered, "Would organizing them at this point interfere with your cataloging?"

"I wasn't sure. It would depend on how the cataloging progresses."

"In what way?"

I launched into an explanation of the various considerations I'd come up with, while Lord Elmsby listened and asked intelligent questions. If I had thought he was uninterested in my work that morning, he seemed to be making up for it now, and the conversation brought us all the way through to the strawberry crumble and cream. As Lord Elmsby finished his last bite of pudding, he glanced at my plate, which I had just scraped clean of cream and fruit, then said, "I believe you wanted to show me your ledger system. Shall we retire to the library?"

Either Lord Elmsby was truly interested in my work, or I had been right and he was lonely and saw this as the best way to extend our conversation, which so far had only really revolved around the library. I resolved to come up with some other topic of conversation and said, "If you'd like to see the ledgers and give me your suggestions for improving the system."

"I'm sure it doesn't need any improvement." But he rose, and I followed him into the hall and to the library.

Lord Elmsby entered the library and went directly to the bell pull to ring for a servant. "So where are these ledger books?"

I hurried to the table and opened the first one. Before I could explain anything, Simon came into the room to answer the bell. Lord Elmsby looked up at once even though Simon had entered without a sound. "Bring the brandy from the study and two glasses."

"Yes, my lord." Simon bowed and left.

"Now, your system."

Lord Elmsby leaned against the chair and waited while I opened the books and began explaining the work I'd done. I still wasn't sure that Lord Elmsby was particularly interested, but he did ask a few good questions and offered a suggestion or two of his own that were quite close to things I'd been considering, so he was paying attention.

Simon arrived as we were looking at my system for logging series books, which wasn't fully developed so I didn't mind being interrupted. He brought the requested tray, with a decanter and two glasses and a pair of cigars. Lord Elmsby nodded, and Simon put the tray on the table beside him. "That will be all, Simon." Lord Elmsby picked up the decanter and began to pour out.

"Yes, my lord." Simon bowed and stepped back. As he passed me, Simon whispered, "I brought the good stuff," and winked. When I glanced back, he showed me the rim of an empty glass in his pocket and what seemed to be a cigar, so he'd been sampling Lord Elmsby's offerings as well. I found myself wondering if he had switched the bottles or was trying to take credit for what Lord Elmsby had put out. Either way, I wanted to keep on his good side, so I forced a smile of thanks as he passed me on his way out.

Lord Elmsby put the cigars aside. "When I put this out, I thought we'd be in the study. If you'd like to retire to there for these, you're welcome to, but the smoke hangs in the books for such a long time."

"There are some volumes here you definitely want to keep as safe as possible."

"Such as?"

So we brought our drinks to the shelves, and I showed him a few of the particularly good books I'd found, also the mis-organized things that I was considering rearranging, and we passed a pleasant evening discussing books until the brandy was gone and Lord Elmsby declared the evening over by wishing me a good night.

{--*--}

After the successful dinner, I thought I would feel much less intimidated meeting Lord Elmsby at breakfast, but my sleeping mind had other ideas. My head had barely hit the pillow when I began dreaming. At first, it seemed to be the same fevered dream I'd had when Lord Elmsby had brought me to Gorsewall Manor; my dream self lying on the moors under a night sky, a flock of blue and green birds overhead, only this time, my dream self knew it was seeing a cloak. It also knew who I would find under the cloak. The dream Lord Elmsby leaned over me, as if to pick me up, only he didn't. He floated over me, his face inches from mine, his lips hovering tantalizingly out of reach, as his cloak fell open, revealing a slim, strong body, wearing nothing but the cloak. My dream self seemed to expect this and reached out for him as Lord Elmsby lowered his body over me, covering us both with the cloak.

I never did find out what my dream self intended to do with Lord Elmsby. As the cloak was drifting over our dream selves, as my dream self was reaching up to run my hand along the smooth chest in front of me, my actual self also reached up and got tangled in the blankets, waking me up. The dream had been so vivid, it took me a moment to realize I was in bed, alone, and not out on the moors in a considerably more enjoyable position than I had been before. And then I woke fully, with the vision of naked dream Lord Elmsby hovering over me still fresh in my mind.

I stared at the fabric above my head, unable to make out the patterns I knew were there in the dim light, and tried to convince myself the dream meant nothing. It was merely my mind trying to make sense of the memories of my flight across the moors. But the image of Lord Elmsby's naked form was too sharp, too clear, and too close to what I was certain would be revealed if I were to see him peel away the perfectly fitted jackets and fine linen shirts he wore.

And then I realized what had woken me up, or at least part of what was responsible. Footsteps in the hallway outside my door. In the dark room, with dream Lord Elmsby so fresh in my mind, I was willing to believe anything from a ghost to my dream made real. "Stop being a fool," I told myself as the footsteps came nearer then stopped. "It's most likely one of the servants checking that the candles are out." But I didn't believe that for a moment. I slipped out of bed and went into the sitting room to see if I could hear anything more clearly.

It was quiet in the sitting room. Whoever had been walking had stopped. I was trying to convince myself to open the door and look out when the footsteps began again, this time moving away. If I wanted to know what had happened, now was the time. I moved across my room as quietly as possible and opened the door just wide enough to see out.

The hallway was dark, but I could see a shadow, barely more than a dark shape draped in white, moving down the hall, away from my door, at least. I very firmly told myself the only ghosts in the house were in the more sensational books downstairs, not that it stopped the shiver that went down my spine. I realized the shape would either have to go downstairs--likely if it was a servant--or pass the large window at the turn after the stairs. I held very still and watched, not sure what would be revealed but hoping the shape wouldn't disappear altogether.

The shadow moved past the stairs and into the moonlight coming through the window. Whatever I had expected to see, it would not have been the real Lord Elmsby, wearing only his nightshirt, yet there he was. I pulled my door closed as gently as I could and returned to bed, trying to make sense of what I'd seen.

Why would Lord Elmsby come to my room, stand by the door, and then leave? He certainly couldn't be lost in his own house. Perhaps he walked in his sleep? But that didn't feel right either. I lay back under the covers and tried to sort it out, only to fall asleep before any sensible idea could occur to me.

Fortunately, the rest of the night was dreamless, and although I remembered the dream quite clearly when I woke up, I also remembered that Lord Elmsby would have no idea about it unless I did something foolish. Simon came by with hot water and another clean shirt, reminding me that there was no way Lord Elmsby could forget I had been wandering the moors, starving and recently escaped from prison, and also that I needed to purchase some shirts of my own before Simon got tired of lending me his. Thinking about such practical matters made it easier to go down to the breakfast room in a suitable frame of mind.

Lord Elmsby was already seated when I arrived, handsome and dashing as before in a perfectly tailored suit, with the sunlight shining off of his gold hair, more reminders, if I needed them, that my dream had been foolish and a marquess, no matter how lonely, would have no interest in a ragged stranger brought in off the moors, so I was able to greet him with what I considered impressive equanimity. Lord Elmsby spoke about general things as we ate, the weather, the upcoming village market, and asked a few questions about how I intended to proceed with my cataloging that showed me he had been paying attention when I'd explained my system to him the evening before. The sheer normalcy of it all made it easy to remember that I was sitting across from the real Lord Elmsby, not the figure from my dream, and that was as it should be.

With breakfast finished, I returned to the work I'd been hired for, reminding myself that the best way to impress Lord Elmsby was with my brilliance at sorting out books. The library was quite cheery in the morning, with sunlight coming through the large windows and sending large patches of light across the desk. Probably not the best thing for the books, of course, but I found myself wondering if perhaps there was some way to arrange the shelves that would allow the room to take advantage of the light and still protect the books from fading. Perhaps that could be part of my work. I went to the desk and opened my ledger books to settle in, only to hear a terrible scraping and scratching sound. I froze, looking around me, trying to identify it. Too loud for a mouse or even a rat--my months in prison had made me quite familiar with the sound of both--but not something I'd heard before either. I glanced towards the back of the library, looking for any sign of movement.

And then I heard the sound again, this time accompanied by voices, high-pitched voices on the verge of giggling, and I realized I must have heard the sounds of cleaning equipment being dropped. Mrs. Hopkins's maids from the village must be starting on the hallway outside the library. Nothing to get myself in a state over. I looked towards the back of the library again, recalling the fright Mrs. Hopkins had given me the day before when I hadn't been expecting her. I couldn't spend all my time at Gorsewall Manor nervous about what I might find behind me. I hadn't realized my time in prison had given me such a sensitivity to fright, but that had to be it. Or perhaps the fear from kneeling in alleys, expecting the watch to come up behind me, had carried over to my work here. Whichever it was, I resolved to do some work at the back of the library, the place that was making me jumpy, particularly as it was a sunny day and the shadows that had filled the area the afternoon before had been chased to the corners. Besides, it would give me a better idea of what sorts of books the library held. So far, I had only looked at the first few shelves. At least that was what I told myself. I didn't want to admit, even privately, that having so many places for someone to hide behind while I was sitting at the table with my back to them was disconcerting, to say the least.

If that was the plan, I decided it was best to start at the back and work my way forward, proving to myself that there was nothing to be concerned about. As I examined the books on my way back, I realized there was some order to the library. The most recent acquisitions seemed to be at the front of the library, and the farther back one went, the older the books. Each new lord must have simply added his acquisitions to the front of the library until they ran out of space or the line ceased to be interested in books. That also meant it was likely the more interesting finds were in fact at the back of the room. Another reason to begin there.

I realized something else as I walked; there was no reason to worry about sitting with my back to the room. The most recent sets of bookcases were freestanding and had open areas going along the sides of the room in addition to the center aisle so they could accommodate the shelves built into the walls and allow access to the books kept there. But after the first four rows of bookcases, the shelves that jutted out into the room had been built at the same time as the shelves on the walls and were anchored to the walls in spaces between the other shelves. There was no way for someone to walk from the back of the library to the front without using the center aisle and therefore being visible to me from the table. That made me feel much better. I went to the row of shelves at the back of the library and pulled down a few books. They were old. From the dust, it was clear they hadn't been opened in years if not decades. The first two were rather cheap political treatises on matters long out of memory or importance, but the third was a very nice copy of Milton. Lord Elmsby would have some good finds when I was through. I took a few notes on the volumes and put them back on the shelf and grabbed the next few books.

By the time I'd filled a page with notes, I'd come to like whichever Lord Elmsby had populated the last set of shelves. Much of it was dull, dry treatises on issues no longer relevant, but he had some unusual items. Besides the Milton, there were books on the ports of Japan, two books on Marco Polo, an illustrated volume of animals of the Americas, and a very nice copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. As I brought my notes back to the desk to be recorded in the ledger, I looked at the arrangement of the shelves, trying to figure out how much of it might belong to the group I was looking at. Instead, it occurred to me that there was no way Mrs. Hopkins could have been the person I heard moving in the back of the library. Because of the arrangement of the shelves I'd noticed earlier, she would have had to pass my table to reach the fireplace where I'd seen her, and I certainly would have noticed that. And the faint smell of smoke had not been the sort from a lamp or a taper but the distinctive smell of a tobacco, certainly something I could not see coming from Mrs. Hopkins. So how had someone gotten in? And who had it been?

I forced that thought from my mind. It had been no one. There was no way for someone to have gotten to the back of the library without me seeing them, so there was no one back there. The sounds I had heard had been Mrs. Hopkins, nothing more. They had simply been distorted by the acoustics of the room, just as the sounds of the maids in the hall had been. As for the smoke, I could have been mistaken, or perhaps the scent had lingered from one of the books or had been trapped in the draperies. Lord Elmsby had complained of just that the night before. That was the only logical explanation, so that had to be it.

{--*--}

By the time the clock in the corner of the room struck one, I had filled several pages of the ledger with my finds from the back of the library, displaced enough dust to build a small beach, and begun a separate list of things I found particularly interesting or potentially valuable for Lord Elmsby to look at. That seemed to be a good morning's work, so I stretched the kinks from my back and went off to find something to eat.

I only got lost twice on my way to the dining room, and when I found it, Lord Elmsby was already there, partaking of the light meal Mrs. Hopkins had laid out for us. I realized I hadn't been explicitly invited today and wondered if he might prefer to eat alone and if I ought to slip away before I put him in the awkward position of having to tell me to, when a fit of coughing caught his attention. As I struggled to regain my composure, Lord Elmsby poured water from the carafe on the table and brought it to me.

"Sorry," I managed once the water had soothed my throat.

"No need to apologize. Perhaps I should send for Dr. Barton to be safe. We may have declared you well too quickly. It wouldn't do for you to exhaust yourself."

But I was already feeling much better. "No need. I'm going through some dusty volumes at the moment. Very interesting finds, but dusty."

"If they're interesting, I doubt my father knew about them or they would have been sold. You ought to go outside a bit, clear out your lungs."

"Mrs. Hopkins said the same thing."

"One should never argue with Mrs. Hopkins. Or allow her roast chicken to go to waste. Come try a bit."

So it seemed the invitation to dine was a standing one. I went to the sideboard and took some of the suggested chicken and sat at the place to Lord Elmsby's right. I could feel him watching me, but whether it was because he was worried I would expire in front of him or he wasn't sure what to make of my answer, I couldn't tell. I also couldn't bring myself to look at him as he was looking at me just in case some of what was going through my mind showed on my face, namely the hope that he might like what he saw and speculation about the accuracy of that blasted dream. Instead, I took his advice and began to slice into the chicken, which was indeed very good.

I was just swallowing my first bite when Lord Elmsby said, "You mentioned some interesting finds in the library."

So had he been watching me eat, looking for my reaction to the food, or simply waiting politely until I could speak before asking something, or had the timing been mere coincidence? In any case, it was an easy question to answer. "Yes, several things, actually. A very nice copy of Milton in the back." As Lord Elmsby nodded encouragingly, I described the book and the others on my list of things to show him, and we passed a pleasant meal with no awkward pauses save for those caused by two men having their mouths full of excellent chicken and carrots.

Lord Elmsby mentioned walking on the grounds twice more during our meal, so when the last of the chicken had been consumed and he went back to his office to work on whatever it was he did now that he was a marquess, I decided to take the advice I had been given on all sides and go for a walk on the grounds. Not far, certainly not far enough to get lost, and I had had more than my share of wandering over the moors before Lord Elmsby had collected me up and brought me to Gorsewall Manor, but a short walk down one of the well-marked paths Mrs. Hopkins had mentioned seemed a good idea. I could always say I didn't want to tire myself out after my illness to explain my quick return. There was the question of an overcoat, something I hadn't had since the night I was arrested, but that was quickly solved by a visit to the kitchen, where Mrs. Hopkins sent Moira to find me something suitable in what she carefully avoided calling the charity box then proceeded to tell me about her favorite walks in the area with a pleased expression that made me glad I'd let her know I was taking her advice.

Once I was properly, or at least warmly, attired, I set out for one of the walking paths Mrs. Hopkins had suggested. As I crossed the lawn, I realized I hadn't had a proper look at the house that was my temporary home. I'd been unconscious when I'd been brought by Lord Elmsby and hadn't had occasion to look at it since. When I was far enough from the walls to have a proper look, I paused and turned back. It was the sort of place William would have called a pile with a hint of derision. There was nothing consistent or unifying about the place. One tower poking up on the east side looked as if it could have been part of some original, medieval fortress with heavy stone and small windows. The main section of the house seemed to be Tudor, with wood beams and mullioned windows. Then there were the wings poking out at odd places, as if every owner had wanted to add something of his own era and had the architect put it wherever he could fit it, leaving a jumble of everything from a Baroque sort of portico to a row of arched Gothic windows that wouldn't have looked out of place in a French cathedral, not to mention the jumble of towers and chimneys fighting for space on the roofs. No wonder I couldn't find my way around the house; the house itself didn't know which way was which. I moved towards the side of the house where I thought my room was located, which was in the older, Gothic-style wing. The house seemed dark and imposing from that angle, but I counted windows and tried to figure out which window belonged to my room. I was distracted by a curtain twitching on the first floor and spotted Lord Elmsby looking out across the lawn. I raised my hand in greeting without thinking and then wondered if that was proper for one of my current station, only to have Lord Elmsby wave back. Perhaps being alone out on the moors made a lord less choosy about his friends than he would be in the city with more noble choices.

Or perhaps I was seeing shadows where I wanted them to be. By great good fortune I had stumbled upon exactly what I needed, a refuge. No one would think to look for me in the wilds of Yorkshire, and no one in the area would think it odd if I didn't venture farther than the village as it seemed the master of the house rarely ventured that far. I had a roof over my head, work that I found congenial, a bit of a salary, and a safe place to think and sort out my life. Really, Lord Elmsby's friendship almost seemed too much to ask. I turned myself towards the path and started to walk away from the house.

I continued down the path for about half an hour, until I came to the low stone wall that separated the grounds of the house from the moors around them. I considered looking for the gate or just climbing over the wall, but I had work to do back at the house, so I settled for resting my arms on the cool stones and watching the sheep munching on whatever it was they found there until I had breathed all of the dust from my lungs, then made my way back to the house and to work.

{--*--}

Back from my walk, I managed to find my way into the house and back to the library while only getting lost once, something I considered a victory, particularly once I'd seen Gorsewall Manor from the outside. I didn't encounter anyone in the hallways I passed through, but there was the comfortable feeling of a house filled with people going about their business even if I couldn't see them. That and the light coming through the windows made everything seem less fraught and gloomy than it had the evening before, unless it was simply that I had had a bit of time outdoors when I was well-fed and relatively comfortable that made the atmosphere less oppressive. Perhaps Mrs. Hopkins had been right and I'd needed to get the dusty air out of my lungs. It certainly couldn't have been a brief wave from Lord Elmsby causing my change in mood.

In any case, I returned to my sorting with new enthusiasm, even going so far as to tackle the shelves at the very back of the room where I had heard the strange sounds before. I'd left off there with the lower shelves, the ones which would require me to kneel on the ground with my back to the library and the source of any strange sounds, a position which, little as I wanted to admit it, reminded me of kneeling in alleys listening for the watch or anyone who might report me to the watch. But I was in a sunny library, feeling more like myself than I had since that night at the Swan's Nest, and I even allowed myself to check behind the draperies and tug on the built-in shelves to assure myself that there was no one hiding, no way for anyone to get into the library or sneak up on me while I was on my knees, and set to work.

If there had been any doubt, the books on the bottom shelf would have told me unequivocally that the previous Lord Elmsbys had not known these books existed. The first book I pulled from the shelf was a collection of prints depicting some very explicit art from the East, India I guessed from what little clothing was depicted. It was the sort of book one would sell for a great deal of money or keep hidden away for private indulgence or burn altogether, not leave out where any curious guest could pull it from the shelf. I put it back and pulled out the next. It was also an erotic text, this one Greek, with every page showing frolicking young men following a very well-endowed Pan through a series of games that all seemed to involve bending over. I knew I ought to catalog the book and put it back, but I couldn't resist turning just one more page, then another. I could feel myself becoming quite flushed, but whether from embarrassment at the thought of being caught looking at such a book or from the thoughts flitting through my mind that made Pan look a good bit more like Lord Elmsby than he did in reality, I couldn't tell. Most likely a bit of both.

I'm not sure how long I knelt by the bookshelf looking at those prints before I became aware that there was someone else in the library, someone standing quite near me. My first thought was that I had no idea what to say to Mrs. Hopkins if she had come looking for me. Fortunately, it wasn't her, but when my eyes darted to the side and noticed a pair of polished Hessian boots, I almost wished it had been. Those boots reminded me that the first time I'd seen Lord Elmsby, and the first time he'd seen me, I'd been on my knees in a not dissimilar pose than my current one in a dirty alley sucking off an even dirtier tanner. I turned to say something, only to be distracted by the sight of a fine thigh clad in worn-in buckskin breeches and then a most impressive cockstand outlined clearly in the soft material. So I wasn't the only one aroused by the images. Without thinking of the consequences, I ran my palm along the firm muscle of Lord Elmsby's thigh from the top of his boot to where his leg met his hip, feeling the muscle twitch under my hand and wondering how it would feel pressed against me. I was rewarded with a sigh.

Emboldened, I left the book on the floor and turned so I was facing him, my head aligned with the fall of his trousers, just the position I had taken in alleys so many times, only this time I wanted to be there for no reason other than to be able to touch the man before me. I slid my hand along his thigh, following the crease where it met his hip, until my hand reached the fall of his trousers. I could feel the heat of his skin as I palmed his cock through the material of his breeches, feeling the hard flesh beneath, imagining it stretching my lips, thrusting against me. I slid my hand up to the buttons holding the fall against his skin, prepared to undo them and release what I could tell would be one of the finest cocks I'd seen, my mouth going dry with desire, my lips parting slightly in anticipation of the first taste, when Lord Elmsby stepped back abruptly. I teetered on my knees for a moment as I regained my balance now that the support of Lord Elmsby's thigh was gone. I heard those polished black boots click across the floor and the library door close.

I stayed on my knees, staring at the spot where Lord Elmsby had been, and called myself every name I could think of and a few I made up on the spot. Hadn't I learned where indulging in desires led a person? To prison, the pillory, and dirty alleys with filthy tanners. And now I would be going back there, unless Lord Elmsby figured out who I was and sent me all the way back to London and Newgate, and then everything William had done for me would have been for nothing. I was a fool.

I knelt there berating myself for my foolishness until my knees began to protest the hard surface of the library floor. Then I got to my feet and collected up the books I'd been looking at. If I wanted Lord Elmsby to forget about my foolishness, the best thing to do was continue with the inventory. Perhaps I could pretend it had never happened, or I had slipped and my hand on his thigh had been nothing more than an effort to regain my balance. Perhaps I could simply avoid him altogether and he would think of me as part of the staff, someone who did their job and could be ignored. That seemed the best plan. Do the job he'd hired me for and stay out of his way. As long as he didn't decide to sack me on the spot. Or hadn't already sent for the watch and was trying to keep me in the library until they arrived. There were certainly worse things than spending the next few weeks in the library or in the kitchen with Mrs. Hopkins. I had already experienced several of them.

I didn't bother to sort the books that had gotten me in trouble. I merely put them back on the shelf then made a simple note on the inventory of _prints from Greece and India_. Lord Elmsby would know what that meant. Then I returned to work on the inventory. Perhaps, if I did a good enough job of it, he would still pay me for what I'd done and perhaps even give me a reference if I managed to find some sort of place where he wouldn't have to worry that I would offer to suck off my employer or any other random person, or at least give me a head start to get out of the county ahead of the watch.

# Chapter 5

I WORKED STEADILY THROUGH the afternoon. Dinner time came, and I still hadn't been asked to leave the house, so I began to have hope that I would be allowed to stay and make amends for my appalling behavior. I certainly would not be welcome at Lord Elmsby's table after that incident, but perhaps Lord Elmsby would have found it too shocking to mention to Mrs. Hopkins and I could dine downstairs with the servants. I was wondering how to propose this to her when there was a tap at the door and Mrs. Hopkins herself came in.

"There you are. Lord Elmsby said he thought you might still be working."

"I wasn't..." I was going to tell her I wasn't hungry, but then I realized her words meant Lord Elmsby had sent her.

"Wasn't watching the time? Isn't that the way of it? But his lordship was concerned that you not push yourself too hard so soon after you were ill, and I can't say he's wrong. So mark where you were and come along to dinner. Those books have been here for years; they won't wander off in the night."

Lord Elmsby had asked after me. If I didn't join him at dinner now, he would think that _I_ was upset over that afternoon's incident, which was certainly not the case. I stuck a bit of paper in the book I was looking at and followed Mrs. Hopkins downstairs.

When we entered the dining room, Lord Elmsby was seated in his normal spot at the head of the table with my place set out beside him. He acknowledged me as I sat down. "I hope I didn't disturb you at an important point in your work, but I would hate for you to exhaust yourself so soon after your illness."

"I lost track of the time. I'm sorry you had to wait for me."

"Think nothing of it. I believe that's Simon with the soup."

We started the meal in silence. I thought that was what Lord Elmsby preferred until I saw him adjust his napkin for the fourth time and realized he was nearly as nervous about facing me after our almost tryst in the library as I was at facing him. I searched my mind for some safe topic of conversation. "I took your advice and walked the grounds this afternoon."

Lord Elmsby seized on that bit of information as if it were some great conversational overture. "I thought I saw you on the path to the moors."

"Yes, I went as far as the boundary wall and watched the sheep grazing."

"I thought you might do some hill walking. It can be a rest for the mind if not the body."

So that explained his presence in the library. He had thought I would be out longer and had gone to--what? Check on my progress, perhaps? See if anything was missing? Find something to read without disturbing me? "I considered it, but as you've observed, I'm not long out of the sickbed." I considered adding something about the amount of walking I'd done the past few days, but that might lead to questions about why I had come from London hitching rides on mail coaches when I could, walking when I couldn't, and working in dark alleys when I needed to eat.

"Probably sensible of you. When you're ready, though, there are some lovely views."

"I'm sure there are. Any in particular I should see?"

We spent the rest of the meal in a comfortable discussion of the various landmarks Lord Elmsby felt I should see while I was in the area. It made for safe and somewhat interesting conversation. And it kept the meal from being uncomfortable and meant I didn't have to say anything about the incident.

When the last of Mrs. Hopkins's pudding had been consumed, Lord Elmsby rose from the table and asked, "Will you join me for a glass of brandy in the study?"

I looked up, prepared to say no, until he added in an almost nervous voice, "Please?"

"Of course."

I couldn't tell if that pleased him or if the nerves I thought I had detected had been a figment of my imagination, but he turned and led the way out of the dining room and back to the study where I had first met him. I hadn't thought anything could be more uncomfortable than that first meeting; clearly, I had been wrong. Lord Elmsby went directly to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy without saying anything while I stood in the middle of the room and tried to find someplace neutral to look. If this was an attempt to bring us back to some sort of normal footing, it was failing miserably. I was just thinking it might be best to claim something about my recent illness and make a dash for it, when Lord Elmsby approached me, holding out a glass. I took it and murmured my thanks then sipped quickly so I'd have an excuse not to speak.

Lord Elmsby went to stand by the fireplace, leaning against the mantel. He stared fixedly at his own glass with an expression I couldn't read, frustrated or nervous or perhaps some of both, and the firelight that normally seemed to glint off of his hair seemed to be picking out little lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes I hadn't noticed before.

I thought we were both going to stand in silence until we finished our drinks when he surprised me by saying, "I wished to apologize for my behavior this afternoon. It was inexcusable. I saw... I mean I..." Lord Elmsby stared at his glass with fixed attention. "I would never want you to think there was any obligation on your part... Oh, I am doing this badly."

"You aren't," I hurried to re-assured him, "and if it will make you feel better, I accept your apology. But really I'm the one who took liberties; I'm the one who should apologize. And I do."

"Nonsense. I saw you and remembered..."

And then I understood his hesitation. "You saw me in the alley with the tanner trying to earn a meal, and you were worried I would mistake your intention. Believe me, what I was prepared to do in the library was nothing at all like what I did in dark alleys to eat." I tried to keep my tone light, but when I finally forced myself to look at Lord Elmsby, he was giving me a look I couldn't interpret, somewhere between sadness and relief. I wasn't certain how to react to it; all I could think to say was, "Really, it's all right."

Lord Elmsby became very interested in the contents of his glass. "Let me assure you it won't happen again."

Even with all the thoughts of being thrown out on my ear that afternoon fresh in my mind, he looked so truly sorry that I couldn't resist adding, "Even if I'd like it to?"

Lord Elmsby looked up, clearly not expecting that response. The silence stretched again, until he said in the most hesitant voice I'd ever heard from a lord, "Would you?"

That tone deserved an honest answer, so even though being reckless once had gotten me into the worst trouble of my life, I answered, "Yes, I think I would."

Lord Elmsby swallowed.

I brought my glass to my lips and finished the contents in one go. I thought we were finished speaking for the evening when Lord Elmsby said, "I'll keep that in mind."

I brought my empty glass to the cabinet beside him and leaned over to put it down on the tray, close enough to Lord Elmsby to feel his breath against my neck and smell the sandalwood soap he used and the clean linen against his neck and the hint of nutmeg from Mrs. Hopkins's pudding and the brandy he'd just consumed. "Please do."

Lord Elmsby shifted towards me until his head almost rested against my shoulder, and then he seemed to realize what he was doing and drew back the faintest bit so he was once again leaning against the cabinet. I stepped back and bowed slightly and made for the door, thinking I couldn't have handled that worse if I'd tried.

"Rest well," Lord Elmsby said.

I turned back. "You as well."

When I got back to my room after our odd evening in the study, I was certain everything between Lord Elmsby and myself would be uncomfortable and began berating myself at once for my stupidity. He had seemed so genuinely contrite, so convinced the fault had been his when I'd been the one who had initiated everything in the library, I had felt compelled to tell him I found him attractive and his advances would not be unwelcome, which all but confirmed what I was running from if not the specifics of it, and I was certain made everything worse. Hadn't I just spent hours telling myself that I shouldn't have touched him, shouldn't have come within a handsbreadth of sucking him off, and then to turn around and respond to his assurances that he would do nothing to initiate such contact with my desire to have it happen...

I began to wonder if it was best to leave the house as soon as I was able. I even considered skipping breakfast the next morning in an effort to avoid Lord Elmsby, but I worried that waiting would make an awkward meeting worse, so I went down the next morning prepared for a difficult meal. But Lord Elmsby was quite friendly, even going so far as to recommend an article in the morning paper on an archaeological discovery in Greece which he had found interesting. Far from being awkward, it managed to be the most comfortable meal we'd had so far.

At least I thought it had been until I was on my way up to the library and saw him sweep out the front door dressed for riding and apparently in a hurry. Of course, that didn't mean he was trying to get away from me, the logical part of my mind pointed out. He could have important business elsewhere, despite the fact that he had had no letters at breakfast. Perhaps an appointment he forgot. And it would be the perfect time to finish going through the volumes on the lower shelf that had gotten me in so much trouble, a time when there would be no risk of Lord Elmsby coming into the room and finding me on my knees looking at erotic etchings. The little pang of regret I felt at that thought was strictly irrational, I knew, and pushed it aside. And my frequent trips to the window were merely to take advantage of the light, and if it happened to afford me a good view of the drive and the path to the stables, that was pure coincidence.

By the time the clock had struck half-past noon, I realized I hadn't gotten nearly as much done as I had expected to thanks to my frequent trips to look out over the drive and the stable yard, but those delays had also told me that Lord Elmsby had not yet returned. I wondered if Mrs. Hopkins knew where he'd gone. That seemed like a promising line of inquiry, particularly as it seemed a waste of work to set up the dining room if I was going to be dining alone. It seemed much simpler for me to have a bite to eat in the kitchen, or so I told myself. As I knew I wouldn't get much done in the library until I'd settled my curiosity, I put my pens away and went downstairs to find the kitchens.

I was getting better at navigating the house and managed to find the kitchens on my first try. Mrs. Hopkins was alone, I noticed, no Moira. "Hello?" I said to avoid startling her as I entered.

"Mr. Brook, how nice to see you. Were you looking for something?"

I wasn't quite sure how to phrase what I wanted, which was mainly gossip, so I danced around the edges. "I noticed his lordship went out this morning and I haven't heard him return yet..."

"That's right. He said he was going to look at the cottages, although Hindshaw does that normally."

I assumed Hindshaw was some sort of factor or man-of-business. So perhaps Lord Elmsby was trying to get away from me. "Are you expecting him back soon?"

Mrs. Hopkins shrugged. "He didn't say."

I wasn't certain how to explain my interest and was about to give up entirely and go back to the library when Mrs. Hopkins added,

"Would you like a bit of tea?"

"That sounds wonderful."

"And I can get you a bit of the cold plate Moira put together, seeing as his lordship might not be back in time for it. I would hate for you to have to wait for him and be too late to take your walk. It seemed to do you a lot of good, getting some fresh air in you."

"That's very kind of you. Would you join me?"

"If you'd like a bit of company." She smiled at me then. "Or even a bit of gossip, with his lordship away."

So she knew why I had really come. "I was rather curious about him."

"Of course you are, seeing as you're living here now. And he did bring you in off of the moors." I couldn't tell if that was a hint that she wanted a bit of gossip about me in exchange, but she didn't say anything else about it, merely brought over a tray of sliced beef and cheese then settled back for a good bit of a chat. "He was always the quiet one, which is surprising when you think of it. The youngest is usually the loud one. But between the old lord's temper and the antics of the other two, I suppose he thought the best thing to do was to slip about unnoticed. Of course, that meant he was unnoticed, even when he should have been." She smiled at my expression. "Oh, I don't mean he got away with things he shouldn't have--the old lord wouldn't have allowed that to happen. No, he didn't get into any sort of proper trouble, and any little step out of line was noticed. But no one noticed when he took first at school or won at sports. And he did want to be noticed then. I think that was why he started his business. It was shocking enough to get him noticed by the old lord, and I think he hoped that, if it did well, that might be acknowledged too."

"And was it?" I asked as she paused to sip her tea.

"No, only the scandal, not the success. Although I do think he enjoyed the business in the end. It was something to keep his mind busy, and he does seem to like all the things he imported. He brought enough of them here when he came. It was a pity he had to give it up when he inherited the title."

"Why did he have to?" I understood his father being against his son in trade--it was a common enough prejudice--but why give up something he enjoyed when his father and brothers were all gone?

Mrs. Hopkins sipped her tea again, only this time I was fairly certain it was to give her the chance to choose her words. "He wasn't supposed to inherit, of course. Not the third son. So when he did, I think he wanted to prove that he could be the proper lord of the manor. At least, for a time, he was very concerned about it."

"For a time?"

"When he first inherited, there were uncles down from London and aunts up from Bath to see what he'd do. None of the family noticed him when he was younger, and only when he was older to complain about the disgrace of trade, so they all wanted to know what was what."

"So they were suitably impressed?"

"How could they not be? And then he was prepared to marry and secure the line, and then she was gone, and he seemed to stop worrying about what those in London thought. I don't know that he's happier, but he seems more himself at least."

I nodded, unsure how to answer that. I wondered if I could ask her what I truly wanted to know, was the marriage something he'd wanted or one of convenience, and did she think his interests lay elsewhere? But of course I couldn't ask that. It would draw attention to my own interests, and if he hadn't confided in her or she hadn't guessed on her own, it would cast doubts on him. Best to stay silent on that matter. I gave her a chance to say more, but it seemed that was all she had to say about Lord Elmsby. I didn't want to seem overly interested in him, so I asked, "What about the rest of the household?"

"His lordship doesn't entertain, so we don't have the full staff we once had. Most don't live in but come up from the village. I've been cook here longer than I'll admit, and when the last housekeeper retired, there wasn't much point to hiring another when I could do what was needed easy enough. It didn't hurt that his lordship gave me a nice rise in pay for the extra work. Moira's been here since she was a scullery maid and worked her way up. She'll be a proper cook someday if she keeps at it. Most of the others who live in have been here since the old lord, by which I mean the current one's father. It's hard to keep them straight when so many go so fast."

"So many what?" Moira asked as she came through the kitchen door with a basket from the kitchen garden.

"Lords. We were just discussing how his lordship got the title."

"Ah. Can't say I'm sorry he's the one that ended up with it."

"We shouldn't speak ill of the old lords," Mrs. Hopkins said but in a tone that suggested that requirement was from custom rather than a reflection of her own opinion. She got up to help Moira sort the vegetables, and as I didn't want to be in the way, I finished the last of my food quickly, thanked Mrs. Hopkins for the company, and went back upstairs.

Lord Elmsby had not returned while I'd been eating, and as I went to the library, I told myself that was a good thing. If nothing else, it meant I wouldn't have to explain why I'd had my meal in the kitchen. And as I knew inspecting the cottages would take a while, I thought I could manage to spend a bit less time at the window and a bit more actually working, which I hoped would allow me to finish the shelves of erotic prints without having to worry that Lord Elmsby would slip up behind me just as I was looking at some particularly interesting examples. I had just begun pulling books from the shelf when I heard it. The slight scrape of something moving at the back of the library, only I was already at the back of the library. There were no other shelves beyond the ones I was kneeling in front of, but the noise was definitely coming behind me. I kept the book open in my lap and turned very slowly, hoping to surprise whoever was there.

Needless to say, there was no one behind me. Several perfectly logical explanations flitted at the edge of my mind just out of reach. I was almost prepared to call it a large rat and return to my shelf when I heard it again. A dragging sound, then the rhythmic pounding of steps. I would have thought a room on the other side of the wall, only I knew it to be an exterior wall. There were windows in it, for God's sake, not right there, but farther down the wall. So someone was walking around in a room on the other side of a wall where I knew there was nothing but the outdoors, and on the second floor of the house. If it hadn't been completely ridiculous, I would have said there was a ghost. But of course, it was probably some animal crawling up the side wall, something larger than a rat that didn't inhabit London townhouses or prisons so I had no knowledge of it. I almost believed that explanation until I smelled a whiff of smoke. And then the curtain over the shelf of rare volumes fluttered in the breeze, only there was no breeze in the room and no window near the shelf to allow one in.

I reminded myself that I was in the library on a sunny afternoon, in a house full of people, then got to my feet and went to the curtain. It was still fluttering as I reached out and pulled it back, only to find exactly what I expected, a shelf of rare books behind glass doors, and no explanation of the fluttering. I tugged gently on the shelf, then a little harder, until the books started to shift. There was no hidden passage. So why had the curtain moved?

I was tired, that was it. The worry about making a fool of myself in front of Lord Elmsby must have troubled my sleep and made me tired and prone to odd thoughts. That had to be it. And a walk outdoors would do me good. The books could wait. What were the chances of Lord Elmsby walking in on me twice, after all? He had been as embarrassed as I had. I quickly put my pens away and went to get my borrowed coat.

Outside, my fright in the library seemed silly. The day was sunny, but there was a bit of a breeze. That had to explain the shifting curtain. And Simon had brought cigars into the library that night with the brandy. I'd assumed he'd taken them away with him, quite probably to his own room to smoke himself, but perhaps one had rolled under the table and somehow that was what I was smelling, not smoke. And as for the rest, perhaps prison rats sounded different than their country cousins. Nevertheless, I went around to the side of the house where the library was and looked up at the walls to be certain, but it was exactly as I remembered, on the corner of the second floor. And there were no ghosts floating around outside, at least none that I could see. I told myself to stop being foolish and set out on the path to the moors.

As I left the house behind and started towards my sheep-watching site, I heard footsteps on the road behind, brisk footsteps, clearly trying to cover as much distance as possible. I told myself not to be silly, whatever had been in the library wall was not following me, and kept walking until I reached one of the wider areas then moved to the side of the path and into the grass so I wouldn't be in the way of whoever was in such a hurry. No sooner had I stopped than the footsteps slowed. I felt a frisson of fear slither down my spine. Pursuit. Someone had been walking briskly then stopped when I did. They were pursuing me. And it didn't have to be the watch from London, I realized. Any officer of the law who had seen me during my brief stint at selling my mouth could pull me in on charges as easily as those in London. And then my whereabouts would be known in London, and I would be back in prison and William's extra hour in the pillory would have been for nothing.

All of that flew through my mind in the seconds it took for me to hear the footsteps slow. The seconds after that, I pointed out to myself that it was most likely some farmer or shepherd wondering why I was traipsing past their flock or field and coming for a look. I was still new in the area, and the tale of my escape from highwaymen had most likely been shared and embellished by anyone in need of a drink at the pub. Anything else was foolishness on my part. Or the footsteps might not even be following me but simply someone in a hurry to get somewhere trying to catch their breath. Once I had suitably calmed myself, I turned towards the steps to get a look at what it was that was frightening me so.

It seemed my final theory was the correct one. The footsteps belonged to Lord Elmsby, who was just now coming over the rise. There was certainly no reason for him to be following me. I debated whether or not to say something, but it seemed rude to do nothing now that I had seen him, so I raised my hand in greeting.

Lord Elmsby smiled and sped up again. "Hello, Mr. Brook. I thought I might take my own advice and go for a bit of a walk myself."

So perhaps my feeling of being followed hadn't been so far wrong after all, although I had praised the path I was on not so long ago, so he could have simply wished to see it for himself after a morning out at the cottages. "I highly recommend it. The grounds here are quite beautiful."

"Perhaps you could show me some nice spot for resting your mind."

"If you'd like." I could show him the way then excuse myself and go off alone somewhere, or back to the house and hide in my room for a little while to rest. Everyone seemed convinced that I needed rest, I might as well oblige them.

"Not if I will interfere with your thinking, though."

Now that he'd said it, I realized I didn't mind his presence at all. Perhaps I would stay by the wall with him then. "I'd be glad of some company."

We walked in silence up the hill. At first, I thought we were both hoping to avoid the embarrassment of the last time we had been alone together, but as we walked, I realized it was a friendly sort of silence. I glanced surreptitiously at my companion and saw he was watching the hills alongside the path, the sun glinting on his blond hair, his face peaceful, the little lines I had noticed around his mouth and eyes less visible now. It was nice to think there was the possibility that we could be friends or at least friendly while I was at Gorsewall Manor.

I slowed as we reached the stone wall that marked the end of my usual walks. "Those are the sheep I've been watching," I said more to break the silence and tell him we had arrived at my spot than anything.

"Border Leicester, a fine choice. Mr. Thompson's flock."

I leaned my elbows on the wall. "You can tell from here?"

"Mmm." He nodded but didn't expand on the idea, which was fine as I didn't think I would ever need to be able to tell one sheep from another.

Lord Elmsby leaned forward and rested his forearms on the wall beside me. I was tempted to slide my arm to the side just a bit and rest it against his, but I resisted the temptation. It reminded me too much of my mortifying experience in the library, which was something I had no desire to repeat. To distract my mind, I looked for another topic of conversation. "You have beautiful property here."

Lord Elmsby nodded. "Yes, it's quiet here. Restful. Safe."

I agreed. That feeling of safety had been the first thing I'd noticed when I'd ridden through on the back of the mail coach. But I couldn't help asking, "Safe from what?"

He didn't look at me. "Rumors. Scandal. Questions that can't be answered."

I leaned against the wall and looked out at the sheep. What rumors was he worried about? What scandals? His time in trade? His missing fiancée? Or maybe, possibly, the very sort of scandal that had brought me out here? I smiled at that flight of fancy and caught Lord Elmsby watching me. I quickly scanned the view for something to explain my reaction. "The dog seems to think he's in charge."

Lord Elmsby turned back to the view. "He's supposed to be, but he's all over the place trying to get them to do what he wants, and they've gotten used to ignoring him."

Unlike Lord Elmsby, who seemed content to let events take their course under his command. We stayed by the wall, watching the sheep in silence well past my usual time to return to the library. I wasn't quite certain how to tell Lord Elmsby I ought to be getting back, particularly as I didn't want to go back. Standing quietly with Lord Elmsby was comfortable, almost as comfortable as time spent in William and Arthur's company. But he was my employer, and I didn't want him to think I was not taking my position seriously. Then he might decide he didn't really need the library organized, and he certainly wouldn't consider me for any other similar work he might have. That thought was enough to get my mind working, and I finally decided the simplest would be best and pushed myself away from the wall. "I suppose I should be getting back to work."

I was certain it was my imagination, but I thought I detected a bit of disappointment in Lord Elmsby's eyes. But it was quickly gone if it had been there at all, and he pushed away from the wall as well. "As should I. Have you eaten?"

"Mrs. Hopkins gave me something in the kitchen."

"Ah, good."

I glanced at Lord Elmsby from the corner of my eye. Did that mean he hadn't eaten yet? Which would have to mean that he returned from seeing the cottages and started walking towards the moors without stopping to eat. I tried to think of a reason for that, but all I could come up with was that he had been trying to catch up with me, which led to several other interesting possibilities. But when we arrived at the house, he merely wished me a good afternoon and went towards the dining room. I made my way to the library, unsure of what to think.

{--*--}

The afternoon passed uneventfully. At least I didn't hear any more strange noises from the back of the room and none of the books I pulled from the shelves contained anything particularly interesting or embarrassing. Without stopping to look out of the window every few minutes, I got more accomplished than I had that morning. But that didn't stop me from wondering about Lord Elmsby. Why had he missed his midday meal to come after me on my walk? I would have thought he'd stopped in the village to eat, except I had seen him go to the dining room when we returned, so that couldn't have been the case. I remembered my earlier theory that he was lonely and seeking out whatever company crossed his path, but surely he'd spent the morning talking to his tenants as he inspected the cottages. Was my conversation so much better than theirs, particularly as we'd barely exchanged a dozen sentences while watching the sheep? It made very little sense, and as my reasoning was clouded by the motives I was hoping to attribute to Lord Elmsby, tricky to puzzle out.

When it was time for me to put away my things before dinner, I was no closer to answering my riddles but found I had managed to get a fair bit of cataloging done as most of what I found was fairly routine. With my various musings on the riddle of our walk on the moors still fresh in my mind, I went to my room and tidied up, taking extra care with my hair and managing to get my limp cravat into something resembling order. I didn't pretend it was for any reason other than to look nice for Lord Elmsby. If he was going to make the effort to see me on the moors, it was the least I could do.

I met Lord Elmsby in the hallway outside the dining room again and for the first time began to wonder if he was waiting somewhere nearby to meet me as I came down. I wondered if I should mention our walk on the moors but decided to allow Lord Elmsby to direct the conversation. If he wanted to discuss it, he could certainly bring it up. But we spent most of the meal discussing the work I was doing in the library. I was quite pleased to be able to tell him I'd begun to make good progress now that my cataloging system was sorted out. Also now that I wasn't jumping at every creak of the floorboards or stray draft of air, but he didn't need to know that.

The walk on the moors didn't come up until we were in the study and Lord Elmsby was at the drinks cabinet. He'd invited me as we were finishing our pudding, and I had accepted without too much internal dithering. After all, if he was desperate enough for company that he'd delayed his meal in order to follow me out on the moors to watch sheep, it would be churlish to do otherwise. At least that was what I told myself after I had accepted. In any case, Lord Elmsby had led me to the study and offered me the box cigars he kept on the desk, which I declined when I saw he wasn't going to take one and wondered if they were there for guests and not his own use, which led me to wonder again about the smell of smoke in the library. Then he went to the cabinet and poured two whiskey and sodas, bringing one to me. "I hope I didn't disturb your walk this afternoon."

"Not at all. I was glad of the company." I hoped that I managed to achieve a tone that was sincere but not too eager, something that would encourage him if he wished to come walking again but not hint at the direction my dreams had taken recently. That was not something I should have thought of, and I quickly sipped my drink in the hopes that it would calm me.

Lord Elmsby took one of the seats by the fire and gestured for me to take the other. "If you wanted to walk somewhere else, all of the paths are well marked. I'd be happy to show you some of them."

"I enjoy the sheep. Watching them wander around the hills." The words were out of my mouth before I'd thought it through, though whether they sounded as if I didn't want to go walking with him, or of the fact that accepting the offer would be an excuse to spend time with him, which was rapidly becoming my motive for just about every decision it seemed.

"I suppose there is something soothing about it," Lord Elmsby conceded.

"More than that. They remind me of my gran," I said before I realized that I ought to have agreed with him and stayed silent. But Lord Elmsby was looking at me, waiting for me to continue, with one eyebrow slightly raised, looking interested in whatever story I would begin. "The wool. She used to knit. I sat on the footstool at her feet and watched. I was the only one who would be still long enough to sit with her." I could remember it very clearly, by the window in the summer, in front of the fire in the winter, the needles flashing, the long string of yarn turning into something useful. We rarely spoke, just sat and watched the scarves and socks grow. "She taught me how one winter. That was our secret. One of them. Father would never have stood for me learning something better suited to ladies or doddering old men." I stared into my glass and wondered if any of my lumpy scarves still existed. There had been one in my rooms, at the bottom of a drawer, but whoever had gathered my things had most likely tossed it in a charity bin. "I think she knew about me. I'm glad she didn't live to see what happened." By then, I had almost forgotten that Lord Elmsby was listening to me. Not completely forgotten; I managed to stop myself from saying more about the state I'd been found in in case Lord Elmsby was trying to ignore what had obviously happened to me. Highwaymen might fool young servants eager for a good story, but not the man who'd seen me kneeling in front of a tanner then found me out on the moors. I kept staring into the fire until I heard the creak of the leather as Lord Elmsby rose from his chair and a few moments later the soft rush of whiskey being poured into my glass as Lord Elmsby topped up my drink then his own. "Thank you," I murmured.

Lord Elmsby nodded and put the decanter back on the table then resumed his seat and returned to contemplating the fire. He did not comment on my confidence, which was a relief as I didn't know what I would have said. When Lord Elmsby spoke again, it was about the preparations for the harvest festivals he'd been told about when he'd been in the village and the latest rumors about the disappearance of the heiress in Tyneridge, which was something I was able to ask reasonable if not intelligent questions about and hold up my end of the conversation until we'd finished our drinks and Lord Elmsby rose to retire to his room.

{--*--}

When I left the study that night, I was feeling much more confident in my position in Gorsewall Manor. Lord Elmsby and I seemed to have recovered from that embarrassing scene in the library and returned to our former, friendlier footing, and I thought that, even if he did not wish to take advantage of what I'd offered--and really, why would he want to?--we could continue on in an amiable manner while I worked for him. And if that were the case, perhaps he would find some other work for me at Gorsewall Manor when I'd finished cataloging the library, some other papers he needed sorted or perhaps something in the village, which would give me a bit more time to hide in this refuge I'd found. At the very least, there was the chance of a good recommendation. With that and one from Arthur, I just might be able to find a position somewhere remote, with someone desperate enough for a clerk that they wouldn't check into my past too closely beyond the references I presented. Somehow the thought of a reference and the possibility of a future position didn't comfort me as much as it had the day he'd offered me the position, and I pretended not to know why.

I paused at the turning of the hallway and looked around, expecting to see the row of doors that led to my room on my left, only to see an unfamiliar corridor. Apparently, while I'd been caught up in my thoughts about Lord Elmsby, my sense of direction had deserted me. I started down the hallway, hoping to find some landmark that would lead me back. My candle continued to burn down, casting unfamiliar shadows on the wall. When I'd taken it from the study, I had thought it would last until I reached my room; I hadn't counted on needing it to get myself un-lost though.

Just as the sputtering was beginning to look dire and I was resigning myself to wandering around unfamiliar hallways in the dark, I spotted a line of night candles set out on an end table near a curtain I suspected hid a door to the servants' stairs. Shielding what was left of the flame with my hand, I hurried over and managed to light one just as the wax began to pool in the bottom of the holder. I made certain my old candle was fully out, then held up my new one in hopes of seeing something familiar.

The first thing I saw was the painting hanging on the wall opposite. It was definitely not something I had seen before. It was a portrait of a young woman in a gown that would have been the height of fashion five or six years ago. I suspected I knew who it was and stepped closer to examine it. This painting was large enough to allow me to see her features clearly. The woman was pretty, which I had expected, with blond hair a shade darker than Lord Elmsby's and brown eyes. She was smiling at the painter, a slight, humorous smile as if she had some lovely joke that she wasn't going to tell the observer. It made her seem clever, which I had not expected. She was posed with a book open on her lap and a small stack of them beside her on a table. I leaned in to try to read it, but the artist had only included a few words on the page, and those in German, so I couldn't make anything of that, except I assumed she read German as her family name was quite clearly English so it couldn't refer to her lineage. The spines of the books beside her were all blank so offered no clues. If my assumption was correct and I was looking at a portrait of Lord Elmsby's fiancée, then she had been depicted as a clever and well-read young woman. Was that accurate, or had her guardian exaggerated her talents to attract what he saw as a good match? I was going to try to find a date or signature on the painting and see how close to the engagement it had been painted when I heard a scuffling sound.

My first thought was a rat, but I'd heard enough rats in prison to know the sounds they made, and if a rat had made that sound, it was larger than any I'd encountered in Newgate, which was a terrifying thought. I held very still and listened.

The sound was coming from the other side of the door beside me. I tested the knob and found it locked. I knelt down and looked through the keyhole, only to find it blocked by the key. So someone was in the room and had locked it from the inside. That would explain the sounds. I looked at the floor at the bottom of the door and noticed there was no light. Whoever was in the room was moving around in the dark. But I had definitely heard someone moving around.

The sensible part of my mind told me not to disturb whoever it was. It was none of my business who Lord Elmsby gave guest rooms to or what they did in them. The more curious part of my mind pointed out that it was quite odd I hadn't been told there was someone else staying on this floor, and why were they so far away from my rooms that I didn't recognize the hallway? That thought reminded me that I was lost, and if the mysterious person was in their room, they would probably be able to tell me how to get back to mine. Besides, if they were fumbling around in the dark, they would no doubt be glad of the light from my candle. Or at least that was the final argument I made with myself before I knocked on the door.

There was no answer. I waited a moment, then knocked again. "I was hoping you might be able to help me."

I heard the scrambling sound again then something that sounded like glass breaking.

"Are you all right?"

Silence on the other side.

"I thought I heard glass. Please let me know that you're all right."

Still nothing.

The sensible thing to do was to admit the person in the room did not want to be disturbed and walk away. But I was standing in a dark hallway in the middle of the night beside the portrait of the missing fiancée of my mysterious employer. Sensible didn't seem terribly important. "I heard glass break, are you all right? I'm concerned that you are not able to answer me. If you're choosing not to, please just tell me you're all right, and I'll go away."

Silence again. I looked at the door, trying to figure out how to open it.

Common sense had not entirely deserted me even if decency seemed to be hiding somewhere. I took the papers out of my pocket--a few sheets of inventory notes I'd brought with me in case I needed something to discuss with Lord Elmsby--and slid them under the door then used my own room key to push the key in the door out of the lock. As I was already at the correct height, I peered through the keyhole but didn't see anything enlightening. No shadows, no one walking about, just a bit of moonlight coming through the window. I flattened myself on the floor and turned my attention to the paper, pulling it out from under the door gently, trying not to pull it out from under the key or let the key be brushed off by the bottom edge of the door.

It didn't work. It seemed as if it would, but as the edge of the key became visible near the bottom of the door, the paper caught on something. I gave a little tug, but I couldn't loosen it, almost as if someone were stepping on it. A slightly harder tug and the paper came free, but the key brushed against the bottom of the door and slid off of the paper. I took out my own key and tried to sweep it under the door in hopes of catching the key and knocking it out to me, but my key was too short to do any good. I stood up. It seemed I wouldn't be getting into the room after all.

I was about to pocket my key and collect my candle when I remembered how well my key had fit into the lock. It seemed a silly thing to do, but I slipped my key back into the lock and turned it. I heard the lock click. Gently I turned the knob and found that the door opened, sending a wave of cool, rose-scented air into the hallway.

"Hello?" I called as I stepped into the room. I didn't want to scare whoever was there, and they would most likely be as surprised as I'd been that my key worked in the door. Only when I looked around, it was to find the room was empty. "Hello?" I called again, this time to break the silence. I had definitely heard someone moving around.

The bed was in the center of the room, large and canopied. If someone had fallen behind it, I might not see them from the door. At least that was what I told myself as I went farther in and looked around the edge of the bed. Nothing but what had once been a fine rug with floral embroidery. So what had I heard? The floor was free of dust, so clearly someone had come in to clean, but it was far too late for even the most dedicated servant to be at work. Perhaps some enterprising members of the household had thought this would be a good place for an evening's entertainment. Of course, that left the question of whether I should even bother them, but the room felt deserted, and as I thought about it, I realized I'd only heard one person moving around, which did not fit the theory of lovers looking for a bit of privacy. I held my candle up and gave the room a second look, this time trying to locate a hiding place.

The curtains on the window were lighter and shorter than those in the other rooms I'd been in. It gave the room an airy, more feminine feel. It also meant that I could easily see no one was hiding behind them. I knelt down and lifted the bed skirt, but there was nothing but dust and cobwebs under the bed. The only other likely place was the wardrobe. I crossed to it as quietly as I could and pulled the door open in one motion. Nothing but clothes. I pushed a few aside to get a better look, but no one was hiding inside. I did note that the dresses all seemed to be the sort of thing a young woman would wear. That seemed to confirm my theory as to the identity of the room's former occupant. I would have been very surprised to learn that the room belonged to anyone but Miss Talbot. But that brought its own set of questions. Why had Lord Elmsby locked up the room and kept it closed off for so long? And why would someone be lurking in the room of a missing woman?

That last question sent a shiver down my spine, and I might have walked out, except when I'd been outside the door, I had heard the sound of glass breaking. Perhaps there had been a stray branch from a tree or some other debris that had broken a window. I reminded myself that most of the household thought Miss Talbot had run away, not been killed, then went to the curtains and pulled them aside, but even in the semi-darkness I could see that the windows were intact, and also that they had not been included in the cleaning as they were covered in cobwebs and dust.

There was another burst of wind outside, sending a chill through the room and reawakening the scent of roses. There were no other doors, so whoever had been in the room couldn't have gotten out without me seeing them. That thought led directly to another; how had the person I'd heard gotten into the room? And that thought made me decide that I had done more than enough to investigate, and if someone on the staff was poking around the effects of the former future Lady Elmsby, that wasn't under the purview of the position of library organizer. I went back into the hallway, pausing long enough to relock the door with my key in case there was a reason for it to have been locked in the first place, such as someone inside who ought to remain there, and hurried back down the hall in the direction I'd come from, firmly resolved that, if I didn't find my room quickly, I would go back down to the library and sleep in a chair by the fire.

# Chapter 6

I DID MANAGE TO FIND my room without further incident, and even managed to sleep once I was securely beneath the covers and had resolved the question of bed curtains open (to see if anyone had followed me to my room) or closed (to hide away with at least the illusion of safety) by keeping the one facing the door closed and the one towards the window open.

The next morning, with the sun coming through the window and the knowledge that the rest of the night had passed without incident, it was easy to see that I had allowed my imagination to run down paths that had no logical basis in fact. The room I had essentially broken into had only been lit by my small candle; no doubt whoever had been inside had managed to find a hiding place that would have been obvious with more light but was perfectly adequate under the circumstances. They may even have moved around the room as I did, changing hiding places to avoid me. I hadn't moved particularly quickly; it wouldn't have been hard.

As for how they got in, Mrs. Hopkins had to have a key to the room somewhere. They had simply taken it and unlocked the door in a perfectly mundane way. How else could the door be locked with the key on the inside in the keyhole unless someone inside the room had done so? They had probably left the key to block as much light as possible from shining through the door and alerting anyone in the hallway of their presence. They'd forgotten to block the bottom of the door, but that only meant they weren't used to such clandestine activities. If I went back up to the room in daylight, no doubt I would find it locked and the key safely back in Mrs. Hopkins's possession. In fact, I resolved to go back there after breakfast and see for myself. The excuse that I'd needed something from my room and gotten a bit lost on the way would hold up well enough, and then I could put my mind at ease. And Lord Elmsby and I had parted on quite good terms, all awkwardness smoothed over, so breakfast would be on somewhat friendly terms again and therefore enjoyable. Then a day spent poking around his books and a brisk walk in the afternoon where I could watch the sheep and perhaps even encounter Lord Elmsby out on a similar walk again. It seemed like an excellent plan as I climbed out of bed and prepared for the day.

I had been so confident in my plans for the day that it was quite a shock to go down to the breakfast room and find it empty except for Agnes checking on the trays. "Is Lord Elmsby having a lie-in?" I hadn't known him to be late before, but then I'd only known him a short while.

Agnes didn't look up from her work. "No, he went to London bright and early this morning. Although the sun was barely up, so I suppose not all that bright."

I couldn't help being a little disappointed and a little curious. "I suppose he often has business in London."

"Not so long as I've been here, and that's going on five years."

"What's been going on five years? Oh, sorry, Mr. Brook. I didn't mean to disturb you." Simon gave me a grin that would have been considered insubordinate on anyone else.

Agnes turned to him. "When's the last time you remember his lordship going to London?"

Simon made a sound that implied he had to think to answer that question. "Six years, I'd think, more or less."

"Did he say why he went?" I asked before I realized that might sound overly interested.

But neither Agnes or Simon seemed to think it odd that I would be interested. Perhaps they were curious themselves and saw nothing out of place. "He didn't say, only that he'd be back in a few days," Agnes answered.

That was disappointing, but I couldn't blame him for not telling everyone his private business. We certainly wouldn't have told the servants for the very reason that they might tell random people taken in from the cold. Not that my family took random people in out of the cold. "Then tell Mrs. Hopkins there's no point to setting up the breakfast room for just me. I'm more than happy to eat in the kitchen while he's gone."

"Very good, sir," Agnes said, and I suspected she was glad to be rid of the extra work.

As I filled my plate, I considered the question. Had something about our conversation sent him to London? But what, after six years? Six years before. I remembered Mrs. Hopkins saying he'd been engaged to Miss Talbot six years before. I wondered how that related to his last journey, but didn't want to ask Agnes or Simon. "Don't bother telling Mrs. Hopkins about breakfast. I'll do it myself. I had something to speak to her about anyway."

Agnes didn't seem surprised by the change of plans. "If you'd rather, sir." So I'd taken another task off of her list.

I sat at my accustomed seat to the right of the head of the table and started on my eggs and toast. Even though everything in the room was the same as it had been every morning since I'd arrived, once Agnes and Simon left to go about their work, I felt very alone for the first time since I'd arrived at Gorsewall Manor. I could see why Lord Elmsby might have wanted someone to dine with him. The breakfast room was sunny and there was nothing particularly wrong about it, but the oak-paneled walls seemed to close in now that I was alone and staring at them, and I found myself eating quickly so I could return to parts of the house where there were more people, which was odd as I'd spent most of my days at Gorsewall Manor alone in the library, but then I was used to being alone in rooms full of books, and there was something there for me to concentrate on besides the walls around me. For the first time since coming to the manor, I didn't take seconds of anything from the sideboard and left as soon as I'd finished my food to go looking for Mrs. Hopkins.

As I approached the kitchen, I heard what sounded like the beginnings of an argument. As I turned the corner, I was able to make out Moira's voice. "I'm only saying it's a funny way to go about it."

Mrs. Hopkins replied, "And I'm saying that when the master of the house decides to take on more help without having to be cajoled, you smile nicely and say, 'Thank you, sir.' Unless you don't want the help?" That was said in a tone that suggested there were plenty in the house that would want it.

By then I'd made it to the door and peered inside. There was a girl I didn't recognize standing at the sink, washing the breakfast pans. I assumed she was the cause of the confusion. She was a tiny thing, but I suspected from her expression that she was small for her age and closer to fourteen than not.

"Are we sure he did send her, then?" Moira wasn't letting it go.

"It was his handwriting on the letter and his seal. What more do you need?"

"They could have stolen it," Moira persisted. I found it interesting that she was concerned about forgery and not that the girl was some by-blow of his.

"The seal perhaps, but his writing? And to what end? A chance to do your pots for you?"

"To rob us blind, of course."

"We ain't thieves," the girl said without much conviction. "Least not when we has a choice. 'Sides, if he don't want me, he can throw me out on me arse when he's home."

"Don't use vulgarity if you want to be promoted to working upstairs," Moira snapped, which I took to mean she didn't really object to the new girl's presence, only to what I was assuming was an unorthodox way of her being hired.

"He can throw me out on me..." She hesitated and bit her lip as she tried to come up with an acceptable synonym.

It seemed a good time to make my presence known. "Ear. Try ear. And it's _my ear_ , not _me_."

"Listen to Mr. Brook, Lettie," Mrs. Hopkins said. "He's an educated man, and he'll be able to help you learn."

"Throw me out on my ear," Lettie said with an exaggerated attempt at my accent.

"Much better," I said with a grin. "I take it you're new here?"

"That I am, sir. Lord Elmsby hired me himself, sent me and me...my brother here to work for him."

"With no more warning than a note sent with them," Moira added.

"Unusual," I allowed in the hopes that peace would give me the chance to have a few words in private with Mrs. Hopkins.

"We'll see what Mr. Connelly says about it when he gets back, sure enough," Moira muttered, but she did move in the direction of the stove.

"He'll be glad of the help, and you know it," Mrs. Hopkins replied without any heat.

I glanced over at Lettie, but she merely shrugged and went back to her dishes. Apparently, people fighting about her in front of her was not something worth worrying over.

Mrs. Hopkins watched Moira until she began checking what was cooking, apparently signaling that the argument was over, then turned to me, "Was everything satisfactory, sir?"

"Yes, without question."

"I'm pleased to hear that then." She continued to stare at me, waiting to find out why I had come if not to complain.

"I heard Lord Elmsby went to London this morning."

"He did, very early. We were just starting the breakfast when he left."

"With no warning? Is that usual?"

"I can't remember it happening," Moira said as she gathered a bowl and spoons.

"Maybe he's gone looking for the girl that ran off with the butler in Tyneridge," Lettie suggested. "They were offering a reward for finding her."

"I heard it was the footman," Moira answered, "and he wouldn't need the money."

"Maybe it's a friend," Lettie said, not willing to let go of the idea.

Mrs. Hopkins ignored both of them and started towards the larder, bumping my arm as she passed me, which I took to mean she wanted me to follow.

I waited until we were in the relative privacy of the larder to ask, "Is it really that unusual for him to go like this?"

Mrs. Hopkins began checking the contents of several tins, something I didn't think she needed to do but gave her an excuse to linger. "It really isn't for us to question, is it? He's usually quite considerate, but then I suppose it could have been an emergency. He didn't say anything to you last night?"

"Nothing at all." As she didn't seem opposed to a bit of gossip, I asked, "Did he say how long he'd be gone?"

"No, but it's been so long since he's been there, I wonder if he even knows himself."

That had been easier than I'd expected. "They said the last time was six years ago."

She didn't ask who my source was, but then there were limited possibilities here. "That sounds right, yes."

It seemed I'd have to be more direct. "You said before that he was engaged then. Do you think it was connected?"

Mrs. Hopkins put a dusty tin of something back on the shelf and wiped her hands on her apron. "At the time, I thought so. The bans were being read, but I thought perhaps he might get a special license anyway. Or perhaps he was getting her a present of some sort and needed to select it himself. Or a new suit from Savile Row. But if it was related to the wedding, he never brought it up when the plans were discussed."

"What do you think he did?"

"I don't know. At the time, I thought perhaps he'd gone with some friends to celebrate the end of his bachelorhood, but that seemed so unlike him. In the end, I supposed it didn't really matter and left it at that."

I nodded. It didn't seem a bad theory considering I now believed he was not in the least interested in the matrimonial obligations he would have been taking on. "I never really heard the details of why the marriage didn't happen."

Mrs. Hopkins stared at me for a moment then leaned in and said, "And can't believe half of what you do hear. There were more stories than truth at the time, and he just locked himself up in the house without a word to anyone. We had to clear away the wedding things and sort the gifts on our own, and quite a mess it was. She disappeared, you see, in the middle of the night."

"What do you think happened?"

Mrs. Hopkins gave the main kitchen a look which I took to mean she didn't want to discuss it in front of everyone else. "As I said, there were more stories than people in the village at the time." She picked up a tin of sugar and started back to the kitchen.

I took that as a sign that any discussion of Lord Elmsby was over and changed the subject. "I really came down to say that, when it's only me here, there doesn't seem much point to setting up the rooms upstairs. I'm quite content to eat downstairs with the others." It struck me that the others might not want a stranger among them. "Or a tray in the library."

"He did say for you to eat upstairs."

"Most likely, he wanted the company. The dining room is quite a lonely place when you're the only one there."

That seemed to convince her. "If you're certain then."

"Thank you."

"If you do get lonely upstairs, you're always welcome down here for a cup of tea."

I took that as an invitation for more gossip when there was less chance of being overheard. "Thank you. I'd best get to work myself then." I followed her back into the kitchen, where she went to the work table and began setting out her bowls and cups and I went upstairs to continue work on the library.

Without Lord Elmsby in the house, the morning felt rather flat. Which made no sense, I told myself, as he'd only come into the library once when I'd been working, and that had been a memorable disaster. Still, having him around, knowing I might catch a glimpse of him out of a window or in the hallway, had made the morning seem more interesting. As it was, I didn't want him to return to find that I hadn't used my time well, so I settled in at my desk and spent a productive morning all the same, working on the inventory until Moira came up with a tray for my midday meal. I took that to mean the rest of the staff would prefer I not eat with them, which didn't surprise me. Meals were probably one of the few times they could relax and talk and gossip, and having a stranger who was neither servant nor master in their midst would probably be uncomfortable for everyone. I made certain to praise the arrangement--after all, it meant I didn't need to leave my work--so no one downstairs would think I was offended.

Once I'd finished my solitary lunch, I decided I would take my walk early. It would get me away from the library, and perhaps I would feel a bit more enthusiasm for my work when I returned from it, even without Lord Elmsby in the house. Once outside, I took a different path from the one where I had encountered Lord Elmsby to a different bit of the same wall and spent a relaxing half hour watching the sheep, then started back to the manor. I was just passing the low wall that separated the wild moors from the slightly tamer grounds of the house when one of the various gardeners wandering around caught my eye. There was something familiar about him, which immediately made the hairs on my neck stand on end, and everywhere else if I was being honest. Someone who recognized me meant someone who could tell London where I was. I forced myself to keep walking at the same meandering pace I had started out at while I tried to think logically.

The first thing to do seemed to be to figure out if I actually knew the gardener in question and if so where I had encountered him before. I had very little contact with gardeners in London, and this wasn't one of the two who came to tend the small square of green behind the townhouse twice a week. So he would have to be someone from one of the manor houses we'd been invited to, and if it was someone I'd seen at a house party, I might be safe. As a minor cousin to the families we visited, I doubted I'd attracted much attention, and while I'd been foolish enough to use my own name here, it wasn't such an uncommon one that I couldn't claim to be from some other branch of some other family.

Of course, there was always the possibility that it was someone in disguise looking to bring me to justice, or someone from one of the houses where we were closer to the family and therefore more noticeable. Then it would be best to know that someone was here so I could run. Although where I would go was a problem. And I'd be right where I was before, without a reference, although with the advance on my salary to give me a little money. And I suspected Lord Elmsby knew more or less what had happened to me in London. Perhaps he could be pursued to give me the reference anyway if there was some way to contact him when he returned from London.

I was so involved in planning my escape, that I didn't realize the subject of my concern was approaching me until I heard him greet me, "Afternoon, sir."

It didn't sound like the greeting of someone who recognized me. That was something at least. "Good afternoon." I looked up to meet his eye and try to determine how worried I ought to be when I realized where I'd seen him before. The young man in the village stealing pies. Eddie Welcher, they'd called him. But if he had a proper job, why had he been stealing? I'd assumed he'd been hungry and turned to crime out of desperation. "You work here?" I blurted out without thinking.

"Since this morning, sir." He tipped his hat and leaned in a little to get a better look at me. "Oh, it's you, sir. You look much better now if you don't mind me saying. Although..." He trailed off, and I could tell it was taking a good bit of self-control not to comment on my choice of clothing. So I definitely had to go to town with Mrs. Hopkins and see to my wardrobe. "Still, I needed to thank you again for helping me out back there. And for telling his lordship. It must have been you that done it. He came and found me and my sister this morning and told us to come present ourselves here today if we wanted jobs, and course we came when we heard there was room and board included. Thankfully he didn't tell pa he'd hired us so we were able to just sneak out the back door and come as soon as he'd had his first bottle. Gin, you know. Though I wouldn't ha' thought you'd know his lordship seeing you then. But one never knows, eh? And I am grateful to you for the help both then and now."

So he had to be the brother Lettie had mentioned in the kitchen, and she must have been the recipient of some of the stolen pies. I realized I needed to account for my appearance in town somehow. I fell back upon the rumor that seemed to be going around the house courtesy of Lord Elmsby. "I was set upon by highwaymen." Even as I said it, I realized how ridiculous that sounded.

"Cor'. How many were there? How'd you get away? Did they get anything?"

"All of my luggage, to answer your last question first. As to the others, I don't know. I'm afraid I fainted at the sight of them." There, that would prevent too many questions and not make me out to be some brave--and therefore interesting--fellow.

"Aye, that can happen," Eddie said in a tone that told me he was quite certain he would never succumb to a fit of vapors at such an inopportune time. "At least you were someplace friendly."

I nodded, although I hadn't found the village particularly friendly. Neither had he, come to think of it. Lord Elmsby had been, though, perhaps that was what he meant.

"And where were you heading?"

I ignored the question and replied instead with, "I'm sorting and inventorying Lord Elmsby's library."

Eddie nodded. "Then I'll be seeing more of you?"

"I hope so. But I should get back to work myself."

He nodded again. "So should I. Don't want to lose our fine new places, eh?"

"Precisely." I set off down the path again, pausing to wave as I rounded the corner. So Lord Elmsby had gone back for Eddie and his sister. I wasn't the only stray he'd taken in, which gave me a little pang somewhere around my heart. Of course, it had been silly to think I was the only person Lord Elmsby had ever helped, and I was glad that Eddie and his sister had now received some more permanent assistance. It was far better than I could do for them at the moment. As I followed a bend in the path, the house came into view. It wasn't as if I should have expected anything of Lord Elmsby simply because he had me dine with him. He hadn't done that with Eddie or his sister, though. Nor had he carried them home, undressed them, and then got them tucked up in bed. Of course, neither of them had collapsed on the road to his house, although I didn't know that I had been on the road to Gorsewall Manor. Perhaps Lord Elmsby had gone looking for me. There wasn't any easy way for me to ask directly, but perhaps I could see if Mrs. Hopkins could show me where I'd been found when we went into town. And if she couldn't, that would tell me that he'd gone out of his way to find me.

By the time I had crossed into the manor house grounds, I was feeling much cheerier about everything. Lord Elmsby had been kind to go and find Eddie, and perhaps had even done so because I had helped Eddie, which was a nice thought as it meant I had played some small part in his finding a position in what I was certain was a good household by any standards. I didn't even mind that I was a bit lost, having come back by a route that was not my normal one or the one I had taken when I'd left. With the house in sight, it was simply a matter of following the walls until I found a door.

When I found a side door into the house, I noticed a collection of boots waiting to be cleaned beside it and realized how muddy my shoes had become. As I didn't want to get on the wrong side of any of the maids by bringing the moors across the house with me, I slipped my shoes off and left them beside the others and continued on in my stocking feet. As that didn't seem quite right either, I started looking for the nearest staircase. If I could make it to the room I'd been given, perhaps I would be lucky enough to find a pair of carpet slippers hidden away somewhere. I found a staircase leading in the right direction, which as far as I was concerned was up, and tried my luck.

The staircase did lead me to the second floor, but nowhere that I recognized, certainly nowhere near my rooms. I tried to find a window, hoping to orient myself by the view, but I seemed to have stumbled into a hallway that ran through the center of the house with no outside windows. I picked a direction that seemed to be moving towards my rooms and started walking.

My path quickly ended in a small corridor with two doors and a small window at the end which gave enough light for me to see that I was no nearer my goal than I had been. But I did seem to be in the general area of the guest rooms. There was a console table with fresh flowers against the wall in front of me and a painting above it. I went to the end of the hallway and looked out of the window, hoping I could orient myself, only to realize I didn't recognize the patch of ground I was looking at there either.

"So you've found our resident ghost?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected interruption, but gathered myself quickly and turned to greet Simon with what I thought was admirable equanimity. "A ghost? Do you mean to tell me this place is haunted?"

"All houses have ghosts, these old ones especially. But I meant her. She's the one that haunts this place."

I stepped back into the hallway to have a better look at the painting. It was a pastoral scene, with the sitter posed far enough away from the artist that it hadn't been obvious that it was meant to be a portrait. As it was, even trying to get an impression of the woman, an impression was all I could get, no details. She was young, quite young, probably not much past her first formal Season. The artist had seated her in a field, not the barren moors but something farther south, or perhaps even the edge of a formal garden. She was blond and pale and pretty from what I could tell, wearing a dress that would still have been considered fashionable if a bit out of date, so not an ancestor, but Miss Talbot. I hadn't seen her other portrait well in the flickering candlelight, and I found myself wanting to go back and find it again to compare the likenesses. They would have made a pretty couple, her and Lord Elmsby, both pale and pretty. An icy pair, I thought, the sort of perfect couple others would envy and painters would eagerly paint. I found myself thinking they would not have been happy and quickly pushed that thought away as unworthy and solely motivated by my own desires. I debated whether or not to show my knowledge of the story and decided I would get more out of Simon if he thought he could show off a bit. "A relative, then?"

"Nearly became one. That was his lordship's fiancée."

"And she haunts the place still?"

"His lordship only leaves when he must and never entertains. There are whispers in the village about him and what he's hiding. And it all started when she was gone. If that's not a ghost, what is it then?"

I took his question as rhetorical and answered with one of my own. "What happened to her?"

"There are more rumors than people in the village, but the consensus seems to be she was strangled in her sleep."

No wonder Mrs. Hopkins hadn't wanted to discuss it in front of others. I tried to sound casual as I asked, "By his lordship?"

"Who else would have reason to do her in?"

"Who else was there?"

Simon laughed. "No one."

"So no one investigated?"

Simon shrugged. "There wasn't much point. She disappeared in the night. Ran off with some fellow, most likely. Her guardian caused a ruckus, and the village loves a good scandal."

"But they don't seem hostile towards Lord Elmsby."

Simon chuckled. "That's part of the story, I think. Lord Elmsby is liked around here. He's a better landlord than his father was, and his brothers weren't here long enough to do more than yell and spend. Mr. Talbot was a stiff old coot with a rod up his arse, you'll forgive the phrasing, and Grace Talbot was a flighty thing with nothing but ribbons and laces between her ears. I think the village took a good bit of pride in defending their lord against the upstarts, whether or not it was true."

"So you don't think it's true?"

"There was no body found, so she must be somewhere. Silly little thing like that was just the sort to run off to Gretna Green with some fellow foolish enough to think she was coming into money."

"So there was money involved?"

"She had a trust, but it had done poorly in the funds. Not that Lord Elmsby cared. He's got more than enough of his own. But you weren't here to listen to me ramble on. Were you looking for something?"

I considered trying to get more information out of him, but he seemed to have finished sharing whatever gossip he was going to, so this time I answered his question. "My room. I was going to see if there were some carpet slippers I could wear now that I've muddied my shoes outside."

"You didn't go that far wrong then. Straight down and turn left. These are the guest rooms for the people his lordship wants kept away from his quarters. But you won't find any carpet slippers in there. We tidy out the last guest's things when they leave, not that there's been a last guest to tidy up after in ages. But I know there are some unattended things downstairs. I'll find you a pair that should do."

"I don't want you to go to any trouble."

"It isn't any trouble at all. There's a whole box of outgrown things and things left behind. Mrs. Hopkins keeps it to pass out to new staff if they're not well kitted out when they come. I suppose you count for that, don't you?"

I wondered if he wanted to see my reaction to being considered staff, particularly as I seemed to be housed in one of the rooms for guests Lord Elmsby didn't mind having near his rooms, or if it had simply been a turn of phrase. "I don't think it would be possible to arrive less well-kitted-out than I did."

Simon laughed. "At least you were dressed. I heard of a fellow who got everything stolen, right down to his drawers."

I nearly replied that that was common for new prisoners but remembered that I was supposed to be the victim of a highwayman, not an escaped criminal. "I wonder what Mrs. Hopkins would have thought of that."

"Not a thing. Nothing fazes her. Would you like me to bring a cup of tea with the slippers?"

That sounded a bit too much like what a guest would request. "No, I ought to get back to work."

"I can bring the slippers to the library if you'd rather."

It would mean he'd have to climb one less set of stairs, which was probably welcome. "That would help. I'll make certain I can find my room from here and go down myself."

Simon nodded and disappeared down one of the hidden staircases. I started down the hall in the direction he'd indicated, trying to decide what to make of Lord Elmsby putting my room so close to his. Most likely it was convenient to the library or some such thing. Or perhaps he didn't want to make the servants run through more of the house than needed, but then why not put me somewhere in the servants' quarters?

The route Simon had given me did indeed bring me to the hallway with my room in it, and then as I was in the part of the house that was familiar to me, it was simple enough to find my way back to the library. Simon arrived a few minutes after I did with a pair of scuffed carpet slippers that fit well enough and a pot of tea from Mrs. Hopkins. I thanked him for both, then returned to my work, pushing the new story of Miss Talbot's disappearance out of my mind. If she had been killed, the body would have been found. Surely Lord Elmsby would have been spotted by someone if he'd carried it out of the house or across the moors to some bog and tossed it in. The more I tried to convince myself the story was nothing but gossip, the more I felt I needed to. It was a relief to find a shelf of scandalous French novels to occupy my attention.

# Chapter 7

AS THE DAYS WORE ON, I continued to find the house dreary without the promise of seeing Lord Elmsby. I knew that made no sense as I rarely saw him outside of meals, but I still found myself spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about where he might be and what he was doing in London. It was quite a relief when Mrs. Hopkins came up to the breakfast room on the third day to tell me that she was planning to go into town for the market and would I care to go along. I agreed at once on the excuse that I needed to replenish my wardrobe.

Ralph had the gig ready for us when I'd finished my meal, and I offered to drive us while Mrs. Hopkins gave directions. It was grand to have the ribbons between my hands again, with a well-trained horse trotting before us and the wind in my hair. Mrs. Hopkins directed me to town, not the one where I had met Eddie and first seen Lord Elmsby, I was happy to see, but a larger one reached by traveling in the opposite direction, and once there, to the tailor shop. While I tied the horses, Mrs. Hopkins gave me a brief description of her plans for the morning and where I could find her when I'd finished then waited for me to enter the tailor shop before going on her way. At first, I worried that she thought I couldn't find my way the eight steps to the door, but one look at the expression on the tailor's face and I realized that my appearance still left much to be desired and I would most likely not have been admitted to the shop at all had I not been seen with his lordship's housekeeper. I quickly related the story of my encounter with highwaymen, hoping I wasn't adding details that contradicted anything I had told anyone else, and was quickly received with sympathy, more so when I revealed the need to repair my wardrobe and the amount I had to do so.

"You're in luck, sir. I have two suits that were never called for which will very nearly fit you. I think they could be altered quite quickly to serve. And a couple of shirts ready-made as well, although all of my best ones were bought a few days ago, and I haven't had time to sew more."

"That sounds like precisely what I need. May I see them?" The suits proved to be of good quality wool, one a modest grey and the other a dull-green coat which actually suited my coloring and tan trousers. I quickly agreed to try them on and see if they could be altered to fit. While the tailor, who I learned was named Mr. Peyton, pinched and prodded and poked pins everywhere, he casually asked, "I heard Lord Elmsby went traveling."

"So I was told." At least I couldn't tell him much as I didn't know much.

"To London, I heard."

"That was the same thing I heard, although not from him."

"I see, I see. Well, I'm sure he had his reasons."

"I'm sure he did."

Mr. Peyton decided to abandon the subtle approach. "Do you know what they were?"

I decided to abandon it as well. "No, but you sound as if you have some idea."

"Well, the last time he went was just before his engagement was to be announced, and he was just in here the other day buying all my finished shirts, and the Kelsleigh girl has gone missing in Tyneridge. Perhaps we'll have another happy event."

I didn't feel I could answer that with any sort of equanimity, so I made some noncommittal noise and pretended to have been stabbed by a pin, which made Mr. Peyton look to his work and ended the conversation.

I left the shop with the promise that the first of my things would be ready before I left for Gorsewall Manor and the rest delivered as soon as possible and went in search of Mrs. Hopkins. She was easy enough to find, being more or less where she'd said she'd be in the market, talking to a woman selling wool and fabric. As she seemed to be transacting business, I stayed back and listened as Mrs. Hopkins said, "Why would you think his lordship had?"

"Well, he stopped here on his way through and bought the last three skeins of my best wool, the fawn color from George's flock. I thought it might have been for you."

"I wouldn't know," Mrs. Hopkins answered, "but it seems unlikely. Of course, he's been gone since then."

"Gone? I'd heard, but I didn't think..." So the lord of the manor traveling anywhere was a source of gossip everywhere. I supposed I ought not be surprised.

"To London, so he won't be back for a little bit."

"True, true. And why would he buy it as he was leaving if he meant it for the house? I'll have more when George gets his flock sheared. May I help you, sir?"

I realized I'd been noticed and stepped forward. "I was just coming to see if Mrs. Hopkins wanted me to carry any of her parcels."

"This is Mr. Brook," Mrs. Hopkins said quickly. "He's the one doing the bookroom. He stopped at Mr. Peyton's."

"The one who got taken by highwaymen? Sure enough. My George said he'd seen you hill walking out by the flocks. He grazes them near Greysborough Crag."

I assumed that was where I went walking during the afternoon, and George must have been Thompson's given name. "I've seen him, then. They're very nice sheep." I hoped that was a proper thing to say.

"I'll tell him you said so. He's proud of them. Good lambers all, he says."

I smiled and tried to think of some intelligent comment to that until Mrs. Hopkins saved me by asking how my meeting with Mr. Peyton went, which led to talk of clothes and sewing while she purchased wool and thread then led me on to the next stall.

We wandered through the market, Mrs. Hopkins buying vegetables and cheeses and other things for the house while I carried anything she wasn't having delivered and listened to the gossip. Mrs. Hopkins said very little, but at every stall, she was peppered with questions about where Lord Elmsby had gone and why. My mysterious arrival was barely noted beyond the initial sympathy at my run-in with highwaymen, and it was quite clear mysterious strangers were nowhere near as interesting as his lordship deciding to go to London. Even the discovery, brought by the son of the sister of the wife of the man who sharpened the knives, that the missing heiress had been found in Gretna Green with her father's man of business and the deed done (although whether that meant marriage or the consummation, no one seemed sure) wasn't enough to distract for long.

I didn't mind being ignored as it meant I didn't need to speak to anyone or answer any questions about my past, so I followed in Mrs. Hopkins's wake, carried her parcels, and listened for any clues as to Lord Elmsby's past until it was time to collect my new clothes and return to the manor.

{--*--}

After our trip into town, I began to feel more at home in Gorsewall Manor. I told myself it was the fact that I now had clothes of my own that actually fit me and looked respectable, although I suspected that at least part of it was having gotten my introduction to the locals over with without anyone questioning the outlandish story of my arrival by highwayman. Once the gossip over the Kelsleigh girl's marriage and Lord Elmsby's mysterious trip to London had settled down, the time to question my appearance would have passed, and as long as I kept my head down and didn't invite undue attention, I would be safe enough.

The clothes did help with that as I didn't have to wonder what people thought of my outfit cobbled together from servants' cast-offs. The new clothes fit well, and I couldn't help wondering what Lord Elmsby would think when he returned. He'd never seen me in anything that wasn't either mismatched or little better than rags. I became used to working alone in the empty house, which was made slightly easier by the staff inviting me to have breakfast with them in the mornings, so I wasn't alone all day and managed to hear a bit of gossip from town. I discovered another shelf of interesting items, several of them copies of much older books, and one shelf which seemed to contain samples of a variety of small marble tiles, all different, all labeled as to their color. It would certainly make a good topic of conversation should I ever have need of one when Lord Elmsby returned. Even the strange noises outside the library walls stopped, which meant I could work without imagining giant rats just outside my field of vision, which was clearly good for morale until I remembered William was probably dealing with rats and worse in prison.

Despite my occasional bouts of guilt and melancholy, everything seemed to be going well, until six days after my trip to the market when I went down to the kitchen and found it empty. That confused me. My first thought was that I was late, but Mrs. Hopkins had a clock in the kitchen which clearly showed that I was quite at my usual time. Food had been laid out, although only one plate, so it seemed they knew I would be dining alone. That seemed reason enough to sit down and eat.

I wasn't sure what to make of my solitary meal, but then I had never frequented the kitchens in London. Even as a child I had been kept firmly above stairs. Perhaps there was some ritual I knew nothing about but which made it perfectly natural to have an empty kitchen every so often. Market deliveries, perhaps, or the inventorying of the house's supplies. Something requiring all hands on deck, or the experienced ones at least. Satisfied with that explanation, I ate as quickly as I could, to be out of the way of whatever task was being conducted, of course, not because the silence of the normally bustling kitchen was making me nervous, and then hurried upstairs to begin my own work.

The morning seemed to pass normally enough after my strange, solitary breakfast, and I had just gotten settled in and was becoming absorbed in a collection of medieval French poetry when Agnes burst into the room. "Here you are. Himself is in a state."

"What?" I asked, so engrossed in my task my mind had trouble catching up to her.

"When you weren't there at breakfast, it put him in a right state. Didn't help that he got in at all hours and didn't sleep properly."

My brain managed to piece that together. "His lordship is back? When did that happen?"

"Late last night, and this morning he was in the breakfast room asking where you were."

"I didn't know."

She sighed. "I suppose you didn't, did you? But if you're not there at one, I won't be serving."

So Lord Elmsby had missed me at breakfast, or more likely, had been upset that his orders hadn't been followed in his absence. Either way, there was no reason for Agnes to bear the brunt of his unreasonable displeasure. "I'll talk to him. Where is he?"

"The study, but I don't know that he wants to be disturbed."

And I didn't know that I wanted to confront him in the study again. "Then I'll wait until this afternoon. If you like, you can wait outside the door until we've finished. Give us a bit of privacy."

She smiled. "So long as you call it that." With that declaration, she flounced out of the room.

I turned back to my books, wishing I knew what exactly constituted Lord Elmsby being in a state and why he'd been displeased to find I hadn't been at breakfast. While my first thought had been to be flattered, the more I thought about it, the more I began to worry that he was merely annoyed that I hadn't followed his orders to the letter while he'd been gone, and that would certainly impact any reference he might give me. I was beginning to wish I'd never thought to save Mrs. Hopkins any trouble at all.

I wasn't certain if I was pleased or dreading it, but one o'clock came as it always did. I marked my place in the inventory and marched myself down to the dining room, quietly pleased that I was wearing the nicer of the two coats Mr. Peyton had altered for me, the green one that suited my bland coloring well, and the tan trousers that, while not exactly my first choice, at least faded into the background. The dining room had been set for the meal, but there was no sign of Agnes. That struck me as unreasonably funny, although there was nothing particularly funny about her taking me up on the offer to straighten matters out with Lord Elmsby before she had to see him again. And he was there, with his back to me, looking out of the window over the lawn. I wasn't sure how to approach him now that I was there, so I tried being casual. "Hello. I didn't know you'd gotten back."

Lord Elmsby turned at the sound of my voice but said nothing, merely stood there, staring at me, his gaze slowly moving up and down my form. In another circumstance, I would have thought he was admiring my new clothes or thinking I looked well in them. If he wasn't going to speak, I wasn't sure what to say, so we stood there, watching each other, until he broke the silence. "You weren't at breakfast." He seemed upset by that.

"I told Mrs. Hopkins she didn't need to bother setting up an extra room when it was only me."

"Well, she set it up this morning for me." He sounded almost petulant.

"I didn't know."

"You'll know for tomorrow, then."

I nodded.

That seemed to cheer him. He went to the bell pull and rang then took his normal place at the table. "So they'll be serving now that you've sorted that out?"

"If you want your meals served quickly, don't scare the staff." I didn't realize what I'd said until it was out of my mouth, but Lord Elmsby actually chuckled.

"I'll bear that in mind. You've been to town. Is that Mr. Peyton's work? He's quick."

I stroked the sleeve of my coat. So he had been looking at my clothes. "He had a few things already made up that were able to be altered."

"I hope you ordered something new as well."

I wasn't sure how to answer that, so I was relieved when Agnes and Simon came through with the soup course. Once we were served, I tried to distract Lord Elmsby from my lack of wardrobe by asking, "How was your trip to London?"

It had seemed a safe enough question, but Lord Elmsby stared at me with a look of something between guilt and close study, then turned his attention to stirring his soup for far longer than I would have thought necessary. I was just thinking I had managed to kill our conversation before it even started when he said, "Productive."

"That sounds quite successful then."

"I found what I went to look for."

I sampled my soup, which was excellent, then tried again. "So you got your business completed?"

"Indeed." That answer was more curt than the first, and I wondered if he really had been upset that I hadn't been at breakfast. Or perhaps his business had not concluded as well as he would have liked. Or he might have been tired from his journey. Or it could have been as simple as him not wanting to discuss something with me. "Then you won't be going back?"

"Not in the near future, no."

"That must be a relief then."

"Indeed."

I stared down at my plate. Apparently, we both had subjects we'd prefer not to talk about. Fortunately, Simon and Agnes came through to collect the remains of the soup course and see we had everything we needed for the rest of the meal.

I was halfway through my roast chicken when Lord Elmsby broke the silence. "Have you seen the new gardener?"

A safe topic. I latched onto it eagerly. "Eddie Welcher? Yes. He seems to be fitting in well. And his sister as well."

"I was a bit worried how they'd take to them in the kitchen as there was no warning."

"Quite well." I decided to be completely honest, although I was careful how I phrased it. "Moira was a bit concerned; I think she was worried they were taking advantage of you being gone, but Lettie won her over."

"That's good. And what have the sheep been doing in my absence?"

"Ignoring the poor dog mostly. And a good bit of eating. And I suppose growing their wool."

"I would hope so, or there'd be nothing to shear. Although I don't think you'll be visiting them this afternoon."

I glanced towards the windows and realized the sky was overcast and ready to storm. "I suppose not. I hope they don't wonder where I am."

"The dog will be up-to-date on all of that, I'm sure."

We spent the rest of the meal in a companionable discussion of the antics of the sheep and the state of the library, then I went upstairs to work and he went off in the direction of his rooms, presumably to rest after his journey.

{--*--}

Mindful of Agnes's worries over Lord Elmsby's state, I made certain I was ready to go in to dinner early, only hurrying upstairs to run a comb through my hair and do my best to make myself look presentable. Lord Elmsby didn't seem put out by our enforced informality, but I didn't want to try his patience any more than needed. I was in such a rush to avoid being late that I almost missed the new addition to my room. Almost, but not quite. On the footstool near the fireplace, there was a basket with three balls of fawn-colored wool and a pair of knitting needles. I ran my hands over the soft wool and noticed a bit of paper stuck in the corner. I pulled it out, expecting a note, but only found one line, "Border Leicester Wool," written in a firm, masculine hand. Thompson's sheep. The ones I watched from the wall. The wool that Mrs. Thompson had sold to Lord Elmsby before he left for London. I smiled at that bit of thoughtfulness.

Even with the pleasant distraction, I still managed to make it down to the dining room early. Lord Elmsby seemed to notice as his mouth twitched when he arrived and saw me already seated. Agnes was more obvious in her pleasure when she saw me in my accustomed place. Once the soup was served, I decided to try for a little conversation. As the note with the wool hadn't been signed, I wasn't sure if I ought to bring it up or not, but it had been too kind of a gesture to ignore. "I take it I have you to thank for the knitting basket in my room."

Lord Elmsby shrugged slightly.

"It was very kind of you to think of it. Thank you."

Lord Elmsby smiled slightly. "You're welcome, but it was a small thing."

As he was clearly uncomfortable with my thanks, I changed to a more general topic. "I found something odd in the library while you were gone." I realized too late that the reference to his trip might have been ill-advised, but he answered promptly.

"Not surprised; the place hasn't been properly gone through in years." He took a spoonful of soup and swallowed, then asked, "Was it dead?"

I laughed. "No, thankfully."

"Alive, then?"

"No, not animal in nature. Mineral, I believe."

"Then it can't be that pressing. I'll look in the morning if you like."

I couldn't help laughing. "So there's a possibility I might find dead things in your library?"

"Of course. Great-uncle Eustice was a great one for classifying creatures. It was his main hobby late in life. Unfortunately, he liked to have the creatures dead under glass to study rather than drawings like every other naturalist I know. I think we got the whole lot decently buried, but you never know what you might run into while you're poking about."

"I think I'm rather glad I didn't know that when I accepted the position." Not that I'd had much choice, or that it would have stopped me from accepting considering my circumstances.

"If you find one we missed, call Ralph in the stables. He has no qualms about handling anything like that."

"I'll keep that in mind. I take it taxonomy isn't one of your hobbies?"

"No."

Another dead end. "Nor mine, but I am developing an interest in hill walking as of late."

"This is the area for it. Have you been to the ruins of the old mill yet?"

"No. Is it worth the walk?"

And so we were back on more or less steady footing. Once we'd exhausted conversation about places in the area I hadn't seen yet, he told me about his fellow travelers at the inn two towns over, and I told him about breakfast in the kitchen, careful to avoid anything that might have been said in confidence. By the time the pudding had been brought, Lord Elmsby and I were discussing a novel he'd purchased on his travels that I had hoped to read, although I left out the reason I hadn't gotten to it as that was the inconvenience of arrest and prison sentence.

As Simon came to clear away the remains of our last course, Lord Elmsby rose to his feet and gestured towards the door. I wondered if Lord Elmsby would ask me to join him in the study and if I ought to accept when he yawned widely. I couldn't tell if it was genuine or something to use as an excuse to not resume our habit of drinks after dinner, but either way, I felt released from an obligation and the only response was clear. "An early night then?"

"I think it had better be."

"Then I will see you at breakfast."

"Agnes will be pleased to hear that."

I smiled at the small joke and wondered if he would be equally pleased.

As I made my way back to my room and prepared for bed, I tried to push the question of whether or not Lord Elmsby would be pleased to see me at breakfast out of my mind, but it lodged there and refused to move. He had been kind to Eddie and Lettie, offering them positions in the house that they were suited for, just as he had done for me, but I didn't think he'd brought anyone else a present from town, let alone one so closely tied to something we'd spoken of before he left. But then what did I know? Perhaps he brought all of the staff something from his travels. I assumed if that were the case, everyone would be speaking of the presents and comparing notes, but now that he had returned, I was no longer dining in the kitchen, so I wouldn't be there to hear it. It was best to put it out of my mind and assume that a few balls of yarn and a set of needles was nothing out of the ordinary. Best to turn my attention to thoughts of what I planned to make.

I was wondering whether making Lord Elmsby a scarf would be overly familiar or a pleasant way to thank him for his kindness as I opened my wardrobe to hang up my things when I noticed another new addition to my meager possessions. I had purchased the three shirts Mr. Peyton had in stock and returned those I had borrowed to Simon by way of the laundry, but there were now easily a dozen shirts stacked neatly on the shelf. I remembered what Mr. Peyton had said, that Lord Elmsby had been in the shop and bought new shirts, something he took as a sign that Lord Elmsby had gone to London to meet someone. But it seemed those shirts had been destined for my wardrobe. Unless... I pulled one off the shelf to examine it, but it was clearly new and unworn. These were not his old shirts handed down to me when he bought the new ones but the new ones themselves. I refolded the shirt and put it back on the shelf with a slight, irrational pang of disappointment. As grand as new shirts were, I wouldn't have minded wearing something of Lord Elmsby's either. I went to the washbasin then to the bed, thinking I perhaps ought to have ordered a nightshirt from Mr. Peyton as well when I noticed one draped across the foot of the bed. Soft linen, slightly worn, but of exceedingly good quality. It seemed I would have something of Lord Elmsby's to wear after all.

{--*--}

The next morning, I found Lord Elmsby in the breakfast room looking rested and not the least bit out of sorts. Our conversation was neutral, no different from our normal exchanges. He didn't bring up the question of clothes that I hadn't ordered in town, so I said nothing about his travels or the shirts I found in my room. We parted on good terms as far as I could tell, I to the library and he to his study. I would have thought my work would go more smoothly now that Lord Elmsby had returned and I didn't need to spend my time wondering why he had gone to London, but I still found myself distracted, only now I was wondering what Lord Elmsby had thought of our breakfast conversation, had he noticed I'd worn the same green jacket as the day before, had he thought it suited me or wondered if I didn't have one to change into, and above all, what had the shirts in my wardrobe meant?

Around ten, I finally acknowledged that I would not be getting much work done that morning. I told myself the weather looked changeable--after all, in England, a clear sunny sky could not be expected to last for more than a few hours--and if I wanted to take my walk, I ought to do it as soon as possible. Plainly an excuse, but I was hopeful that, once I'd been outside a little, I would feel more myself and more ready to fall into my old routines.

I managed to avoid encountering any of the maids or footmen that I could hear clattering through the hallways going about their work, so there was no need to explain why I was going for my hat and coat in the middle of the morning. I went out through the kitchen door so Mrs. Hopkins would see I was leaving in case anyone came looking for me. Not that I thought Lord Elmsby would go looking for me, but I thought it best someone know where I was. She was still of the opinion that I needed fresh air so soon after being ill, so there was no need to worry that she would find my early break odd or unseemly.

As I passed the study windows, I looked up, but there were no shadows and the curtain didn't so much as twitch. Not that I should be surprised. His lordship was just back from town. Whatever business he'd had in London, I shouldn't be at all surprised to learn there were things that needed to be settled once he'd returned to Gorsewall Manor. He wouldn't have time to be staring out of windows, watching his clerk go walking. But it still felt right to have him back, to know he was sitting behind one of those windows and not miles away in London. I started in the direction of my favorite sheep-watching spot.

I was halfway to the low wall that was my destination when I heard footsteps behind me. I slowed then realized that somewhere over the last weeks of safety at Gorsewall Manor, I'd lost my fear of being followed by the watch. Or perhaps I was so eager for certain company that I was willing to risk it. I pushed that thought out of my head as the steps approached me and turned so I could greet my pursuer. As I'd hoped but hadn't expected, it was Lord Elmsby. I waved.

When he saw he'd been recognized, he hurried to catch up. "I thought I'd see if you'd found any new places for sheep watching while I was away."

"The same spot, I'm afraid."

He smiled. "Would you mind a bit of company?"

"Not at all."

We walked in companionable silence the rest of the way to the wall and leaned against it in our accustomed way, watching the dog do his best to get the sheep to do what he wanted them to and the sheep munching away as they ignored him. I didn't feel any need to speak, and Lord Elmsby seemed content to watch the field in silence. It was restful, just the thing my restless mind had needed, and the most comfortable I'd been with another person since I'd left William and Arthur in London.

Thinking of William and Arthur gave me the now familiar pang of guilt and sadness with a hint of isolation as there was no way I could tell someone why I was upset, why the thought of William and what he'd done, the thought of Arthur and what I was sure he was trying to do, and the thought that neither one knew I was alive and safe, left me wondering if it was more selfish to stay safe or to return to London and risk capture. I wasn't sure if the feeling showed on my face or not, so I dropped my gaze to the wall, hoping it would look like the sun had begun to bother my eyes.

As I watched a bee make a lazy circuit of the flowers at the bottom of the wall, I saw Lord Elmsby's hand move, a slight twitch in my direction. I leaned against the wall and pretended not to notice, although I kept watch from the corner of my eye. It was a distraction from my own thoughts, wondering about his. The second time I saw the movement, I recognized it. He was sliding his hand along the wall closer to mine, but stopping before he reached me, as if he were losing his nerve. A feeling I knew well. I turned my hand palm up and returned to watching the sheep as they moved across the field in search of whatever it was they were looking for. I'd barely begun watching them again when I felt a smooth palm brush against the side of my hand. I bent my hand towards it and gently curled my fingers, allowing Lord Elmsby every opportunity to pull away. He did not. In fact quite the opposite. He leaned towards me, so I did the same, and we ended up with our shoulders almost brushing each other, and our hands ever so lightly clasped as we watched the fields spread out below us.

# Chapter 8

LORD ELMSBY DID NOT ASK ME what I was thinking as we stood by the wall, our hands touching, barely but with enough contact to be comforting. I was relieved I didn't need to explain myself, didn't need to come up with a way to explain my melancholy without getting anyone in trouble. When the sun was high overhead, Lord Elmsby pushed away from the wall, and we walked back to the house in companionable silence. I was trying to think of a way to excuse myself to return to my work without sounding as if I wanted to be away, when Lord Elmsby asked, "Were you eager to get back to your books?"

I paused. What was the correct answer to that? "I was at a place I could stop if you needed me for something else." There, I didn't sound displeased with my job, but I was available if he needed me.

"Some letters that need writing. I thought, after we eat, it would be a help if you could manage."

"Of course." If nothing else, it would give something for him to add to my reference, but a small part of my mind was hoping that he was looking for ways to keep me at the manor after I'd finished the inventory of the library.

Our meal was already laid out when we returned to the house, and we discussed random, noncommittal things, the book he was reading, something I had seen in the newspaper, and finally the strange marriage of Miss Kelsleigh to her father's butler. Neither of us mentioned my melancholy or his trip to London. When the meal was finished, we retired to the study, and Lord Elmsby showed me the task to be done. It was simple enough. He'd completed some business papers and needed cover letters written for them. Each had a sheet of scribbled notes on what he wanted relayed, and I merely needed to put those notes into a more formal letter. Many of the notes were attached to contracts, and I couldn't help but look them over.

It seemed Lord Elmsby had property in several parts of England, I assumed purchased when he'd thought he would not inherit anything, and he was personally overseeing the running of them. Most seemed to be well-suited to farming, although copper had been found on one near the coast and coal on one to the north, and he was contracting with local firms to oversee the mining. It was quite similar to arrangements I had looked into when I had been clerking at the solicitor's firm in London, and I couldn't resist taking a closer look at the contracts.

Once I started looking, I began picking apart clauses and searching for weaknesses, and before I knew it, I was making notes and considering alternate wording. I barely noticed when Lord Elmsby got up from his desk and was quite startled when he came up to the desk where I was working at and asked, "Something wrong with that contract?"

"No, nothing's wrong," I said quickly, hoping I hadn't overstepped my place. He hadn't asked me to review them, after all, merely write the letters he had planned.

"But something's bothering you about it."

In for a penny, I decided. "It just seems there's a weakness in the royalty clause. A little rewording could make it clearer, and therefore stronger and more in your favor."

Lord Elmsby looked over my shoulder at the clause. "What do you suggest?"

"I don't like to second-guess your solicitor, certainly not when I don't know the parties involved."

"But?"

"I could write out a suggestion, and you could present it to him and get his opinion on it. I might be completely wrong, or there could be some other reason he has phrased this as he has."

Lord Elmsby nodded. "Write out your suggestion, and I will decide what to do about it."

I drew a sheet of paper towards myself and hoped I hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

Despite my worries, I soon found myself engrossed in the contracts. It was familiar work, what I had done before the disaster at the Swan's Nest and something I knew I could do well. I was so completely focused on my work that I only vaguely noticed that Lord Elmsby had left his desk and was standing by the fire, holding a newspaper that he kept folding and unfolding without reading, until I'd finished writing out the changes I was proposing to the second contract and sat up to stretch my back. That was when I realized not only was Lord Elmsby away from his desk, but he was watching me. I fumbled for how to respond to that--after all, there had to be some explanation other than the one I was imagining--but before I could think of something to say, he had stopped fiddling with the newspaper and crossed the room to my desk still carrying it. He stood by the front of the desk for a moment, hesitating, then dropped a newspaper in front of me. "If you were curious."

I looked at the headline. _Punishment for Indecency-the notorious men of the Swan's Nest face their punishment_. There was a crude engraving of the wagon with anonymous men sitting inside, being pelted by the crowd. "How long have you known?"

"I suspected some of it when I found you, but when I went to London I was able to confirm my suspicions."

I wondered why he hadn't simply asked me what I'd been running from, although I had been terrified that he would do just that and grateful he hadn't. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

He shrugged. "You were running from it, why would you?"

"Am I mentioned? Are they looking for me?"

"No, and no. None of the newspaper articles I read mentioned anyone specific or an escape. I located a guard who was there at the time who was willing to give me information after he was properly compensated. He said the wagon that brought the prisoners back from the pillory was so full of filth, it was all they could do to extract the prisoners. They thought they had them all but later realized there were only eleven. They think you suffocated under the mess and the prisoner they made muck the wagon out before sending it back didn't realize he'd shoveled you into the dung heap. When they asked, he said he felt something heavy but assumed it was some dead thing thrown at them and was too exhausted to investigate."

I sighed. "Did they say who it was?"

"William Hamond."

"I thought so. That was my friend." I closed my eyes, trying to block the image of William, who'd never so much as dug a hole for a plant, shoveling the muck out of the wagon, trying to cover for me. "He probably put himself in a position to be chosen so he could do me that favor."

"The guard said they picked the one who looked most disgusted by the idea."

I nodded. That sounded like William. He never could hide his thoughts.

"Would you like me to try to do something for him?"

I shook my head. "We have a friend, Sir Arthur Holden. I know he's doing all he can."

Lord Elmsby nodded. "If you think of something, I'm not without influence in London."

I stared down at the newspaper account. I'd been there, in the wagon, on the way to the pillory, then sat there and saw what happened, but reading it, seeing it written, knowing William was still there... I didn't realize I'd started crying until a tear slid down the side of my nose and tickled the end of it. And then there was a strong hand on my wrist, and I was pulled against a silk waistcoat, and I couldn't stop sobbing.

"He went through the pillory twice. So fastidious and glad to be done, and when I had the chance to escape, he took my place to give me an extra hour to run. It wasn't fair. We didn't even hire anyone. We were going to have a bit of fun ourselves. It was some fool in the card room trying to blackmail some posh sod, not us. Not any of us."

"Not fair at all," Lord Elmsby murmured against my hair. "Not fair, but not your fault. And your friend is a good and honorable man, and I'd be pleased to hire him once he's out of prison, if you can find a way to get word to him. But none of it was your fault, or fair to you at all."

I'd managed to regain a bit of control and was prepared to pull away and apologize for my behavior, but Lord Elmsby kept a tight grip on me and kept making slow, soothing circles on my back with his palm. I leaned against him and felt his arms pull me in tighter.

I would have stayed wrapped in his arms all afternoon, but that seemed to presume too much, and I knew I needed to regain some equilibrium. "Did they say what happened to the landlord?" I asked and pulled back.

Lord Elmsby let go of me but did not move far. "Acquitted on all charges."

"Good. He did his best for us. Sent girls up to say we were waiting for them and everything."

Lord Elmsby nodded but didn't say anything.

"Really, I'm all right now. And I am sorry for that. There was no call to..."

"There was every call to. You're worried about your friend, that's understandable. But remember, you're allowed to be happy too. He didn't do all that he did to get you out so you could wallow in guilt and misery about it." Lord Elmsby looked ready to say something else. For a second, I thought it was an apology. But then he turned abruptly and walked out of the study.

I stared at the newspaper he'd left behind. At least now I knew why he had gone to London. But why had he taken such an interest in my story when he could simply have asked me? No, it was more likely his trip to London had nothing at all to do with me and learning about my past had simply been a convenient side mission while he worked on whatever had brought him there. And now I'd chased him out of his own study with my outburst, although he had been quite kind about it in the moment. I carefully cleaned the pen I'd been using and put the desk back in order with the notes I'd made on the contracts stacked neatly on top of the relevant papers in case he still wished to show them to his solicitor then returned to the library and my proper job.

{--*--}

Back in the library, I tried to throw myself into my work, but I couldn't stop wondering about Lord Elmsby, about why he had bothered to find out what had happened in London without asking me, and most of all why he had told me then left so abruptly. Then my thoughts turned to William and all he'd done for me. If there were some way to get word to Arthur... But then what could I do to help? I had my salary here, which was generous but hardly enough to be of real assistance. There was Lord Elmsby's offer of a position, provided it was genuine and not simply something he'd said as I was sobbing into his shirtfront, but while that might be welcome in two years, it wouldn't help William now. The best I could do was stay away from London and not cause Arthur any more problems, allowing him to focus his efforts on helping William as best he could. Although it would have been nice to let Arthur know that I was all right as I was sure he was worried.

With all of my own worries, I had very little work to show for my afternoon. I seriously considered saying I wasn't hungry and going straight to my room, only the memory of Agnes being upset by Lord Elmsby missing me at breakfast stopped me from ringing for someone to take the message to Mrs. Hopkins. So it was quite a surprise to get to the dining room and find no one else there. I assumed Lord Elmsby was finishing up his work and went to sit at my accustomed place, but Lord Elmsby did not arrive before Simon started putting out the first course. "Where is his lordship?" I had several other questions, of course, but I doubted Simon would have the answers to those.

"He said he had some notes to send to his solicitor and we were to bring him a tray, but you were to enjoy your meal as we'd already set up the dining room when he told us."

So I'd chased him out of the study and now the dining room. I thought perhaps I should claim illness in the morning and stay out of his way all day. Only that would most likely worry everyone, and the doctor would be called, and then there would be more questions. I sighed into my soup and did my best to do justice to Mrs. Hopkins's excellent cooking while the empty room pressed in around me and Lord Elmsby's empty chair teased me, reminding me that I would still have to see him in the morning, knowing he knew all of my secrets and had seen me crumble when I was confronted with them.

By the time Simon brought the pudding, I was thinking more clearly. That was what was needed, a bit of time. Perhaps, by breakfast, after a good night's sleep and a bit of distance, we could both pretend the incident in the study hadn't happened. Lord Elmsby had already suspected my secret, and he hadn't thrown me out when he'd found the truth. In fact, he'd sought me out when I'd been walking--and as it hadn't been my usual time, he had to have been watching for me--so he must not object to my company. No, my outburst might very well have been what upset him. After all, it was not the most pleasant of experiences to have an employee burst into tears and collapse into your arms. Once we had both had a good night's rest, I could show him that I wasn't one to have fits of vapors every time my friends were mentioned, and perhaps we could manage to get back to our old, comfortable footing.

I was just congratulating myself on this very sensible plan when Simon came to clear the table. "His lordship wants you in the study when you've finished."

The whole way to the study, I was trying to think of what to say, how to apologize for my unprofessional outburst, but I was too distracted by the thought that this was when he would tell me he had decided the library did not need sorting out and I could be on my way. So I was already in quite a state when I pushed open the study door and found Lord Elmsby standing by the fire. "Good evening, my lord." When there was no response, I added, "Simon said you wanted to see me." As the silence stretched, I started to worry and began to murmur, "I think I ought to apologize..." but didn't bother to finish it when I realized Lord Elmsby was still standing by the fire with his back to me, staring into the flames. I highly doubted he'd heard a word I'd said. Perhaps he was still tired from his trip to London. Or perhaps he didn't know what to say to me now that he knew why I had fled London.

I was considering whether it would draw more attention to the silence if I stayed near the door or retreated into the hallway when he spoke. "You don't need to worry or feel any obligation. You're welcome to stay and enjoy the peace and tranquility here for as long as you wish."

I was so surprised to find I still had a position in the house that I said the first thing that popped into my mind. "Is that what you find here? Peace and tranquility?"

He nodded. "Peace is frequently underrated. There is something calming about slipping quietly into the background and not having to worry about what others might think of your choices."

"Indeed." I wondered which of his choices he wished to keep private. "And the obligation?"

He turned and held out a glass of brandy to me. When I'd taken it, he drank deeply from his glass. I thought he was going to ignore my question, but he turned back to the fire and said, "There is none between us."

I stared at the liquid in my glass. "You mean..." How to even broach the subject. "What you saw me do in the alley." At the time, I'd thought I'd become used to the idea that I was selling my mouth. Standing in Lord Elmsby's study after he knew more or less everything and had been so kind to me, I could feel my ears heating from the mere thought of speaking of it.

The way his head bent told me I'd guessed correctly.

I swirled the alcohol in my glass, avoiding looking at Lord Elmsby even though I knew his back was to me. "And I suppose what you learned in London told you that, under other circumstances, that is precisely what I desire."

He didn't look at me.

What he'd said was forming logical connections in my mind, and as it seemed the time to say shocking things, I asked, "From your lack of shock, might I suppose you have some sympathy for that?"

He sighed. "As I said, no obligation." His fingers twitched, and for a moment I thought he was going to touch me, but he stayed quite still. I realized I was disappointed. I wanted him to touch me again. But he knew all about me, about what had happened in London, what I'd done on the journey here. He probably didn't want me.

"Thank you." But the thought of not even trying seemed worse than the rejection would be. And yet should I even attempt it when I had a safe place with congenial work and a master who knew the truth of why I'd run from London and was willing to keep my secret? But all I could think of was the way his hand had drifted towards mine on the wall. The kindness of the wool and needles. The way he'd held me when I'd been overcome at the thought of William still in prison. "If it were not an obligation, but a..." How to even choose the right word?

"A desired outcome?" Lord Elmsby asked softly.

"A desired outcome. Would the desire be mutual?"

Lord Elmsby looked up at me. There was no question in my mind at that moment on his feelings. I stepped towards him, and Lord Elmsby didn't hesitate. As soon as my head was resting against his chest, his arms were around me. I slid my hand along his arm, feeling the unexpected hardness of muscle under my fingers. I wondered if he was disappointed at my own softer form, but then he was pressing light kisses against my hair, and I couldn't hold two thoughts in my mind at once. I moved to draw his lips towards mine and almost dropped my glass. I jerked my body as I clutched for it. Lord Elmsby released me at once and stepped back.

"Forgot I had this," I said, holding up the offending glass. "I suppose if I dropped it, it would bring the servants running in just as we didn't want them."

Lord Elmsby nodded. "Not all of them, but enough to be embarrassing."

I put the glass down on the table. "I'm rid of it now."

"You're saying you'd like to continue then?"

I nodded.

Lord Elmsby smiled. "We'd be more comfortable in my room."

That made me smile. "And less chance of being interrupted."

"After the servants have gone to bed. Midnight should be safe."

I nodded, then realized I'd been nodding for too long and moved to sip my drink, only to realize I'd put it down. I expected Lord Elmsby to laugh or at least shake his head at my foolishness, but he was looking down at his hands. "I think I'll go to my room and..." I couldn't think how to finish the thought. Anticipate? Hope I don't make a bigger fool of myself?

Lord Elmsby nodded. "Yes, yes, I think I shall do that too." As I turned to the study door, he whispered, "Midnight."

"Midnight," I answered.

In my room, I began a frantic search through the wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear when I went across to Lord Elmsby's room, only to realize I only had the one nightshirt, and even though my green coat was the most flattering thing I currently owned, wearing my shirt and trousers might make it more difficult to slip back to my room. After all, in a nightshirt, I could say I'd thought I heard something in the hall and went to investigate. Besides, it was easier to put on in a hurry should that be required. That left what seemed like ages until it was time to cross the hall. I spent a good bit of time looking in the mirror, trying to make my bland hair do something that might be considered attractive. Needless to say, it didn't work. I tried reading, but nothing held my interest, and I ended up staring at the fire to avoid staring at the clock.

It seemed as if midnight would never come, but come it did, and the last chime of the clock had barely stopped when I hurried across the hall and tapped on Lord Elmsby's door. It opened at once, and Lord Elmsby peered around the edge. He smiled and gestured for me to come through. There wasn't much light in the sitting room, making it hard for me to make out anything, although I got the sense of the room, of the same sort of leather chairs that were found in the library and paintings on the walls, books. And then Lord Elmsby's hand was on my shoulder, and I turned towards him. He ran his fingers along the side of my face and smiled softly, then he grabbed my hand and led me through to the bedroom.

There were plenty of candles lit around the bedroom, making the room look warm and inviting and allowing me to see that Lord Elmsby had spent his time preparing for me. There was a decanter of brandy on the dresser and a plate of apples and walnuts. The bed had been turned down, showing white sheets and soft pillows. Lord Elmsby was wearing a sapphire silk banyan patterned with gold filigree shapes that glinted in the candlelight and flattered his coloring, making him look like some sort of Apollo of light and me feel even more drab next to that sort of perfection. I reminded myself that he had chosen me, he had asked me to come, and even if it was only because I was the only safe option for him here, I ought to take comfort in that. I wasn't sure my mental words of encouragement helped, but I stepped towards Lord Elmsby, and he held out his arms for me, pulling me against his chest as soon as I was close enough, allowing his banyan to fall open, revealing that he was naked beneath it. I rested my head against his shoulder and ran my hand along his chest, which was slim and strong and lightly dusted with golden hair.

I felt his breath against my forehead as he whispered, "So I'll do?"

Do? He was perfect. Beautiful. Wonderful. "Yes, my lord."

"Julian," he whispered against my hair. "Call me Julian."

"Yes, Julian," I whispered and felt his arms tighten around me. I allowed my hand to continue sliding down over his chest, pushing aside his robe as I did, skimming over his taught belly where his blond hair darkened and grew thicker as it led down. And finally I was able to see his cock, slim and well-formed as the rest of him, looking as tempting as I had imagined it that first time I'd seen his boots pass me in the alley. I remembered how even then I had wanted to taste him and dropped to my knees.

Lord Elmsby's--Julian's fingers slid into my hair. "You're certain?"

In answer, I leaned forward and took the tip of his cock between my lips, letting my tongue flick over it before slowly sliding down the length, watching him watch as his cock disappeared into my mouth. He made a soft sound of pleasure, so I sucked harder, running my tongue along the bottom of his cock, trying to remember everything that I had enjoyed having done to my own cock, something I hadn't bothered with at all when I'd been on my knees in filthy alleyways. But Julian was nothing like those men. His fingers were in my hair, gently rubbing my scalp as he tried to control his hips but failed, every so often thrusting ever so slightly into my mouth. I relished those moments of abandon, knowing I had done something to make my golden lord lose control, and wondered if I could make him forget himself entirely.

I was remembering something William had once done to my cock and trying to figure out just what he'd done with his tongue when Julian hissed, "The bed, Thomas." It seemed he wanted us to retire to the bed. I was quite content to finish on my knees but willing to do whatever pleased him. I slowly slid my mouth from his cock and got to my feet.

Julian had already started for the bed, or more properly for the nightstand by the bed. I realized he was looking for oil. It had been a long while since I'd been fucked, but if that was what he wanted, I was quite content to let him use my body however pleased him. Anything to be close to him. I debated for a moment, then climbed onto the bed and lay down, waiting to see how he wanted me.

Julian must have had the oil prepared as well as he found it quickly and turned to me. "Beautiful," he whispered as his eyes drifted over me. I had no idea what he had found pleasing, but I was glad something about me had warranted the look he was giving me. I watched him pull the stopper out of the bottle then turned my attention back to his face, enjoying the looks he was giving me, the way his gaze drifted down my body, lingering on my cock that was hard and aching for contact. "So beautiful," he whispered again, his gaze most definitely on my cock now. But then it drifted back up to my face. "And such eyes," he whispered, "so deep and making me wonder what goes on behind them."

That surprised me. I'd never thought there was anything special about my eyes, but it seemed Julian found something to interest him there. I held his gaze as he watched me until he turned to put the bottle of oil back on the nightstand. It was only then that I realized he'd been oiling himself as he admired at me. I had not expected that. But Julian came to the bed and knelt over me and caught my cock in his oiled hand and rubbed it a few times, barely touching it, only enough to transfer the oil from his skin to mine, then positioned his hips over mine and slowly lowered himself.

While it had been a long time since I'd been fucked, it had been even longer since my cock had slid into the warmth of someone's passage, and Julian's was perfection. Tight enough to close around me, slick enough to allow me to move, and the way he looked, his perfect body lowering over mine, my cock disappearing inside of him, it would have been enough to make me come at once if I hadn't wanted to keep feeling it so badly. He pulled up slowly, then lowered himself over me again. I tried to hold still and failed, thrusting up into him. Julian made a beautiful sound and snapped his hips down to meet mine. As we thrust against each other, I reached for his cock and began pumping it in time to the movement of our bodies, making his face contort in the most wonderfully abandoned grimaces of pleasure.

Julian reached his crises first, pausing in his thrusts, throwing his head back, and spilling over my chest while his passage contracted around me, massaging my climax from me soon after his. He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard, his perfect golden hair mussed and damp with sweat. I wrapped my arms around him and held him against me.

"I should have asked," he murmured as soon as he had breath enough to speak.

"What? Why? Love," I stopped myself before I said _love you_. Julian didn't seem to notice as he lay panting on top of me.

When Julian recovered his breath, he rolled off of me and sat up. I followed suit, expecting to gather up my nightshirt and slip away. But Julian seemed to have other ideas. He took my hand in his and stroked it. "So you enjoyed that, then?"

"Enjoyed doesn't seem strong enough a word."

That made Julian smile. "No, but it was all I could think of. I had Grant leave water so we can clean up, and then there's brandy and bit to eat, if..." He trailed off and stared at our hands almost as if he were afraid of being rejected.

I didn't know what to say, only that I wanted to comfort him, so I quickly squeezed his hand and got up from the bed. The water in the basin had gone cold, but I cleaned myself up quickly then brought a clean cloth to Julian. I pretended I hadn't seen him reach for it and ran it over his skin myself, wiping away the oil and spend from his thighs and arse. When I'd finished, I looked up and saw him watching me with tender, heavy-lidded eyes. I wasn't sure how to respond to that either, so I said the first thing that entered my mind. "Shall I pour us some brandy?"

Julian nodded, so I went to the table and poured out two glasses and brought them to the bed with the plate of fruit and nuts. We ate in silence for a few minutes, but that didn't seem right. I was trying to think of something to say when Julian broke the silence for me.

"You look as if you want to ask me something."

I hadn't known that I did, but as soon as he said it, I realized the reason I was having so much trouble coming up with something to say was that I knew exactly what I wanted to ask but had been trying not to. It seemed silly after we had been so intimate, after he had offered himself to me as he had. "Did you find out anything else about me in London?"

Julian didn't look the least bit surprised by that question, so he must have suspected it would be something of that nature. "I got your address from the prison. I went there to see if I could pick up some of your things, but they'd already been taken. I got the name of the person in charge of the removal, Mr. Russell. He had two men with him."

I smiled at that. "That's our friend Arthur's butler, and probably two of his footmen. My things are safe, at least, and William's as well, I'd think." It was small comfort, but it was something. Then I had a terrible thought. Arthur had been wracked with guilt over William and I being arrested. If I was presumed dead and he believed it, he would be inconsolable. "Did you speak to him?"

"Sir Arthur Holden? No. When I learned you were presumed dead, I thought it best not to speak to anyone as I didn't know who could be trusted."

I nodded. "That was probably best." But if he'd heard the same story Julian had been told and thought...

"If you'd like to write to him or anyone you trust, you may make free use of my name. Or I can write, and you can give me something to say that would tell them you were all right."

"Thank you."

"You miss him."

I nodded. "If he thinks I'm dead, he'll be wracked with guilt. Even if he thinks I'm wandering through England alone..."

"Then you should write. Or I can go back to London and meet with him if you think it would be safer."

I didn't want to make him journey back to London when he'd just returned from his first trip there in six years. "You're very kind."

Julian rested his hand over mine. "I like being kind to you if you'll allow me."

I squeezed his hand then sipped my brandy. I hadn't meant to turn maudlin on our first night together. Julian let me be silent for a short while then said, "You should try the apples. They're from my orchard down the way," and we were back to more normal topics until it was time for me to gather my nightshirt and slip back to my room for the rest of the night.

# Chapter 9

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS WERE THE BEST I had spent since I'd escaped London and the best for a good bit before that as well. I took Julian up on his offer to write to Arthur, and we spent a pleasant afternoon trying to compose the letter, and eventually settled on having Julian write to request a recommendation for a new man of business, saying he'd heard Mr. T. Ruisseau had assisted Arthur in the Harcourt matter, Harcourt Inn being the name of a pub favored by us in Oxford, and hoping Arthur remembered enough French to recognize the translation of my last name.

Another side effect of my time with Julian was a renewed interest in my appearance, such as it was. I knew I would never be a beauty despite what Julian said when we lay together in his bed, but that didn't mean I couldn't make something better of myself than footmen's cast-offs and suits ordered but never retrieved, and so I went to town with Mrs. Hopkins and got myself measured for two new suits of clothes from Mr. Peyton, including another green wool coat that suited my coloring and a shade of chestnut that made my hair appear to have a bit of color to it.

Two weeks after the letter to Arthur had been sent, a chest was delivered for Lord Elmsby. I recognized Arthur's handwriting on the label at once, and Julian ordered it brought to my room, saying it was some papers he'd had sent from London that he wanted me to sort. I had no idea if the servants believed that story or not, but I was touched to discover that not only did the chest contain my clothes, but there were new bars of soap, the lemon sort I always bought, and shampoo, shaving soap, a new razor, six new sets of linen, and new novels by three of my favorite authors along with the most loved and battered of my own books, and my lopsided, hand-knit scarf. Arthur was trying to think of everything, I could tell.

It took me two days to find the note Arthur had managed to hide in one of my shoes.

"Thomas,

I am relieved to hear from you, although I knew any reports of your death were most likely premature. I was at the pillory, although you most likely did not see me. I had secured a room across the street and had a view of everything. When I saw William go up in the second group as well as the first, I hoped you had escaped. I certainly couldn't think of another reason he would subject himself to that. I later managed to visit him in prison, and he confirmed it in a roundabout sort of way as there were guards around. Should you need anything from me, don't hesitate to ask. If you wish to take a new name, I will be happy to write any reference you need using it and confirm any information you provide. If you can manage it safely, I would like to hear from you and know you're all right, but only if you can manage it safely.

Best of luck,

Arthur"

After reading the note, I was extremely grateful to Julian for making it possible for me to tell Arthur where I was and that I was well. After reading the letter twice to be certain there was nothing personal in it, I allowed Julian to read it as we sat on my bed. He seemed suitably impressed but merely said, "You have good friends," in a way that told me he had no such friends. Save me, I hoped. I considered telling him Arthur would be happy to consider him a friend, but that seemed too forward, so I put the letter away and concentrated on making Julian feel I, at least, was his friend.

The work in the library continued to be interesting, and I began helping Julian with his correspondence in the afternoon, which I suspected was his way of setting up a place for me once the library had been sorted out. Everything seemed peaceful, and I was beginning to think I'd found someplace safe to hide away at least until I figured out how to be certain my escape wouldn't be discovered and get Arthur and William in more trouble than they already had. Even the strange noises in the library seemed to have stopped, and I was beginning to think that they had been figments of my overactive imagination seeing capture at every turn.

It took almost a month for my suits to be finished, and when I received the note from Mr. Peyton that they were ready for their final fitting, Mrs. Hopkins was content for me to accompany her to town when she went to order more supplies for winter. As neither of us was bringing much back and the weather was unusually fine, we decided to walk rather than wait for the gig to be made ready. Mrs. Hopkins had continued to be friendly, and I was beginning to suspect she had thought Julian was lonely at Gorsewall Manor and glad for him to have some company, an idea that was supported when she asked, "You'll be staying on then?"

"I hope so. I've been helping his lordship with correspondence, so I'm hopeful he'll offer me another position when the library is sorted." I had to remind myself frequently to be careful not to be too familiar when speaking of Julian. Mrs. Hopkins might be glad for him to have company, but that didn't mean she'd be as happy to know just how we were keeping company.

"I see," Mrs. Hopkins answered in a tone I thought sounded pleased.

I wanted to encourage her to talk, to be certain my presence was welcome, so I asked, "Is he a good man to work for?" even though I knew the answer full well.

Mrs. Hopkins nodded and looked ready to say something, but she was prevented from answering by a bloodcurdling scream. Without a word, we both ran down the hill in the direction of the noise.

We hadn't gone far when we spotted Agnes running up from the dip in the path. She spotted us and ran in our direction, flinging herself sobbing into Mrs. Hopkins's arms. "Bones. There were bones."

Mrs. Hopkins patted her on the back. "Where, child, where were these bones?"

Agnes gestured in the direction of the old culvert that had been dug under the hill road to divert water when the rains had made the creek flood.

"I'll go check," I offered. "It's probably just a sheep caught by a wolf or something."

Agnes shook her head, but whether she was telling me not to go or denying my suggestion, I couldn't tell.

It was easy enough to get down into the culvert, but I couldn't see how Agnes could have managed it by accident. Once I was inside, it was easy enough to see what had frightened Agnes. There were indeed bones poking out of the soft soil. The recent rains must have washed away whatever had been covering them. I could see why they had frightened Agnes. There was a skull plainly visible and one hand which seemed to be reaching up out of the soil and both feet showing, still clad in their low-heeled boots with the remains of a skirt tattered enough to show the leg bones there. At a quick glance, she might have looked as if she were trying to rise from her grave. I pushed that fanciful thought away quickly. It didn't really look like that at all. More like water had washed over the bones and dislodged them.

And not long uncovered, I realized. She still had a ring on her finger. I knelt and plucked it off so it wouldn't be lost. It would help to identify her if nothing else. It was not a common sort of ring, being fairly large, gold, with a good-sized diamond in the middle of four small rubies. An engagement ring, perhaps. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, a theory followed. I dropped to my knees and searched the area by the hand, but there was no wedding ring. Engaged but not yet married, and to someone who could afford a good-sized diamond. I slipped the ring into my pocket. No need to raise alarm until I was certain. And Mrs. Hopkins was sure to recognize the ring if my theory was correct. I cast another glance around the culvert then scrambled out of it and went to rejoin the others.

Mrs. Hopkins and Agnes were right where I'd left them, Agnes with her head resting against Mrs. Hopkins's shoulder.

"Well?" Mrs. Hopkins asked as soon as I was near enough to be heard.

"It was a woman," I said firmly. "I saw the shoes."

"Someone should go for the vicar," Mrs. Hopkins said.

Agnes pushed away from her and dried her eyes on her sleeve. "I'll go. It isn't far."

"You're sure, dear?" Mrs. Hopkins asked.

Agnes nodded emphatically and set off in what I assumed was the direction of the vicarage.

"Will she be all right?" I asked Mrs. Hopkins.

"Mrs. Nelson will give her tea and sympathy. What was it you weren't telling her?"

I didn't bother asking how she'd known I had kept something back, merely took the ring from my pocket and held it out. Mrs. Hopkins stared at it for a moment then turned away.

"That's best lost," she said grimly.

So my guess had been right. I wrapped the ring in my handkerchief and slipped it into the pocket of my tailcoat. I could decide what to do with it when I knew more.

I didn't know if Mrs. Hopkins intended to confirm my theory or not, but if she had, she was prevented by a figure coming up over the rise. He was tall with dark skin and hair and moving at the steady pace of an experienced hill-walker. Mrs. Hopkins waved at him, and he raised a hand in acknowledgment and started towards us. When he was close enough to hear, Mrs. Hopkins hailed him. "Dr. Barton, just the man we need."

"I was going home from seeing a patient and ran into Agnes. She said the pair of you were down by the old Dunsbrook Culvert, but I don't think I understood her properly."

I didn't want to leave Mrs. Hopkins to break the news, so I said, "If you thought she told you she found a body, then you understood correctly."

"Gracious. Are you sure there's nothing to be done?"

"It's a skeleton now. Female, by the shoes." I could feel Mrs. Hopkins watching as I gave my limited description, but I had no intention of mentioning the ring.

"Then it seems not. Dr. Barton, by the way. We have met, but you were in no condition to remember. There was some fear that you were truly ill, but I am glad to see you up and about."

He extended his hand, and I shook it. "Thomas Brook. Pleased to meet you properly."

"And now that the niceties are over, can you show me this body?"

"Of course. Follow me." I led him to the culvert, and we climbed down. I pointed out her shoes, and Dr. Barton looked at the bones in a clinical sort of way.

"You seem slightly bemused," he said when he looked up at me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was only wondering if all country doctors are so sanguine about dead bodies."

He smiled. "I was an army doctor for twelve years; very little discomposes me anymore." He leaned in a bit closer and poked on the ground by the neck then straightened up, holding an earring. "Perhaps this will help identify her."

If we wanted her identified, but I nodded.

We both rose to climb out of the culvert at the same time. When we were back beside Mrs. Hopkins, Dr. Barton said, "The first thing to do is arrange for removal. Is there someone at the house who could help?"

"I'd think some of the lads in the stables would be willing. Do you think you could find your way back, Mr. Brook?"

"I think so, yes."

"That's the Dunsbrook Road should you need to tell them. And if you'd let the household know dinner will be delayed."

I wondered if Mrs. Hopkins wanted me gone or if I seemed to be the one best suited to the task. In either case, I nodded and set out for the house.

I remembered my way back well enough that I made the journey in good time with little trouble. When I entered the kitchen, there was a woman I hadn't seen before standing by the hob, watching a kettle, acting as if she had every reason to be there. After my recent adventures, I wasn't in the mood to be subtle, so I said, "Hello?" in a manner I hoped conveyed something of _what are you doing here_ in the tone.

"You must be Mr. Brook. Did my husband find Mrs. Hopkins all right?"

"You must be Mrs. Nelson." When she nodded, I went on. "He wasn't there when I left, but Dr. Barton was going home from seeing a patient, so everything seems well in hand."

"That was lucky. I was wondering if I should send someone for him. Will they be coming back then?"

"Not yet. I'm here to get some men from the stables to help move her." As I said it, I wondered if that was an acceptable way to tell the vicar's wife, but she didn't seem shocked. Perhaps she had heard odder things in her time.

"I would think Ralph or Graham would be the men for the job."

I made note of the names. "And I'm to tell Lord Elmsby that dinner will be delayed."

"I can do that for you. I've sent Moira to get Agnes up to bed after the shock. I made her some tea, but I was going to see if his lordship had a bit of brandy to add to it, so I'll tell him them. He certainly can't blame Mrs. Hopkins."

"Can't blame Mrs. Hopkins for what?" Simon asked as he came down the kitchen stairs. "And where is everyone?"

"We found a body out on the moor," I told him. "Mrs. Hopkins is there with Mr. Nelson and Dr. Barton. I came to get some lads from the stable to help with the removal."

"If I won't be needed to wait table, I'll come along."

"You don't mind?" I asked. Simon did not strike me as the sort of person to volunteer to take a note upstairs let alone cross the moor to collect a skeleton.

"Not a bit. In fact, I know where there are some old sheets. We can make a stretcher. That will make everything much easier."

"Then thank you." I remembered Moira calling him a show-off. Perhaps that was it.

Simon went off to get the sheets. When he was gone, Mrs. Nelson picked up her kettle. "Do be certain he hasn't taken the good sheets. I'm going to bring this up to Agnes. I'll take care of informing Lord Elmsby of events."

"Thank you." I watched her go then stayed rooted in place. I didn't know if I ought to go out to the stables or wait for Simon, but after the events on the moor, neither one seemed like a good thing to do alone.

"Here we are. These will do nicely to bring her back."

"Hmm?" I looked up and saw that Simon had returned with a pair of bedsheets, one with a hole I thought I recognized from my makeshift bed in the storeroom when I'd been wet and wearing the remains of prison and pillory, neither one new. "Those should be good. Would you come with me to the stables to find some more men?"

"Certainly. Did you have anyone in mind?"

"Mrs. Nelson suggested Ralph and Graham."

"And I never argue with Mrs. Nelson. Lead the way."

In the stables, I spotted Ralph at once, which made my task easier as I already knew him. He saw me as well and waved. "Come to visit the horses?"

"I'm afraid we have a rather delicate matter. Agnes found skeletal remains out on the moors, and we need to bring them in."

"Human, you mean? Well, don't that beat all. 'Course I'll help. Hey, Graham! We need you!"

Graham proved to be the burly man I'd seen moving firewood on several occasions. He didn't say anything, but he did come to see what was wanted.

Ralph went on speaking as if he'd answered. "Agnes found a body. We're going to move it."

Graham nodded. "Where?"

"Near Dunsbrook Road," I said, remembering what I'd been told.

Graham nodded again.

"Anyone standing watch?" Ralph asked.

"Mrs. Hopkins, Mr. Nelson, and Dr. Barton."

"Then it's well watched. Let's go before they scare themselves daft with the sounds of the moor."

It was a silent party that made its way across the moor. I wasn't sure we were all needed for moving what was really nothing more than a scattering of bones, but I didn't want to be the one to say it, particularly as I couldn't think of a way to phrase it accurately that sounded better than _a scattering of bones._ And as we walked, I began to appreciate the number of people. Even though no one spoke, four men walking along the paths made a bit of noise, enough to make the area seem lived-in, and to keep the sounds of the moor at an ignorable level. The farther we went, the better I understood what Ralph meant by the sounds scaring those watching the body. I'd heard tell of wuthering, but the wind across the heather was making odd sounds that could easily be mistaken for a ghost, and if there hadn't been three strong men walking beside me, I might have been tempted to turn back and fetch them. From the way the others looked around each time the wind blew, I suspected I wasn't the only one grateful for the company.

It didn't take long to reach the spot, or it didn't seem to now that I was in company. When the small group that had been waiting for us came into view, Simon ran forward towards the culvert while Ralph, Graham, and I went to see what news Mrs. Hopkins had. She was standing with a man I had not seen before but guessed from his manner and the fact that he was standing with her that he was the vicar. They both had already spotted our little group as we'd approached, so there was no need to call out to avoid startling them.

"Ralph, Graham, it was good of you to come and help," the vicar said as we approached. "And you must be Mr. Brook. Mr. Nelson. I'm sorry we're meeting under such circumstances." He extended his hand.

"As am I. I believe I met your wife up at the house."

"Yes, she was going to accompany Agnes there. The poor girl was quite shaken, as is understandable."

Mrs. Hopkins nodded in agreement before interrupting him. "Perhaps we should get underway. It will be dark soon, and I doubt any of us..." She stopped herself before she referred to anything disturbing or less than kind, but I was sure we were all agreed that we did not want to be carrying a corpse around in the dark, even if it was nothing but bones. "We don't want to be wandering the moors at night."

"Quite right, yes," Mr. Nelson agreed.

"Where did you say it was?" Ralph asked, clearly wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

I answered, "In the culvert, there." Just as I pointed, there was a scream from the exact spot I was pointing to. We all ran towards it, all of us hoping with equal fervor that nothing else had happened.

When we reached the edge of the culvert, it was to find both Dr. Barton and Simon laughing.

Dr. Barton noticed us first. "I am sorry, but a bit of gallows humor."

"Dr. Barton nearly frightened me to death. I didn't know he was down here."

"Well, you nearly gave me palpitations leaping down here as you did, so I think that's fair."

Mrs. Hopkins was glaring at them both. "Thank the Lord you didn't land on the body."

Simon didn't look the least bit repentant. "She's fine, Mrs. Hopkins."

"You'll find I took the precaution of moving her to the side of the space to give us more room to arrange her removal as there didn't seem to be anything to be learned from the area."

"You're sure it's a woman then, doctor?" Graham asked.

"Mr. Brook found her shoes, and not to be indelicate, but it is clear they were on her feet, or rather, her feet were in them. I'm quite certain."

Ralph nodded. "Found some toe bones in there then? Sorry, Mrs. Hopkins."

Mrs. Hopkins gave a sigh that clearly said she expected no better of him but had hoped.

Dr. Barton wisely changed the subject. "Were we going to try to bring her out?"

"I brought this," Simon said, holding up the old sheets.

"At least they aren't ones I'd use on a bed outside the scullery," Mrs. Hopkins said.

"Then they're all right?" Dr. Barton asked. When Mrs. Hopkins nodded, he took the sheets and began arranging them. He finally decided on folding both sheets lengthwise and laying them on top of each other, giving four layers of cloth to support the remains. "As we don't need to worry about comfort, this seems the best method." He paused for a moment to allow for objections then began carefully moving the bones from their grave to the makeshift stretcher.

While Dr. Barton worked, Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Nelson stepped back from the edge. I went with them.

Mr. Nelson stood with his head bowed and the look of someone praying silently. Mrs. Hopkins put a hand on my arm and steered me a few steps away to give him privacy. "We were discussing the matter while you were away, and it seems best to bring her to Dr. Barton's surgery. He can lay her out there and determine if anything needs to be done before she has a proper burial."

I nodded. "That seems sensible." I wanted to ask her about the ring, about whether it signified what I thought it did, but when my hand went towards my jacket pocket, Mrs. Hopkins glared at me, so I turned the motion into a rather indelicate scratch.

"Did you see Agnes when you were at the house?"

So we were changing the subject. It seemed prudent if not what I would have preferred. "No, but I met Mrs. Nelson while I was there, and she had Moira put Agnes to bed with tea and a nip of brandy, and she offered to inform his lordship of everything."

"And what is everything?"

"Merely the bare facts of the matter," I assured her, and as much as I wanted to know who she was worried about knowing too much, the master or the vicar's wife, I changed the subject myself. "It looks like they're ready."

It did indeed look as if the recovery operation was entering its next phase. Graham and Ralph were lying on the ground, looking down into the culvert. Mrs. Hopkins and I went to join them and found Dr. Barton and Simon trying to figure out how to get the body out of the ditch. She had been laid out quite neatly on the sheets. Any effects Dr. Barton had found--the shoes, both earrings, a few remains of cloth--had been arranged around her, and the four corners of the sheets had been knotted to allow two men to carry it between them like a stretcher, but it was not possible for someone to climb out of the culvert while carrying her. It was Mr. Nelson who startled us all by coming over silently then speaking without warning.

"As Dr. Barton and Mr. Brook are of a size, perhaps they could lift her up, over their heads, and allow Ralph and Graham to reach her from here."

As there didn't seem to be any better ideas, I went down into the ditch and took Simon's side of the makeshift stretcher.

"On three then?" Dr. Barton asked then counted us down.

We lifted our burden over our heads and, while it was quite light, it was awkward as it shifted. Simon leaned in and tried to help by supporting it from below, but I'm certain Dr. Barton was as relieved as I was when Ralph called, "We have it," and we felt calloused hands brush our own. Dr. Barton and I stepped back while Simon continued to support the stretcher until it was lifted clear of the ditch. I saw Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Nelson assisting from above, helping Ralph and Graham maintain their balance and get to their feet with their burden.

Once we were all out of the culvert, Dr. Barton began leading the way back towards his surgery, interestingly enough not in the direction he'd been traveling when he arrived, with Ralph and Graham behind him, their grim burden stretched between them and Simon walking alongside, ready to offer what assistance he could. Mr. Nelson followed them, his head bowed again in silent prayer. I was going to ask Mrs. Hopkins what we ought to do, but she was already falling into step behind the vicar, and as I did not want to be left alone on the moors in what was rapidly becoming twilight even though I had found my way back to the manor alone once already that day, I fell into step beside her.

We were a silent, slightly gloomy party as we made our way back to the road, not surprising considering the circumstances. But it did mean that, when two points of light appeared in the distance, distorted by the fog that was starting to roll in, we all shuddered a bit, and I was quite glad I had not set out alone for the manor. With practical Mrs. Hopkins beside me, I knew there was no chance of it being supernatural in origin, otherwise, I would have been willing to believe anything from a banshee to the unquiet spirit of our unfortunate burden and would have been running in any direction that could be called away.

But Mrs. Hopkins's calming presence kept my feet moving with the rest of the procession, and as the figure approached, I realized it was Julian, then reminded myself to think of him as Lord Elmsby in company lest I slip, particularly in front of the vicar. I was so busy trying to control my thoughts, I almost didn't hear him say, "I thought you lot would like some light to guide you home." He held one of the lanterns he was carrying out to the vicar.

"Thank you, my lord, that was very thoughtful."

"May I?" He nodded towards our burden.

"Of course." The vicar brought the light over but did not hold it too close to the remains, allowing Julian to decide how closely he wished to look.

Julian stood grimly staring down at the bones but did not speak.

Dr. Barton came to stand beside Julian. "If you've any questions..."

Julian shook his head. "It's a very sad thing."

"Indeed. She'll be at the surgery until the magistrate releases her for burial."

"I'll want to see that she has a proper service. An accident, you think?"

"It would seem most likely, but I'll examine her a bit more closely when the light is better."

Julian nodded and stepped back. "Thank you."

"Not to change the subject, but I was on my way to tell you that Gibbons injured his left elbow. No fracture, but he won't be able to work for several weeks, and that might affect his rent."

"I'll keep that in mind when they're due. Thank you." Julian started back down the path that would lead him home.

The bearers sorted themselves out again and began walking. Mrs. Hopkins didn't join them. "I'd best get home and see that there's some dinner. I'll keep yours warm, boys, don't worry. And if Mrs. Nelson is still there, I'll have her stay for some as well, vicar, then send her home with one of the lads."

"Then I won't worry if she isn't back when I return."

The small procession did not seem to need me, and I did not particularly want to stay with it, so I turned to Mrs. Hopkins and said, "I'll accompany you."

She smiled and said, "That's most kind," and we started on our way.

We walked a few paces behind Julian, the light of his lantern also providing light for us to see by. I opened my mouth to ask Mrs. Hopkins if anything had been said while I'd been going for Ralph and Graham, but she shook her head. Clearly, she didn't want to talk about any of it, although if she was in shock from what had happened or didn't want to discuss it with Julian so close I couldn't tell. Either way, the walk back to Gorsewall Manor was quick and silent. Mrs. Hopkins and I left Julian at the kitchen door and went inside to find most of the staff assembled there, Moira starting dinner on her own, and Mrs. Nelson already gone. Mrs. Hopkins immediately began assisting with the meal and assigning tasks. I stood by the door, not sure what to do with myself, until Mrs. Hopkins said, "It's been a trying evening for everyone. I don't think his lordship will be having dinner in the dining room, not this late. Shall I send a tray up to the library?"

I couldn't tell if she meant that as she'd said it or if she wanted me gone from her kitchen before the others started asking questions and I had the chance to say something she'd rather I didn't. Either way, I knew there was only one correct answer. "That would be very kind."

When I left the kitchen, I went to the library and lit the lamps then sat at the desk and tried to concentrate on the ledger in front of me, but that was impossible after the afternoon I'd had, so I contented myself with tidying away what I had been working on until Moira came with my tray. That seemed to be a good excuse to stop, and I gathered up the books I'd been looking at and nodded to the table. "There is fine."

Moira put the tray on the space I'd made for it but didn't leave. She watched as I put the books away, then said, "Will there be anything else?"

I shook my head, hoping it would end with that.

"Mrs. Hopkins said you were with her when Agnes found the body."

"Yes, that's right. I came to get Ralph and Graham after Agnes went for Mr. Nelson."

"And you knew it was a woman? Agnes didn't seem sure."

"I saw her shoes. Walking boots, really, the short kind ladies wear when they're going out walking." Perhaps that detail would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

"Agnes must not have seen that."

"I wouldn't blame her for not wanting to look too closely. The shock of finding a body when you're not expecting it is much worse than going back to look at what someone else has found." I wasn't sure if that were true or not, but it sounded well and allowed Agnes to save face. It also gave me a way to shift the conversation before I said anything Mrs. Hopkins might object to. "How is Agnes faring?"

"Well enough, I think. Mrs. Nelson sat with her for a while, and when I went to check on her after Mrs. Nelson left, she was sleeping. I think that will do her more good than anything."

I nodded. I didn't think Agnes was the sort to succumb to shock, so a good rest was probably what she needed. "Do you know why she was out there?"

Moira gave me a nervous sort of grin. "Well, that spot's popular with those going for a meeting, being rather hidden and all. Not the culvert itself, but the trees nearby."

I understood that she meant the meeting was more of a rendezvous with if not a lover, at least a sweetheart, and I could see how that would be a popular place for such things. Not too far off the road, but far enough that they wouldn't be readily noticed. It also led to some interesting speculation about how the body came to be there.

Moira seemed eager to change the subject now that she'd revealed Agnes had most likely been meeting someone illicitly when she'd found the body. "When you've finished your meal, just ring and someone will come to take the tray. I'll tell Agnes you were asking after her when she wakes up."

I thanked Moira and sat at the desk, picking at the food. It was only natural that the staff would want to know what had happenned. And common decency would prevent them from asking Agnes all of the details if she was still upset about finding the body. And if Mrs. Hopkins was going to be vague and unhelpful, it would only be logical for the lot of them to ask me about it. And that meant I had to have some sort of story to tell them, some set of facts that could be told without giving away too much, at least until I knew what too much was. And there was the problem. What was too much? Was my description of the boots more than Mrs. Hopkins wanted generally known? And why was she so worried about me saying too much?

Perhaps I could hide in the library for a few days and claim to be extremely busy. Then I could politely avoid speaking to anyone. Or perhaps Agnes would indeed find the whole thing less disturbing once she'd rested, and the staff would go to her to get the story. After all, she was the one who'd found the body to begin with.

I looked down at my plate and realized I'd finished my meal. As it was clear I wouldn't be able to concentrate on any sort of work, I tidied up as best I could and blew out all of the lamps save the one on the desk so anyone coming into the room could still see, then rang for someone to come for the tray and hurried up to my room before anyone could arrive and oblige me to talk to them.

# Chapter 10

SAFELY IN MY ROOM, I pulled the ring out of my pocket and stared at it. I thought about what Mrs. Hopkins had said when I'd shown it to her. Wanting me to dispose of it all but confirmed that the ring had belonged to Miss Talbot, and that meant the body was most likely her as well. The shoes I'd seen had decayed with time, but they had once been of good quality. Walking shoes, short boots, really, the sort of thing a lady would wear for a stroll through the park, not slippers, so Miss Talbot must have been planning on traveling when she'd ended up in the culvert. The question was where, and with or to whom for that matter. If the area around the culvert had been a meeting place then as it was now, was she meeting someone local who knew of it, or had she heard of it from her maid and suggested the place herself?

Unless it hadn't been her. I knew it was common to give old clothes to the staff. Perhaps that had been done after Miss Talbot disappeared and the unfortunate woman in the culvert was a maid, perhaps even the lady's maid Mrs. Hopkins had mentioned. I'd have to ask what had become of her and of Miss Talbot's clothes. But that wouldn't explain the ring. I slipped the ring back into my pocket and went to look for someplace to hide it. It wouldn't do to have it found or to lose it by accident somewhere in the house, not until I had decided what to do with it.

The desk seemed the logical place to hide it. It was where I had always hidden anything of value. I pulled out the top drawer and moved the tray of pens out of the way, then the paper I had spread out beneath that. But that hiding place was already in use. It was where I'd hidden the newspaper clipping Julian had brought back from London. I stared at the article. When he'd given it to me, I'd been grateful to know what the world thought had become of me, but what if that hadn't been the point? Everyone seemed to agree it was odd for Lord Elmsby to have gone to London, but I had assumed first that he'd had other business and then that he'd wanted to know who he had invited under his roof before he invited me to his bed, and I had given him just enough information to find out. If that were the case, it would have been a kindness to go to London in person and not write to anyone who would have known my circumstances as, unless he wrote to Arthur or managed to get word to William in prison, they would have wanted to know my whereabouts and how to find and arrest me. I'm sure it had been obvious to him that I had been in the pillory, and it seemed only natural that he would then want to know what my crime had been. And as I'd suspected he had empathy for my position, I hadn't given it much thought beyond that, and the newspaper had seemed a kindness.

But now, feeling the weight of the ring in my pocket, there were new questions. If it had been meant to comfort me, why hadn't he given me the newspaper immediately upon his return? He would have had plenty of time to read it in London and would have heard the details from any number of sources. Seen in light of the ring, I began to wonder if the trip to London hadn't been to protect the household, but to protect himself. To give him something he could hold over me if I learned too much. Did he have some hold over the other members of the staff as well, or were they simply so dependent upon their jobs that he didn't need anything beyond his purse to keep them? Was that why Mrs. Hopkins was so concerned about the ring?

But then why keep me on, the part of my mind that had insisted there was nothing wrong with his kisses asked. I had suggested the vicar, why not try to pawn me off on him? Or on the vicar of some neighboring village? Staying and organizing his library had been entirely his idea.

Then I had an even worse thought. What if I had inadvertently brought Arthur to the notice of the authorities? It would be bad enough for someone to find out what William had done for me, and Julian knew that. But what would happen if Arthur became known to the authorities? That would be a shabby way to repay his kindness to both me and to William and no way at all to treat a friend as loyal as he. And an excellent way to prevent me from revealing anything I might learn. I shoved my fingers into my hair and rubbed at my scalp. There didn't seem to be any good answers. Perhaps it would have been better if I'd perished out on the moors.

"Don't say that."

I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud, but I heard the second voice clearly. It was soft, almost muffled, and came from the direction of the doorway. I turned to see who had spoken only to find the doorway empty. So had I heard someone, or was my mind playing tricks on me again? Of course, I wanted it to be Julian's voice, wanted it to be proof that he had nothing to do with anything nefarious, but the voice had been so quiet, little more than a whisper, that I couldn't identify it at all. I rose and went to the door, but there was no one in the hallway, and try as I might, I couldn't hear anything but the rustle of the silk draperies that seemed to be everywhere in the house.

I rested the ring in the palm of my hand and continued to look at it. I didn't have to do anything with it, of course. I could do just as Mrs. Hopkins said and lose the ring somewhere and leave the mystery unsolved. And leave myself wondering if Julian knew anything about his fiancée's disappearance. I closed my fingers around the ring. Leave myself wondering if he'd killed her, I was really thinking. I put the ring back into my pocket. If I was going to treat this as a mystery to solve, as justice to be served, then the proper thing to do was to keep the ring hidden and make some discreet inquiries. Mrs. Hopkins would be the place to start. She had been at the house a long while and wouldn't mind if some of my questions were less than polite, particularly as I had just done as she'd asked and kept the ring a secret. And above all, if I wanted to be fair and impartial, I had to keep what I knew from Julian to avoid allowing him to influence me in any way. But when I went into the hallway, my steps turned towards Julian's rooms. Apparently, I couldn't be fair and impartial where Julian was concerned.

When I arrived at his door, it was locked. I hesitated, wondering if that was a sign I should leave him alone, then knocked. I heard the sound of a bottle being put down then an irritated "What?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't mean to disturb you." How long since I'd called him properly, I wondered.

There was a brisk clatter of feet across the wood floor, and the door opened. "You're not disturbing." Julian seemed to have been in the midst of undressing, at least he'd removed his cravat and jacket. "Please, come in. You could probably use a drink after your afternoon. I was going to offer you one, but I didn't want to disturb you." He stepped aside so I could enter, and I did so, then stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. Part of me wanted to ask if he had come to my room just now to offer me the drink, part knew I ought to ask about the ring before I did anything else.

Julian hurried to a table by the window and poured a second glass of brandy. I looked around the sitting room, hoping for some clue, something that might tell me he was innocent. It was the same as it had been every other time I'd been inside. There was a cheery fire with one chair in front of it, and a table beside that with a book, the one we'd been discussing, I noticed, open on it. The window looked out over the moors, although the heavy curtains were drawn so I couldn't see out at the moment. Would he want to look out over the land where he'd hidden his dead fiancée? Or hadn't he known she was there?

Julian brought me my drink. "It must have been a terrible afternoon for you. Dr. Barton said you were there when the body was found."

"Agnes found her. I was with Mrs. Hopkins when we heard the scream."

"And went down into the culvert to look at it and help move it out. That can't have been nice."

I almost said being in prison had been worse, then I thought of William there where it most likely was worse now than it had been, and I didn't know what to say.

"Here, drink up, there's plenty more. I know I needed something, and I only had the brief look at her."

I took the brandy and sipped it. Two questions struck me at once. I didn't know which to start with. "Her?"

"Yes, I thought Dr. Barton said you were the one who found the shoes?"

I nodded. "It was only that you said 'it' initially, I wasn't sure if you knew."

Julian gave me a curious look, almost but not quite hostile. "I suppose it's easier to think of a body as an _it_ rather than something that was alive once."

Particularly if you knew the body when it had been alive. "Why did you come down to meet us?"

Julian turned back to the drinks table and refilled his glass. "You didn't believe I merely thought you would want a lantern to light the way home?"

"You have plenty of servants to send for that."

"So I do. I'm sorry there isn't another chair, although the desk over there has one. You can bring it by the fire if you like."

I wasn't sure if that was a good idea or not. We'd never spent much time in his sitting room, usually preferring to go straight through to the bedroom. Perhaps I would remember to be impartial if I stood, but I put my glass on the table by Julian and brought the chair over. It was a hard, wooden chair, with a cushion of raw blue silk. I arranged it then retrieved my drink and sat.

Julian smiled faintly. "That wasn't enough to make you forget your question, I suppose."

"You wouldn't ask if you thought I'd forgotten it."

"True enough. Have you heard servant gossip?"

"Some. It's unavoidable."

"Then you know that I was engaged to be married some years ago. And you have no doubt realized I was not wildly in love with the woman."

I nodded.

"Grace Talbot. There was never any proof as to what happened to her. One of the servants said she had a lover and was planning to run away with him, and she did take her jewels, but there was never any proof either way, and there were rumors she had been murdered. The rumors blamed me, of course, but I could never determine if there was some kernel of truth in them. Someone seeing something that might have led them to think she'd died."

I sipped my brandy. "So you went out to see if this was a clue?"

He nodded. "I wanted to see if I could recognize something about her, but I couldn't. The fabric was too decayed for me to tell if it was a dress I'd seen her wear, and I never saw her travel clothes, which was what she would have worn if she'd run."

It seemed logical, although I couldn't be sure. "What was done to find her?"

"I don't know what her guardian did. I never liked him. Neither did she. He was her uncle, her father's brother, a strict man, unyielding. I think he hoped to get some of her money, and when there was none to get, he wanted to marry her off quickly. I thought I was rescuing her. A noble and foolish sentiment, but then I was young and foolish. As for what I did, I engaged men to go to any pawn shops I could think of in the area and on the most sensible routes to London and Gretna Green. I also had them send out notices of a reward for any information on the jewels she had with her, at least any that were distinctive enough to be a good clue. We never got a credible response. Of course, she could have sold the more common pieces and used the money to go abroad. At least I told myself that."

"What about the man she was leaving with?"

"We never found a name. The maid didn't know, and neither did anyone else in the house. I couldn't even determine if he'd followed her down from London or was someone she met while she was here." He sighed. "I like to think she's happy with him somewhere, but there's a feeling..." He took another swallow. "I told her one evening when we were sitting in the parlor that, if she needed anything, she had only to ask. I tried to be as clear as I could without her guardian catching on that I would help her leave if that was her choice. If she'd said something, I could have arranged... I don't know, but something. Something that would have kept her safe and allowed her to do as she pleased. I thought she understood."

"So you knew there was another man?"

He nodded. "She had confided in one of the maids very soon after she arrived, who told me."

"And you agreed to marry her anyway?"

"It seemed a good solution for me. As I'm sure you've figured out, I had no particular desire to do what was needed to produce an heir, and yet I was expected to. If she were to continue her affair with this man, eventually I might have been relieved of that particular burden. Acknowledging her child would provide an heir, even if I knew he wasn't of my bloodline."

"And yet you never married after she left."

He sighed. "It all happened very soon after I'd come to the title and arranged by distant London relatives. I was...eager to prove I was an acceptable choice, I suppose, although to whom I don't really know. They were all dead; that was why it was my title. Since then, I've met the cousin who will inherit from me. He's studying to be a solicitor. His parents wanted him for the army, and it was not a career that suited him. Needing to stay alive to continue the line saved him from it. He became engaged last spring to the daughter of someone he'd clerked with, so that seems settled."

That seemed logical at least. "But if you weren't pining away for her, why did you leave her room untouched all this time?"

"At first, her guardian insisted in case the magistrate needed to see it, then I thought she might write and ask for some things to be sent when she thought it was safe. Later, I suppose I hoped to find some clue as to where she'd gone, something to set my mind at ease."

"And did you?"

He shook his head. "But it's possible I waited too long. I thought, if she'd managed to run off with her paramour, I'd give her every chance to do so."

"Even though the marriage might get you out of the predicament of producing an heir?"

"Even so. I was quite prepared to enter a mutually beneficial if not particularly desired alliance, but if there was the chance that she might be happier somewhere else, I didn't want to take that from her."

Julian sounded like a man who was concerned about an old acquaintance, not someone who had murder on his conscience or was pining for a lost love, and yet was I hearing that because that was what I wanted to believe? Still, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the ring. "Mrs. Hopkins said I should lose this."

He put down his glass and leaned over to look. He'd barely inclined his head when he sighed. "Am I right in guessing you found it on her?"

I nodded.

"And no chance it didn't belong to her?"

"It was still on her finger."

He sighed. "I suppose you've guessed what it was. The ring I gave her. It had been in the family for generations. I was always a little surprised she took it with her. She was the sort to think to leave it behind."

"Why?"

He picked up his glass again. "She knew it was an heirloom; I don't think she would have felt right taking it if she wasn't to be part of the family. And she might have thought I would propose to someone else and want to give it to them. That was the sort of thing she would think of as well. She realized I wasn't in love with her, but I don't think she understood why that wouldn't happen."

"Was she nice?" I asked without realizing I would until the words were out of my mouth.

"She was, I think. We barely knew each other, but I never heard her say anything unkind about anyone but her guardian, and Ellen--that was the girl assigned to act as lady's maid--seemed genuinely fond of her. Had we married, I think we might have been on friendly terms. I think that's why I've kept the pictures of her hanging in the halls. She would have been a good Lady Elmsby, I think, even if not the perfect companion for me."

My first thought was to wonder if I might be that perfect companion. I stared down at the ring to hide my thoughts. Julian had made no move to take it from me, so I put it back into my pocket. "Are you pleased she was found?"

He sighed. "I suppose I am. At least Mr. Nelson will be able to give her a decent burial. I suppose I'll have to ask Mr. Talbot to come for it." He sipped from his glass. "He'll start the rumors about me again, but I don't think any of that will stick."

"You mean the rumors about her death?"

He nodded.

I knew how uncomfortable rumors could be, even if they weren't truly believed. "Are you certain you need to ask him?"

"He was her only family, so Mr. Nelson will send for him if I don't."

I was beginning to understand why Mrs. Hopkins was concerned. "I could lose the ring."

"A kind thought, but no, she deserves to have her final rest and her proper name." He stared into his glass for a moment then suddenly looked directly at me for the first time since I'd entered the room. "If you're concerned, I could come up with some pretense for you to be away. There's bound to be a book auction somewhere that I could convincingly send you to."

That caught me off guard. He was on the verge of being accused of murdering his fiancée, and he was concerned about me being found out. But if he was going to stick it out, so was I. "He won't know me." Although if he did, and realized that Julian was harboring an escaped prisoner who had been convicted of sodomy, it could be quite bad for Julian. "He's not from London, is he?"

"No, a small village near Manchester."

"Then I doubt the details of my arrest made it that far." At least I hoped they hadn't. "And I'll spend most of my time in the library anyway. You'll understand that I'd rather take my meals with the servants when he arrives."

"Of course." He smiled a bit. "Under the circumstances, so would I. Unless I can convince him to take a room at the inn. But I will have to at least offer him a room here. Perhaps he won't take it. Or won't come at all."

"I'm sure you'll want to be alone then, to compose your letter."

"No. I mean there will be plenty of time to compose the letter. Surely no one else has figured out who she is definitively, even if they have theories. I can wait until we have some kind of confirmation to write. Please, don't rush off on my account."

I wanted to stay, which made me think I ought to go, but Julian had just learned that his fiancée had indeed been killed, and even though it wasn't a love match, that had to be a shock, so I returned to my place by the fire.

Now that I was staying, neither of us seemed to know what to say. Julian went to the sideboard and refilled his glass, then brought the decanter over to fill mine. I watched him move across the room again. Perhaps he didn't want to say anything. Perhaps he had simply not wanted to be alone. But then perhaps not. I realized there was only one reliable way to know what he wanted. "Would you like distraction?" I asked. "Or to discuss it, or to just be quiet?"

"I'd like distraction, to not think about her there, on those sheets, being carried away, but that seems selfish."

"I don't think so. It's quite understandable."

"But if it weren't for me, if she hadn't come here with the expectation of marrying me, she wouldn't be dead now."

"You don't know that. You offered to help her if escape was what she wanted. She could have asked for your help."

"If she knew. It's quite possible I was too obscure, too worried about alerting her guardian to any plans she might have. She might not have understood..."

"You sound like Arthur," I said without thinking.

"Arthur? Oh, your friend in town."

I nodded. There was a hint of something I couldn't quite place in voice. Disapproval, perhaps? Although not quite. And why would he disapprove of Arthur; he'd never met him. And he was the one who had suggested I write to him. I didn't think he'd read my letter, and even if he had, there had been nothing in there to cause disapproval. And yet, that was the best word I could think of to describe it. I hurried to defend Arthur, although against what I had no idea. "I know he feels guilty about our arrest, even though it wasn't his fault at all. He recommended the molly house, you see, so he thinks it was his fault we were there." I hadn't intended to say anything about London or prison, but now that I had, it seemed to spark his interest, or at least distract him from his own problems. "He tried to help us at the trial, even found us good barristers. And he was at the pillory that day, although he didn't see me slip away so he didn't know I would need help, otherwise, he would have done something for me. That's why I was so glad you made it possible for me to write to him, so he'd know I was alive and all right."

"You were close, then?"

"Yes, very, ever since we met at school."

Julian nodded and turned back to his glass.

For an instant, I had the strangest thought that he was jealous of my friends. But why would he be? Unless... but that was a ridiculous idea. Still, I found myself saying, "Not that we were lovers in any but the most casual way. But we were very good friends."

Julian turned back towards me. All he said was, "I see," but I thought he seemed a bit less upset than he had been, so that was something. The way he looked at me, I thought he was going to say something else, and I wondered how I would respond if he asked what we were to each other. I had no idea, but I wanted to be quite a bit more to him than I had been to Arthur or William. Perhaps not more, but different, certainly, and casual was not a word I would have used to describe it. But Julian didn't say anything, and the moment passed. He brushed his fingers through my hair, which was quite welcome, and murmured, "You miss them?"

I knew I ought to say something about being safer here, or that I was pleased with his company, but all I could do was nod.

"When this is over, you could invite your Arthur here. I'd like to meet him."

"I'd like for you to, although I wouldn't call him my Arthur." But I very much wanted to call him my Julian.

"Shall we forget for a while?"

I nodded. Not that I wanted to forget, but I very much wanted as many memories of time with Julian as I could get before something happened to make us part company.

Julian slid his fingers along my cheek, then pulled me to him. I rested my head against his chest and sank into his embrace.

# Chapter 11

THE NEXT MORNING, I woke in my own bed feeling quite normal for all of a minute, and then I remembered what had transpired the day before and wanted to hide under the covers. But that wouldn't allow me to stop thinking about the body, and now that I was awake and slightly removed from the grim discovery, I was thinking about it in a much colder, more logical way than I had the night before, so I dragged myself out of bed.

I had been right when I'd thought I should stay away from Julian until I knew what his part in all of this was, and going to his room had certainly been a mistake. One I should not make again. My first thought was to miss breakfast altogether, but the last time that had happened, Julian had been annoyed, so I thought it best to at least make an appearance, although I didn't want to see him until I had sorted out all the threads of the day before.

I was leaning into my shaving mirror when the solution struck me. I was awake early. Surely Julian couldn't be annoyed with anyone if I went down early after an understandably restless night and was gone before he arrived. I could go and see Dr. Barton. Perhaps I would even be lucky and he would find she had died from a fall or something equally mundane if tragic. I thought about it from as many angles as I could think of as I finished shaving and decided it was the best I could come up with, so I dressed quickly and hurried downstairs.

Mrs. Hopkins was in the kitchen when I got there, stirring something on the hob that smelled wonderful. She heard me enter and turned. "Mr. Brook. Were you looking for something? I could have a pot of tea ready in a trice."

Briefly, I imagined ignoring my mission, pretending none of it had happened, and suggesting we take tea together. As nice as that sounded, I knew I couldn't put the dead girl out of my mind so easily. "I was going for my walk a bit early, and I was hoping you could tell me the way to Dr. Barton's surgery."

"Are you feeling poorly again? I could have him sent for."

I considered using that as an excuse, not that I was feeling poorly but that I wanted to get his opinion on my recovery, but on the whole, I thought it best to treat Mrs. Hopkins as an ally, not an adversary, at least at the beginning of whatever investigating I planned to do. "I wanted to see if he'd learned anything about the dead girl."

She gave me a searching sort of stare. "So it's a dead girl, then?"

She knew perfectly well that the victim was a girl, and which girl it was, so I knew what she was wanting to know. How much was I going to tell people who asked for my account of finding her? "I saw her shoes."

Mrs. Hopkins nodded, satisfied by that, I thought, until she asked, "And why were you curious about what the good doctor has found so far?"

"I was wondering if he could tell how she died. If she was a guest here, she couldn't have been much more familiar with the moors than I am, and I certainly wouldn't trust myself walking them at night. If he can tell if she fell and broke her neck, that might set some minds at ease."

Mrs. Hopkins nodded. "And rumors, if he can announce it. His surgery isn't hard to find."

I listened to her directions, accepted the flask of tea and wrapped sandwiches she offered, and set out.

The walk across the moors helped to settle my mind. The staff seemed to think that Miss Talbot had run off with her lover, so they must have had some sign that such an event was being planned. If that was indeed the case, it was far more likely then that she fell into the culvert on her way to meet the fellow and died accidentally, just as I had told Mrs. Hopkins. The disappearance of her luggage could easily be explained by someone happening across the body and robbing it. A small overnight bag would be an easy thing to carry away. And whoever found her might have been afraid of being blamed for her death or at the very least accused of the theft and had therefore kept silent. It wouldn't even have had to have been a proper thief or a highwayman; any local person in need of money or a traveler of a less than honest nature could have stumbled across her.

There were two questions with that theory that I was able to think of as I walked. First, why had it taken six years for someone else to stumble across the body if the thief had done so long ago, and second, why hadn't the thief taken the ring as well? I considered the questions as I walked. It was possible there had been some disturbance in that area that had caused the body to be revealed. Perhaps there had been flooding or new animals grazing or something that would have caused the body to fall or roll from its hiding place. If the thief were of a more professional sort rather than a passing villager, they may even have hidden the body after they found it, and the hiding place was somehow penetrated recently. I could ask some of the shepherds or farmers in the area and see if there were any recent events likely to cause such an outcome. If the body had been moved, that could explain away the second problem. She may have originally been positioned in such a way that the ring was not visible or worth the trouble to find.

The ring itself was also a help. While I was glad that I hadn't followed Mrs. Hopkins's advice and lost it, it had been imprudent to show it to Julian. It might have been wisest to keep its existence secret once Mrs. Hopkins had confirmed that it had belonged to Miss Talbot, at least until I knew what had happened to her. But showing it to Julian had allowed me to see his reaction, and the fact that he hadn't tried to take the ring from me seemed to support his innocence. Had he killed her, surely he would have wanted the identity of the body to remain a secret.

Of course, it was possible he assumed the body would be identified without the ring, either from her clothing or if there were other items found with her. As I thought about it, I realized that he did not know that we hadn't found her other jewels or the overnight bag, either one of which would identify her. Or perhaps he thought to use what he knew of my past to silence me. How strong was my concern for justice, particularly for someone I didn't know and had never met? Strong enough to risk returning to prison myself? I certainly hoped I'd be able to answer that in the affirmative, but the thought of cold stone walls, of bad food, hard labor, rats and lice and the endless grey grind of it made me wonder just how far I would go to find the truth. And what if my capture endangered Arthur or William?

So it was with a clearer mind but no less anxiety that I approached the doctor's cottage just outside of the village. It was a neat place, made of grey stone, a fair bit larger than most in the village, but that made sense as the doctor would need space for his surgery as well as his living area. There was a woman in the front garden dressed in a fashionable dark-blue dress under a large apron. She seemed to be roughly the doctor's age, nearly as dark as he was, with a very fine pair of eyes and a tendency to wrinkle her nose when concentrating, and was so engaged in a battle with a rose bush that she didn't notice my approach until I opened the gate.

"Good morning. Are you here for the doctor?"

"Indeed. I don't have an appointment, but I had hoped to speak to him."

"Come straight through. He isn't scheduled to see anyone, so he should be able to manage you." She picked up a basket from by her feet where she had been collecting flowers and led the way inside. "Maisie, is Dr. Barton free?"

A maid poked her head out of the dining room. She looked so like one of the girls who helped out at the manor house that I would have been shocked to find they weren't some sort of relations. "I haven't shown anyone in, Mrs. Barton, but he is in his office."

"Then he'll be able to see you. It's the first door on the left, there." Mrs. Barton indicated the hallway that seemed to divide the house into the living area and the doctor's professional domain.

"I don't want to bother him if he's at his work."

"Nonsense. He always has time for a patient. Just knock to warn him you're coming. Or Maisie can announce you properly if you'd rather."

Maisie came out of the dining room and smiled at me. "It's not a problem, sir. I'll let him know you're here, shall I? New patients are sometimes a little nervous. Are you the one they found on the moor? My cousin Jenny told me about that. Doing his lordship's books, aren't you?"

I wasn't certain if the rumor was I was some sort of accountant or even checking for malfeasance, so I answered with a very specific, "Sorting his library, yes."

Mrs. Barton looked up sharply. "Then you were..." She stopped herself and started again, "He said he thought you would recover quite quickly. I do hope you're not relapsing."

I suspected she had been going to say something about finding the body and hadn't wanted to bring it up in front of Maisie. If Maisie was anything like her cousin, I couldn't blame her. "I'm feeling quite well and hale, thank you. I merely wanted to discuss some things with the doctor."

Mrs. Barton nodded. "Then go right through. I'm sure he'll be pleased to discuss your business with you. Maisie, could you help me find a vase for these?"

"Of course, ma'am." If Maisie noticed Mrs. Barton was trying to get her away from the doctor's study and therefore out of eavesdropping range, she didn't show it. I gave the pair of them enough time to pass through the hallway to the dining room then went to the study door and knocked.

"Enter," said a voice I recognized as the doctor's, sounding slightly distracted and absorbed. I pushed the door open and entered.

The doctor was seated at his desk with a book open in front of him and several others stacked on the edge of the desk as well as on two chairs, most open to particular pages. He didn't seem inclined to look up, so I announced my presence by saying, "If I'm disturbing you..."

"Not at all. Mr. Brook, it is good to see you. Unless, you haven't suffered any ill effects from last evening on the moors, have you?"

"Only a bit of insomnia, but I think that's to be expected."

"Indeed. Finding her was unnerving. Please, sit." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, then realized it was full of books. "If you can find a place to sit. Let me get these."

I was closer to the books, so picked them up and sat in their place. As I handed the books across, I saw the top one was open to a diagram showing what I thought was the top of the spine, the part that made up a person's neck.

Dr. Barton saw that I had grasped the significance of his research at once. "Is the unfortunate lady we found on the moors your reason for calling?"

"She is." It seemed wrong to keep referring to her as _it_ , particularly as I knew who she was. But using the proper pronoun made it harder to remain objective. I settled for the rather ambiguous, "Have you determined anything about the death?"

Dr. Barton put the books I'd displaced on the floor beside his chair. "I'm certainly no expert on diagnosing patients after their demise, hence the amount of my library you see before me, but the bones of the neck were crushed."

"So you think she fell and broke her neck?" It would be such a relief to know it was as simple as that.

"That was why I was consulting so many books. It wasn't a clean break, more of a crushing that one would expect from strangulation. I was trying to find something that would show me definitively either way. As I said, postmortem is not my area of expertise. I'm sorry. Were you here for some other complaint?"

I shook my head. The mention of strangulation made all of my earlier worries come back in a rush, along with the question of what I was willing to do to see a murderer brought to justice. Some of that must have shown on my face. I struggled for some acceptable answer. "Hearing that it had been murder was just a bit of a shock. It seems to peaceful here."

"And yet that very peace can sometimes allow things to hide far longer than they ought to. Still, it can't have been recent. I asked a few of the weavers in the village to look at the remains of the dress, and they said it would take at least five years for the cloth to get into the state it was in. As I don't know of any other murders in the area during that time, except for Penway--but that was after a fight outside the pub, not the same thing at all--whoever it was most likely moved on shortly after."

"Do you know of anyone who did move on around that time?"

Dr. Barton shook his head. "But five years ago, I was in London caring for a sick aunt."

"Oh, I had the impression you were from the village." If he hadn't been here when Miss Talbot vanished, did his objectivity outweigh the lack of background on the matter?

"Not from here, no. London born and bred. I settled here after I left the army."

"Yes, you mentioned you were an army doctor."

He nodded. "And good at it during the war. But when the peace came, I had too much sympathy for the protesters we were supposed to be stopping, so I sold up and came here."

"After caring for your sick aunt."

"Oh no, I was here for almost two years before Aunt Hetty was taken ill. She's fully recovered now, but it was a harrowing few months. Still, I met Anna while I was there. Did you meet her when you came in?"

"Mrs. Barton? Yes, she was very helpful."

"Her family lived near my aunt and were a great help to her during her illness. But you didn't come to discuss my courtship. Something about our poor traveler bothers you."

He waited quietly until I felt I had no choice but to answer. "Are you certain she was strangled? Could the bones have been crushed after death somehow?"

"That was why I've been consulting my library. I don't see anything that would suggest it. None of the other bones were crushed in the same manner. Why?" When I didn't answer, he took on a thoughtful look and finally said, "You've heard the rumors about his lordship's fiancée, haven't you?"

I nodded.

"And you feel beholden to him so don't want to believe them. May I ask which it was you heard?"

"Just the bare bones of one that said her guardian believed he had strangled her." Too late I realized that could be taken as an insensitive metaphor.

"Ah yes. Apparently, he made that accusation loudly within hearing of several of the outdoor staff, who then proceeded to repeat it several times in the pub. Did you have reason to believe this was Miss Talbot?"

Dr. Barton seemed to be taking his investigation of the death quite seriously, but I was already regretting being too free with the information I had, so I said nothing of the ring. "The shoes I saw seemed to have been of good quality, and that was the only disappearance of a lady of quality I had heard of."

Dr. Barton nodded. "I can't think of another either, and news travels fast around here, as the Kelsleigh scandal showed us, so she either came from a distance, stole the shoes, or we now know her identity. I should probably call on Lord Elmsby and let him know."

I wondered whether or not that would be a good thing. But if he did go, and Lord Elmsby didn't react as he thought he ought, that might point suspicion at him. "I mentioned it to him last night."

"And what did he say?"

"I think he...not suspected, exactly, but was already entertaining the possibility."

"That was why he brought the lanterns himself, yes, I see. Perhaps I'll call on him anyway. He may want to talk about it, or he may have some idea as to why she was there, if it is her, of course."

It was my turn to nod. "What do you think of it?"

"I think it was a young woman with no obvious signs of illness, making her a good candidate. The height and build would match from what I've been told of Miss Talbot's appearance. I could ask whoever was serving as her maid, I think it was Ellen up at the house then, to identify the bits of her dress, if there's enough to identify. And I think she was strangled not long after she left the house. My guess would be robbery, Mr. Talbot's accusations notwithstanding. Lord Elmsby gave her a very fine ring, which was not on the body, and we did not find it when we were moving her. Also, a girl would take something other than the clothes on her back if she was planning to flee. Some jewels at least, and a coat or cloak of some kind. Neither of which was found, both of which could have been stolen. You mentioned how peaceful it is here. It's very quiet on the moors, especially at night. It would be easy to rob and strangle someone with no witnesses, and whoever she was meeting would have thought she hadn't gotten away from her guardian or had changed her mind, then couldn't say anything when she was discovered missing."

"Were there any rumors about who it was she was meeting?"

"Rumors? As many as there were men in the area I would think, but none that seemed more true than the others."

I stayed silent, but Dr. Barton didn't elaborate, but then perhaps he didn't know more than what was said at the pub. If there was a way to find Ellen, she might know more, or perhaps one of the maids who came in as day help would know which rumors were reliable. "Would you like me to mention it to his lordship?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. If he doesn't want me to call, perhaps you could let one of the village girls know, and she can stop by on her way home and tell me to mind my own business?"

"Of course." I couldn't help wondering if he would mind his own business or continue investigating, and did I mind either way? "He did try to find her. At the time I mean."

"So he spoke to you? That's good. From what I've heard, it wasn't a love match, but still, she was someone he knew."

"He said he tried to track down her jewelry."

"And didn't find it? That's interesting. I wonder how they managed to dispose of it then, assuming robbery was the motive, of course."

Again I should have kept my mouth shut because that seemed to make a very good case for robbery not being the motive, which led to speculation of what was. "Perhaps they broke them up into something unrecognizable."

"Perhaps. Or they might have panicked when they realized who she was and fled. I wouldn't think he'd have searched as far as say Berlin or New York, both places where someone could dispose of jewelry."

So Dr. Barton was open to ideas other than Julian strangling her. "That would be quite likely. He had thought she'd run off with someone, so he had been checking the routes to London and Gretna Green."

"So a dash to Bristol or Dublin would have sufficed. I see. Is Lord Elmsby going to contact her next of kin?"

"He said he would write to Mr. Talbot when we were reasonably sure of her identity."

"I know he hasn't asked, but I feel confident myself."

I nodded. "I think he feels the same." I decided it was best for me to leave before I said something else that would suggest theories unfavorable to Lord Elmsby, particularly as I had nearly done so already. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to hear what you had found. I'll let you get back to your work."

"You weren't disturbing at all. I do have a few books I'll be bringing down from the attic for further study. I'll send word if I find anything else."

We exchanged a few more pleasantries, mostly about my health, then I left to return to the house. 

# Chapter 12

AS I WALKED BACK, I thought of stopping by the site where we had found the body, but my path took me nowhere near the place I remembered. Not that there would have been any clues. Robbery was still my best theory, and not only because it was the one that pointed away from Julian, or so I told myself.

At the house, I went to the kitchen door, hoping to find Mrs. Hopkins. She would be my best source of gossip about everything that had happened five years ago and if there had been any rumors about Dr. Barton leaving. He certainly didn't strike me as a murderer, but a dark-skinned doctor was surely a candidate for Miss Talbot's secret paramour, and he had been unmarried at the time and someone her uncle would disapprove of. It was possible he knew more about the events back then than he was telling me. But I was out of luck. There was no one but Moira in the kitchen. She looked up as soon as I entered. "Good morning, Mr. Brook. How was Dr. Barton?"

I wasn't sure how much to tell her, so I answered exactly what she'd asked me. "Busy, but he seemed well. Is Mrs. Hopkins around?"

"She was going upstairs to check on Agnes. We told her not to come down today after the shock."

"Probably best. Should I have asked Dr. Barton to come have a look at her?"

"No, she seemed well enough when I checked on her this morning, but Mrs. Hopkins called in some extra help from the village girls, so who am I to begrudge her an extra day in bed, especially after finding a body?"

"And she's eating well enough." We both jumped as Simon came into the kitchen without warning. "I told Mrs. Hopkins I'd bring down her breakfast tray so she could stay and chat with Agnes, and she's cleaned every plate." Simon put the tray down beside the washbasin. "Shall I go tell his lordship you've gotten back?"

I didn't want to make work for him. "He can find me if he wants me."

"I'll be going by the study anyway, so I'll just poke my head in, all right?"

I didn't know how to answer that, but Simon seemed to take my silence as agreement.

"If he's in the study, then you can start clearing the breakfast room," Moira said as she took the tray.

Simon bowed in his mocking way and went for the door.

Moira snorted as she watched Simon walk away.

Her reaction surprised me. I had thought he'd been flirting with her on more than one occasion. "You don't care for him?"

"Ever since he came back, he acts like he's deigning to do us the courtesy of being a footman. Oh, he'll jump up and offer to carry a tray or fetch the fire irons, but he'll make certain everyone in the room knows he's doing it so he gets credit for doing what's supposed to be his job."

I could see how his behavior could be seen that way. I had wondered more than once at his attitude when he offered to get something for me. Then something else she said caught my attention. "Since he came back? How long has he been here?"

"He came just after I got back from my cousin's wedding in Haworth, so a bit more than a year." She turned and looked at my expression. "You're surprised?"

"I'd been under the impression he'd been here longer, that's all."

"Oh, he was. That was why Mrs. Hopkins hired him even though we don't really need a footman, not with how little Lord Elmsby requires. Another boot boy would have been of use to us, but I think Mrs. Hopkins felt a bit sorry for him. He used to work in the stables, if you can believe it. I think that's why he wants to make certain we all see what he's doing now. Wants to be sure we see he isn't a stable boy now. Be of use to us there, I would think, but no one asked me."

I smiled at that. "Probably better for them if they did."

She smiled back. "Mrs. Hopkins knows what she's about. But still, he thinks more of himself than he ought. And poor Agnes was sweet on him, so what does he do? Ignores her for weeks, then when she's finally started to take an interest in someone from the village, goes upstairs when she's still recovering from her fright and pretends to admire her. But you weren't here for gossip, were you?"

I knew Moira was someone who would respond far better to honesty than any story I could devise. "I'm afraid I was, but old gossip."

"You're trying to help his lordship, aren't you?"

There was no point in pretending otherwise, so I nodded.

"Mr. Talbot will be accusing him again, won't he?"

Letting her think that was why I was worried seemed as good an idea as any I had. "If he does, I'd like to have some other theory that can be presented."

She nodded. "What were you hoping for?"

"To speak to Ellen."

"She's married and moved near Harrogate. I have her address, but I haven't written her in years, and she may have moved on since then. When she had her first child, she was too busy to write, and there was more and more time between letters until we stopped."

That was unfortunate, but I supposed it was possible she'd stayed put once she'd started her family. "I'd like to try anyway. See if she might have known something about the young man Miss Talbot was supposed to be meeting."

"She didn't. His lordship asked her several times. I think he was convinced she knew something and was hiding it, either to protect Miss Talbot or spare his feelings. But she wasn't. She told me after Mr. Talbot starting spreading the awful rumors down at the pub that she wished she knew something about the fellow so she could tell his lordship and put a stop to them, but Miss Talbot hadn't said anything useful."

"Not even if he was local or followed her up here from somewhere else?"

"Not even that. She talked about their plans, but not how they met or who he was. Ellen had thought it all very romantic--her parents weren't fond of her young man either, you see--and tried to find out how they met. I think she wanted to tell Miss Talbot about her Allen McGill. But Miss Talbot just went on and on about how clever he was, how no one would suspect. Nothing at all that helped later. Believe me, I tried asking. Mr. Talbot was being horrid about it, and I wanted there to be something to shut him up, but nothing I asked Ellen got anything useful. Miss Talbot didn't even have a sketch of him or a lock of hair. As far as I could tell, she never even described him to Ellen."

That was disappointing. Ellen had been my best hope, but if she hadn't told Moira anything useful at the time, it was doubtful the years had helped her memory. Still, I asked Moira for the address. It couldn't hurt to write. Then I left her to her work and went upstairs.

I had planned to go to the library and try to get some work of my own finished, but as I climbed the stairs, I kept turning over the facts of Miss Talbot's disappearance in my mind. The problem was there were so few facts, too few to form a proper idea of what had happened. I had to find out more about the events of six years ago. There had to be some clue about who she had gone to meet, even if Ellen hadn't known the name. I still found that surprising as the other servants in the house were observant enough, but perhaps Miss Talbot had been cleverer than those around had known, particularly when it concerned something she wanted. But if there was some clue to her suitor left in the house, it would be in her room. There also could be some clue as to where she was going, which might have hinted at who he was. So that meant I ought to try to get back into her room. At least it was a bit of positive action. I made certain I had the key to my room in my pocket and set out to find the way back to hers.

It took three wrong turns and two incorrect corridors before I found the painting of Miss Talbot I remembered being outside her door. I paused to look at the likeness, but there were no clues in the painting as to where she would have gone or who she would have met. She seemed like any of the dozens of young misses I'd met at balls and dinner parties, young, a bit naive, but capable of being clever if they wanted to. But I couldn't determine if I was seeing her character in the painting, or if the painter had done portraits of so many young ladies he assumed they were all alike, or if I was seeing what I hoped to. I turned my attention to the door.

I wasn't certain if my key would open the door or if it had been some sort of fluke that it had worked before. What I did not expect was to take the knob in my hand preparing to insert my key, only to have the door push open with no effort at all on my part. For a moment I worried that the door had not been relocked after my last visit to the room, then I looked inside and saw Julian standing by the nightstand, looking at the opening door with an expression of pure shock.

It took me a moment to recover myself, but then I began to wonder what his purpose was. Was he going through Miss Talbot's things with the same goal as I was, or was he looking for something in particular, and what would he do when he found it? My next thought was that, if I allowed him to speak first, it would give him the upper hand in the meeting, and I was already regretting showing him the ring. As I had nothing else to open with, I said, "Good morning, Lord Elmsby." Formality seemed best, both under the circumstances and because I had no idea who else might be in the room with him.

"Good morning, Mr. Brook. I take it we are here on the same mission?"

I forced myself to stay silent and not assume what his mission was.

The trick worked, and after a few moments of silence, Julian said, "I was hoping to find some clue to the identity of her paramour."

He wouldn't have said it so bluntly if there had been someone else in the room with him. I went into the room and closed the door behind me, giving us some privacy. "You have no idea who it was?"

"The barest of clues, I'm afraid. We tried to locate her when she was discovered missing, although I'll admit I wasn't as diligent as I could have been. Still, I did question her maid extensively, and the girl had no idea where her temporary mistress had gone."

"But you think there may be some clue in here?"

"I'm hoping there is. Even if he isn't the one who strangled her, he could tell us what the plan was, where they were meeting, when, anything about that night."

"And we might be able to find a witness then, or at least an idea of where she was and what she was doing when she was killed."

He nodded. "What about you?"

"The same, more or less."

"What did Mrs. Hopkins say when you asked for the key? Anything helpful?"

"I didn't get the key from her. I was going to try my own. It worked in the lock before."

"Before?"

I realized I hadn't told him about my earlier visit to the room, or told anyone else for that matter. And if he didn't know about it, then he couldn't have been the person I heard going through her things.

"One night, just after I arrived here, I got a bit lost." I told him about the night I'd stumbled into the hallway and the sounds I'd heard coming from the room and how I'd investigated. "So someone was looking for something in here. I wonder what."

Julian leaned against the nightstand. "Perhaps when we found the body, they panicked and wanted to make certain there was nothing in here that would connect them to her."

I was about to nod as it seemed quite logical, except, "I heard them well before we found the body."

"That does complicate it. I suppose they could have found the body earlier...but then why not hide it again before Agnes could find it? So there must have been some other reason. I wonder what it was."

I looked around the room. It was more or less as I'd thought when I'd looked around by the light of my one candle that night. "Robbery is always a good reason. Was there anything in here worth taking?"

"The paintings, the furniture, the wall hangings, but they're all here. The books are mostly novels I thought might amuse her. The writing desk is antique, but everything in it was new. There was nothing portable of great value, except possibly the dresser set or something like that."

I went to the dresser, but the brush, mirror, and comb were all still there, and there was no disturbance in the dust to show something had been taken. "What about her? Did she have anything of value?"

"Her jewels, but she took those with her."

I nodded. That had been the story I'd heard as well. I let my eyes drift around the room, looking for anything that had been disturbed. And then I thought of the problem with the story I'd heard. "If she took them, where are they?"

Julian looked up from the dresser. "What do you mean? She must have sold them at some point."

"You looked for them, and you didn't find them. And she didn't get very far. How could she have sold them?"

Julian went a bit pale. "I keep forgetting, we know she didn't run off with her lover, don't we? But he must have taken them. Or whoever killed her. It might not have been who she was going to meet."

"But that means it makes even less sense for you to search and not find them. Why steal her jewels if you weren't planning on selling them? A good investigator should have found them easily, either in pawn shops or among the criminal class that deals in that sort of thing."

"So you think they're still here? She didn't bring them with her? But why, if she was running away? Why hide them and not take them with her?"

I drummed my fingers against my leg as I thought. "Maybe she wasn't running away. Maybe she was only sneaking out to meet someone and planned to be back. Are you certain she took clothes?"

"The servants said she had. I asked her maid to go through her wardrobe."

"This was the maid that you assigned once she arrived here?"

"That Mrs. Hopkins assigned, but yes."

"So she wouldn't have been as familiar with her wardrobe as a normal lady's maid would be."

Julian considered the question. "True enough, but she was a clever girl, and I think she took a great interest in the clothes, so she would have noticed something missing, I think, although most likely not something added."

I sighed. That tallied with what Moira had told me of Ellen.

Julian was still staring at the wall. I waited quietly until he'd finished his thought then gave him a raised eyebrow stare. He smiled a little at my expression and said, "What if the killer took the jewels and never sold them?"

"Why would someone do that?"

"To keep them safe. To keep them out of someone else's hands. Because he didn't want to leave them lying around in a ditch on the moors."

I considered his words. "You suspect her guardian?"

He nodded. "He has to be on the list, at least. I never liked him, and if he thought she was doing something to sabotage a marriage that he wanted for her..."

"What became of him?"

"He returned home to Manchester after he stormed around yelling about how we weren't doing enough to find her. I haven't heard from him since he left. Although I'm expecting him to come soon, of course, now that this has happened."

"Someone else to consider, then." Although I had no idea how we would do that. I couldn't travel to Manchester and certainly couldn't see the guardian. If he became annoyed enough at my questions, and I had no doubt he would, it wouldn't be too difficult for him to find out my secret and have me thrown back in prison. And I doubted he'd tell Julian anything useful. "But that doesn't explain who was walking around in here, unless he came up from Manchester without anyone in the village noticing." Which I knew would be impossible in any of the gossip-starved villages around here.

"Perhaps that isn't related at all. If they were looking for the jewels, they allowed an awfully long time to pass before they began."

"I had thought it might be some of the servants looking for a little privacy."

Julian nodded. "Always possible, although rather grim to choose this room when there are plenty of other guests rooms on the floor. Unless they thought someone would notice one of those rooms had been disturbed before they could change the linens and tidy up."

That gave me an idea. "Are these the same sheets that were on the bed?"

"They ought to be. I had the room closed when she went missing, and no one's been in to do much since then."

I shrugged. "It's worth a try." I went to the bed and drew back the coverlet, but there were no signs of blood on the sheets and no signs of a struggle. No signs of a couple enjoying themselves there either. I put the coverlet back. "There doesn't seem to be anything here then."

"Perhaps your mysterious visitor took it away with them."

"Perhaps." I sighed. "Still, it would have simplified everything to have found something."

Julian nodded. "Particularly today." Seeing my expression, he added, "Sir Isaac Wynn is coming over. He's the magistrate. I sent word to him this morning as I assumed Dr. Barton would do the same, and I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I hadn't. He wants to hear about finding the body, of course. So you might want to go for a rather long walk, give me a chance to explain your presence. He'll still want to speak to you, but I can see what sort of story will suit the circumstances best."

I nodded. Julian knew this Sir Isaac better than I did, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn stories coming from titled men carried more weight than one coming from a clerk. "I think I'll continue past the wall and up the hills for a better view."

"Mrs. Hopkins will pack you some sandwiches if you'd like. I don't think there'll be much point to working in the library today, not after last night."

"Then I suppose I will see you at dinner."

Julian smiled, and we left the room and went our separate ways.

I was barely at the staircase when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, expecting to see Julian, only to find Simon watching me. "Find anything interesting?"

So he'd seen us leave Miss Talbot's room. I wondered how he'd gotten there from the breakfast room so quickly. "Not really."

"That's too bad for his lordship. I heard the magistrate's coming today, and the guardian can't be too far behind. He could have used a good clue."

"Any idea what a good clue would be?" I didn't think he'd have anything useful to say, but I wanted to hear his answer.

"None whatsoever. But anything that would point to where she was going, I would think."

"Or who she was meeting."

"Or who she was meeting."

"You don't remember anything about what was said in the village at the time, do you?"

"You mean something that might be the truth? I don't think there was anything. Half the people said he was local, half that he followed her down. Half that she went with him, half that he killed her. I suppose we know which half was right now."

It seemed a bit quick to be joking about it, but I didn't think he'd take kindly to being told that. Instead, I asked, "What did you think?"

Simon answered promptly and with certainty. "Followed her up here from Manchester. How would she have met anyone here? Her guardian never let her out of his sight."

"How indeed." It was a good question. One I might ask Moira.

"Pity you didn't find something to help his lordship. When Mr. Talbot comes, the rumors will start again, all about how he strangled her in her sleep, how she was going to humiliate him by running away with another man, how she wasn't as rich as Lord Elmsby thought. Now really, why would he care? He's got piles of money."

"Why indeed?" None of the motives seemed to fit as I knew Julian had no need of money and hadn't cared if she'd run off with someone she preferred. Only he couldn't use the reason why as a defense in court, not unless he wanted to end up in Newgate with William.

"Oh well. I'd better get to work before Mrs. Hopkins catches me gossiping." Simon continued down the hallway. I was tempted to ask him what sort of work he could have among the unused guest rooms but controlled myself. Perhaps there was a servants' staircase in that direction, perhaps even the one where I'd found my candle that night.

Still, I couldn't help watching Simon's retreating figure. He certainly seemed well-versed in the rumors of Miss Talbot's leaving. I remembered what Moira had said about him having worked at the house before in the stables. It was a strange enough story. In my admittedly slight experience, it was unusual for a servant to change their profession so completely within a household, although I suppose it must happen. There was a hierarchy, however, not unlike the military. A man didn't suddenly go from stable boy to footman any more than he went from infantry private to midshipman or whatever naval term I meant. It wasn't impossible, certainly, but still, it was a story worth checking, if only to determine how much of what he told me was to be believed. I turned back to the staircase and decided I had plenty of time for a cup of tea before I went walking.

I went down to the kitchen and found I was in luck, and Mrs. Hopkins was alone in the kitchen as I had hoped. She looked over her shoulder when she heard my footsteps and smiled. "Going for your walk a bit early today? I could pack you some sandwiches if you'd like."

"Actually, I was hoping for a cup of tea and a bit of a chat first."

"Well, we always have both of those in ample supply here. And a fresh loaf of bread if you'd like to try my gooseberry jam on it." She didn't wait for an answer but got the tea set out and the bread and jam.

When I had the bread sliced and properly slathered with jam, Mrs. Hopkins leaned against the table and looked at me. "You had a reason for deciding to have tea with me this morning."

There was no point in denying it, and I thought Mrs. Hopkins would be inclined to help anyway. "I wanted to ask you about Simon."

"About Simon?" Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that line of questioning. "What sort of questions could you have about Simon?"

"Moira said he's only been a footman for a short while, not much more than a year, but he'd worked here before."

"That's right. He was from a farm just outside the village. He'd worked in the stables since the last earl. I mean this one's father; it's hard to remember there were two in between."

"How did he end up transferring to the house?"

"He'd come back to the area and was staying at the inn up in Tyneridge. He came here to see if we had anything for him. Said he wanted a job close to his family house and to be around people he knew. He had references saying he'd been a footman at two other houses in Dublin, so we took him on as a footman. He certainly does the job adequately."

"So he came back to be near his family?"

"The house. He's no family left in the area. There's a sister up in Sheffield--she married the innkeeper there--but the rest passed on. I think he felt a bit of guilt leaving as he did."

I couldn't imagine Simon feeling guilty over anything, but I didn't mention that. "How did he leave?"

"With almost no warning at all. Told the stable master one morning that he had business somewhere else and could he have wages and was his way that afternoon. Things were at such odds here that the master didn't particularly notice his loss, but it did upset the rest of the staff to have someone leave with no notice. They had to scramble to find someone to replace him. Fortunately, the young Greenly boy was interested in horses, so they were able to promote Ralph to Simon's position and hire him, but there was a good month where they were understaffed, and it made the whole lot ill-tempered."

"But his lordship didn't notice?"

"No, he wasn't going out then. The rumors had all died down, and that old fool Mr. Talbot had finally decamped back to Manchester, which did more to quiet the rumors than anything, I must say, but still, his lordship was keeping to himself. There wasn't much cause for him to go to the stables, so he didn't see the disruption."

"Where did Simon go?"

"No idea. You would think he would have written for a reference, but then perhaps he knew it wasn't likely he'd get one worth having."

"But you took him back."

She nodded. "He didn't deserve it, I know, and it caused a bit of resentment, but it's hard to get staff here, and he wasn't asking for anything too out of the normal way. And he has done his job properly, even if he does still flirt with every maid that crosses his path. But he knows better than to press his attentions where they aren't wanted. I'd have him out on his head if he did that. Did that answer your questions?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then was there anything else?" She didn't seem to mind my stopping to ask about Simon, so I mentioned I was planning on going walking for most of the day to avoid the magistrate, and she quickly offered to make me enough sandwiches and tea to last the day. I realized she thought I was avoiding him to avoid saying anything that might cast suspicions on Julian, and as it was partly true, I saw no reason to tell her otherwise. Besides, she seemed to want me away before the magistrate came almost as badly as I wanted to be away, so my sandwiches were prepared in record time and I was out the door and on my way to the hills before I'd even had the chance to consider what Mrs. Hopkins had told me. But once I was walking, there was plenty of time to think about it.

Simon had been here when Miss Talbot disappeared, so he would have been able to hear the rumors that went around at the time. If he'd been in the stables, Mrs. Hopkins wouldn't have known him well. Ralph was in and out of the kitchen, but it wasn't enough to get a proper sense of him. I needed someone who had seen Simon on a more regular basis. And Ralph had inherited Simon's position; that meant he had been in the stables at the time and of a somewhat similar position if he was next in line. He ought to be able to give me a sense of Simon's reliability at the time, and maybe even what gossip there had been about his leaving.

# Chapter 13

I SPENT A QUIET DAY OUT on the moors, staying near the edges of the fields and away from the house until the sun was low in the sky and the risk of getting lost on the way back to the house seemed greater than the risk of seeing the magistrate when I got there. I slipped in through the kitchen where Moira, Lettie, and Mrs. Hopkins were hard at work finishing the dinner. They greeted me as I came through, but were too busy for me to ask anything beyond whether Sir Isaac had left. He had, so I hurried upstairs to the study and knocked on the door.

"Enter." Julian sounded tired, and that worried me. I had seen him sanguine, silent, even remote, but there'd always been an energy about him. I pushed the door open gently and stepped into the room. Julian was sitting in the window alcove, on the bench seat, looking out over the moors, although from his vague look I doubted he was seeing much of them.

When it was clear he wasn't going to turn to see who had entered, I knew I had to make my presence known. "How did the meeting go?"

That made him turn, and he looked surprised to see me. "Sir Isaac has already written to Mr. Talbot advising him of everything. There should be a reply by the end of the week."

I nodded. "I see. Did he say how he knew who she was before speaking to you?"

"No, but considering how Sir Isaac feels about me, it wouldn't surprise me if he jumped to the conclusion all on his own."

"Is there a reason he dislikes you?"

"Not particularly. He liked my father, my father disliked me. That was enough. And he thinks I'm hiding something, at least he always seems to be trying to catch me in a lie. Although I am certain he doesn't know what I'm actually hiding, or I'd have been in prison ages ago." He seemed to remember that that would be a sore topic for me and looked ready to apologize.

I felt the familiar pang of guilt when I thought of William in prison, but that hadn't been Julian's intent, so I shook my head slightly to let him know I'd taken no offense and motioned for him to continue.

Julian sighed. "He informed me that he told Mr. Talbot he was welcome to stay here then asked if it was all right."

"And you agreed?"

"I didn't see that I could do much else, at least not without seeming to want to hide evidence." He smiled at me, a strained, sad sort of smile. "Don't worry, I won't let them involve you. You don't need to worry that any of this will get back to London."

Until he made the offer, I hadn't thought of the consequences for me or my escape, but now that he'd brought it up, I realized I wasn't nearly so worried about that as I was about him. "That should be the least of your troubles. Don't worry, I can manage myself."

"I'm sure you can, but I don't want to make any trouble for you. If you'd bring the ring, I'll see that Sir Isaac gets it, and you're not mentioned."

"And how will you explain not mentioning the ring sooner?"

"I was keeping it safe."

"But weren't able to identify the body from the ring you gave her?"

Julian shrugged. "It won't hurt my case too much, and it will keep you out of it."

I gave an exasperated sort of sigh. There was a footstool near the seat, but he wasn't using it. I sat on it and rested my head against the side of the bench.

"I could advance you your salary," he said quietly. "It would be more than enough to get you away from here and allow you to stay somewhere, in Scotland, perhaps, until this is cleared up. I could even come up with some pretense for sending you away. There are always sales of books from estates. I could find one that might be interesting and send you to look at the inventory. No one would think it odd."

"You're a hair's breadth from being accused of strangling your fiancée, and the only way to be certain you won't be charged with it is to find out what really happened to her. And I can't do that from some inn in Scotland."

"But you'd be safe there. They wouldn't be able to send you back to prison."

"Some things are more important than me being free," I said before I'd had a chance to think about the words. It was true, though. I couldn't sit safely in some inn, hiding from two years in prison, when I knew he was in danger of being arrested and hung for a murder he didn't commit.

"Not to me," Julian whispered. I felt his fingers slide through my hair, combing the strands away from my face then resting against my scalp. I leaned into his touch. His fingers rubbed along my scalp in small, smooth circles, then slid down behind my ear until he was caressing my jaw. I could hear the slight rasp of his fingers against the stubble on my cheek as his fingers moved slowly, almost reverently, along my skin.

Not to him, he'd said. Nothing more important to him. My being free was important to him. I rested my hand over his until he stilled then turned and pressed a kiss to his palm. He didn't move away. I looked up at him and saw he was watching me with the hint of a genuine smile on his lips. "I'm not leaving while you're in danger of being hung, and you won't see me sent back to Newgate, so it seems we need to find out what really happened to Miss Talbot."

"It seems we must." Julian leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss to my forehead, just between my brows. "Where shall we begin?" He'd moved only the smallest bit away after he'd kissed me, so I could feel his breath against the spot his lips had just been. I couldn't help but wonder if that had been what he'd felt when I'd knelt before him and whispered his name when he'd slipped from my mouth.

I swallowed. "You could tell me more of what happened that day."

He smiled. "I could. But I think you could be more comfortable here beside me."

"I probably would, but then I doubt we'd get much done."

Julian laughed, a low chuckle in his chest that made me wonder what it would feel like if I were pressed against him when he did that. "I think we'd get a good bit done, but none of it helping with our problem. Later, though, the distraction might help us think, hm?"

"I'm certain it would, although I'm not sure how much space there is in your window seat. Or privacy for that matter."

"I think we could manage, but if you prefer the bed."

"I think we'd be more comfortable, but if you'd rather try here, we could compare the two." I hoped that was enough to tell him I was interested in bedding him and anything else he wanted. "But, if we're to get to work, then perhaps you could tell me about the night she disappeared. There might be some clue there."

"There was nothing unusual in it. The three of us had dinner as always, then retired to the drawing room. Mr. Talbot suggested she play something, so she did for a short while then said she was tired, and we all retired for the night."

"Was it unusual for her to be tired so early?"

"Not particularly. I don't think she liked playing in company, but her uncle thought it was something she ought to do. I had no desire to prolong her misery, so as soon as she expressed a bit of tiredness, I would say it was late even if it wasn't and go to bed myself."

"And there was nothing that told you she was planning something?"

"Nothing at all. She had borrowed a novel from the library earlier in the day. I thought she wanted to go to her room and finish reading it."

"And the next morning?"

"She wasn't at breakfast, which was a bit odd as her uncle insisted on her rising early, but the rest of us thought nothing of it. It didn't seem odd that a guest would want a bit of a lie-in. Ellen had been instructed to let her rest and bring her a tray mid-morning. She found Miss Talbot missing around ten and went to Mrs. Hopkins, who came to me."

"And did you think she'd run off at once?"

He nodded. "That was why Ellen went to Mrs. Hopkins and then to me instead of Mr. Talbot. Miss Talbot had told her about her young man, although not that they had planned to run. She assumed that was what had happened at once. I told Mr. Talbot there was a rumor among the servants, and we started to search immediately. Everyone spread out across the moors and the paths, with Mrs. Hopkins and a couple of the newer staff who didn't know the area well searching the house in case she returned, and Ellen sent to go through her room looking for clues. Needless to say, we found nothing."

"And then?"

"I had men searching the area for two days while I went to the nearby villages and inns to ask if she'd been seen. Once I was certain she hadn't fallen into some ditch or lost herself on the moors, I hired some men to ride the roads to Gretna Green and London, asking along the way for someone matching her description and also looking for her missing jewels. I thought that would be enough time if she had wanted to marry the fellow for the deed to be done. Mr. Talbot kept insisting she'd been murdered. I suggested several times that he go back to Manchester and talk to her friends in the hopes of figuring out the identity of the young man she'd told Ellen about, but he continued to insist that there was no point as he knew what had happened. Eventually, he left promising to come back and see me hanged. The men returned to report no sign of her or her jewels, and we all assumed Ellen had been right and she'd snuck away."

"And didn't sell the jewels? Although I suppose she would have had her own money to live on."

"Her inheritance? I doubt it. It was in a trust administered by her uncle. He was going to have me made trustee if I married her, but I can't see him turning it over to a husband he didn't approve of."

"So she has to be living off of the money from her jewelry. Did you ever find out why he was so certain you killed her?"

He shook his head. "It's hardly the sort of thing I could ask him."

I wondered if I could. "Perhaps someone on the staff would know."

"You could ask them. They might be more willing to talk to you than me. But we ought to get ready for dinner."

I took that as a sign he wanted to be alone and went to my room.

Dinner was a silent meal. There were a few attempts at conversation on both sides, but we were both preoccupied with our own thoughts and went straight to our rooms afterward. Julian did not come to my room at midnight. I considered going to his as I didn't think he ought to be alone, but I didn't know what to say to him and took the coward's way out by telling myself if he had managed to sleep, I should let him.

The next morning, Julian was already in the breakfast room when I arrived with a nearly finished plate in front of him. As soon as I sat down, he rose. "Sir Isaac wants to see me. I thought it best to get it over with."

It was clear he wanted to be on his way and didn't want to talk about it, so I merely said, "Good luck."

Julian gave me a small smile and left the room.

Worry about Julian and his appointment with the magistrate stripped me of my appetite, so I forced myself to finish some toast and a cup of tea then left the breakfast room myself. I knew I wouldn't get any work done, so I avoided the library altogether and went up to Miss Talbot's old room. I didn't know what I would be able to find there, but searching again was something that might prove useful. More useful than sitting in the library, at least. My key still opened the door, so I was able to enter without having to bother Mrs. Hopkins for her key. The room was the same as I'd seen before, only the curtains had been opened, making the room brighter than I'd seen it before, although the dust and cobwebs meant the sun was more of a weak glow than proper sunlight.

I stood with my back to the door and looked around the room, wondering if there was something we hadn't searched yet. The wardrobe on the far wall hadn't been searched as far as I knew. Perhaps there was some passage behind it that would explain the sounds I'd heard the night I'd first entered the room. It was worth checking. The door creaked as I pulled it open, which was my first clue that it hadn't been used that night. There was no way I would not have heard that sound. Still, I reached through the clothes and felt the back of the wardrobe, which was quite firmly attached to the sides and didn't move at all. To be certain, I went to the side of the wardrobe, planning to push it away from the wall, only to see there was a good half inch of space between the back of the wardrobe and the wall behind it caused by the thickness of the decorative baseboard. No place for a secret passage.

As the wardrobe was open, I looked through her clothes, hoping for some inspiration. It was the sort of wardrobe a young debutante would have. I found several day dresses in pinks and blues and greens, some with matching spencers, and three frothy white dinner dresses with different colors of embroidery and ribbons, blue-green and red, at the waist. There were also three riding dresses, which surprised me as no one had mentioned a passion for horses. Perhaps her uncle had ordered them in case Julian liked to ride so she could impress him. They had clearly been worn since the newest had a tear along the side of the bodice under the jacket. I looked at the shoes stored at the bottom of the wardrobe and found a mix of slippers and sturdier shoes that seemed to match the rest of the clothes. I closed the wardrobe and went to the desk, but there was nothing new there, or in the nightstand, or the dressing table. I went through each of the novels Julian had left her, looking for marked pages or hidden papers and finding neither. Frustrated, I relocked the door and went downstairs. A walk out to the wall and a bit of sheep watching might help me think. If nothing else, it would pass the time until Julian returned.

I decided to leave through the kitchen so Mrs. Hopkins would be able to tell Julian where I was should he return. I had barely entered the kitchen when Mrs. Hopkins pulled out the kettle. "Here for a bit of tea?"

It seemed churlish to say no, and tea with Mrs. Hopkins would make the time pass as quickly as a walk, perhaps more so. "I'd love some, if it isn't too much trouble."

Mrs. Hopkins took the already boiling kettle from the hob, so I took that as my answer and sat at the long table near the plate of scones.

Mrs. Hopkins brought the kettle to the table and sat across from me. "Ralph came back from bringing his lordship to Sir Isaac's."

So that was what she had wanted me to hear. That made it sound as if Julian were in a long visit, and I didn't see how a long visit with the magistrate could be a good thing under the circumstances. "He didn't wait for his lordship?"

"His lordship said he planned to ride back." She put the cup of tea in front of me. "Sir Isaac spoke to Ellen. Ralph saw her as he was settling his lordship's horse in Sir Isaac's stables."

I understood from her tone that this was not a good development. "The woman who was acting as lady's maid?"

"That's right."

"Did she have anything useful to say?"

"He showed her the fabric Dr. Barton found near the body."

I could tell from her tone that this was what was worrying her. "And?"

"There was enough left for her to identify the garment. It was a dinner dress, the one she wore to dinner the night she disappeared."

I stared at the cup. "What does he think it means?"

"He didn't tell her. You've heard the story Mr. Talbot was spreading at the time?"

"That Miss Talbot was murdered in her bed by Jul--Lord Elmsby."

Mrs. Hopkins ignored my slip of the tongue. "And now he has a sliver of fact to support it."

"Just because she was found wearing her dinner dress doesn't mean she was strangled in her bed or that he did it."

Mrs. Hopkins merely stared at me.

I knew all too well what she was thinking. "And that won't mean a thing once the rumors start." I leaned back in my chair. "And even if it's not enough to prove it in court, the mere fact that the question was brought up at all will make people wonder. And Lord Elmsby is not known in society. They won't have any reason to want to defend him, not when there's a delicious piece of gossip about him. Especially as he's most known for going into trade." I stared up at the ceiling and tried to figure out what this new information meant.

"You see the problem," Mrs. Hopkins said and shoved a plate of shortbread towards me.

I took one of the biscuits without noticing it. "If she was strangled in her bed, they had to move the body out. How did they manage that without being seen?"

"Everyone on the staff was questioned when it happened; no one saw anything."

"And would they have said if they saw someone sneaking out, or only if they saw Miss Talbot sneaking out?"

"I don't know what they told the others, but when Mr. Talbot began spreading rumors, I asked them myself what they had seen that night. Most were in their beds. The hallboy at the time didn't hear anyone go out the front door. Simon heard his lordship go to the library for a book, but Grant was sound asleep and didn't hear it himself. Moira didn't hear anyone in the kitchen. She was a scullery maid then and slept in the little room where we had you."

I sighed. "Someone carrying a body would be noticeable, but only if there was someone there to notice them. Do you suppose Simon told Mr. Talbot about hearing Lord Elmsby?" It would explain why he'd been so sure Julian had done it.

Mrs. Hopkins poured out some more tea. "I told Simon at the time not to tell anyone he'd heard his lordship in the library in case they took it wrong."

I could feel her watching me, trying to gauge my response, so I nodded. "And he couldn't know for certain it was Lord Elmsby unless he saw him."

"Exactly."

"So we're no nearer to the truth than we were." I tapped the edge of my cup, thinking. "Is Ellen still in town?"

"She left as soon as Sir Isaac had finished talking to her. That's why Ralph saw her by the stables. Her parents live two villages over, and she wanted to visit them while she was in the area."

I nodded. I had hoped Ellen could tell me about Miss Talbot's habits. How soon after dinner would she have changed her dress? Had she asked for help changing it or sent Ellen away for the night before changing? Was her behavior normal that night? And was there anything about the evening that she could remember?

By the time I'd finished my tea, Moira had returned with Lettie and a basket of eggs and, after putting them away, started preparations for something that involved peeling a large number of carrots, a task she seemed to be teaching Lettie to do. I didn't think there would be the chance for more gossip, so I told Mrs. Hopkins I was going walking to clear my head and think, which she approved of at once, no doubt hoping I would have some brilliant inspiration while I was wandering about. I was hoping for the same thing but not expecting it. There was the feeling that I had missed something in Miss Talbot's room, but I didn't know enough about young women's things to know what it was.

I had barely gotten to the end of the garden when it struck me. I was still thinking about Miss Talbot's room, about the clothes I'd seen in the wardrobe and realized what had been nagging at me. Three riding habits. That seemed excessive unless the lady in question was an avid equestrian. So why hadn't she worn one of them to run away? They would be more practical than what Ellen's identification of the remains of the gown we'd found her in suggested.

I tried to think if anything had seemed unusual about the outfits, but they all seemed to be the sort of thing I'd seen dozens of girls wearing. The one had a tear along the seam of the bodice, which made me wonder if she was particularly hard on her clothing, but none of the other items in her wardrobe had shown any unusual signs of mending and the other two habits had been unblemished. Perhaps she had fallen and torn her clothes then. Briefly, I considered a fall from a horse to explain her broken neck, but reminded myself that she hadn't been wearing riding clothes at the time of her death, and no horse had been reported missing. Surely if one had been missing, everyone would have known she had taken it. Still, it was something to consider. Perhaps it was something Ellen could explain, if I ever had the chance to speak to her. Perhaps I could send her a note. Mrs. Hopkins seemed to know where she was staying. Unless there was someone else in the house who might know something about Miss Talbot's clothes. I turned my steps back towards home. I could at least ask Mrs. Hopkins.

Mrs. Hopkins was still in the kitchen when I returned, in the midst of preparing something at the stove that smelled wonderful, Moira was still showing Lettie what to do with the carrots, and Simon had arrived and seemed to be dismantling a tray from the breakfast room. It didn't seem busy beyond the usual bustle of the kitchen, so I waited until Mrs. Hopkins seemed to be engaged in something that didn't require much thought then asked, "Do you know anything about ladies' riding habits?"

Mrs. Hopkins looked up from her pots. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I was going to see if I could get in touch with Ellen while she's in the area and ask her something about one of the riding habits in Miss Talbot's room, but I wasn't sure how to explain which one I meant. They're all grey."

Mrs. Hopkins chuckled, and I could hear Moira smothering a laugh behind me. But Mrs. Hopkins did have an answer. "You want Jenny. She knows about clothes. She'll be able to tell you how to describe it."

That made Simon laugh. "And she'll tell you all the places she'd wear it and how she'd choose a better one."

"Quiet, Simon," Mrs. Hopkins admonished. "There's nothing wrong with an interest in pretty things. And Jenny's a hard worker." She gave the tray he was holding a significant look.

"I was just getting to the polishing," Simon insisted.

Mrs. Hopkins snorted at that then turned back to me. "She'll be doing the shelves in the sitting room. I'll send her up to the library when she finishes. Will that help?"

"It will indeed. Thank you."

And so I went up to the library and spent the next hour pretending to sort random papers I found between an atlas and a field guide to Italian plants.

{--*--}

I was too distracted to do anything useful, so after I'd made a mess of the papers, I began a list of questions to ask Ellen if I should be able to talk to her, thinking perhaps Ralph or Graham could drive me to her parents' village. I hadn't gotten very far with it when there was a soft tap on the door. I looked up and saw one of the village girls I had seen working around the house, the one who bore a striking resemblance to Dr. Barton's Maisie. "Jenny?"

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Hopkins said you needed me."

"I did. I was looking through the clothes Miss Talbot left behind, and I needed the opinion of someone who knows something about ladies' clothes."

Jenny smiled at once. "I'd be happy to help with that. Mrs. Langton lets me look through her pattern books whenever I'm in town, so I know all of the styles."

I assumed Mrs. Langton was some sort of mantua-maker nearby. "That's precisely what I need. I may be going to talk to Ellen, and I need to be able to describe something to her. A riding habit that was torn. I'm hoping she'll remember how it happened."

"I can certainly help you with that. Maybe I can even answer your question. Ellen used to let me help her tend to Miss Talbot's things, and she had such lovely dresses, it was a pleasure to do it, even though I knew Ellen was just trying to get out of a bit of work."

That was something I hadn't thought of, the possibility that someone else in the house might know about Miss Talbot's actions and habits. "Even better. Shall we?"

Jenny nodded eagerly and followed me up to Miss Talbot's old room.

My key still fit the lock, and I considered asking Jenny if that was common in the house, but I decided against it. Mrs. Hopkins would be a better one to ask as she would be more likely to know if the keys were common among the doors and less likely to mention that fact to people who might want to rifle through belongings. Inside, I suggested Jenny might be comfortable sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, which was less dusty than most of the room as it had been covered with spare blankets for the bed, then went to the wardrobe and searched through the clothes. I pulled out the riding habit I thought was the one I wanted identified, only to realize it wasn't torn. I pulled out the other two, but both were also whole, and neither of those had the same sort of trim I remembered the torn one having. I stared at the first riding habit, trying to understand what had happened. "I thought it was this one."

Jenny came to the wardrobe and looked inside. "None of these are torn. You're certain it was a riding habit?"

"I thought I was certain it was this riding habit, but now I'm not sure of anything."

Jenny turned her attention back to the wardrobe. "Maybe it was a carriage dress or something like that. I'll look through these."

I suspected she was more interested in seeing the rest of the clothes than in figuring out what I had seen, but there wasn't any harm in it so I left her to it and stared at the dress I was holding. I could have sworn it was the outfit I'd had in my hand. I pulled the fabric over my fingers, trying to figure out what I had seen. When I slid the side seam over my hand, it pulled apart slightly, not enough to come apart, but there were small bits of light coming through the fabric. "That's odd."

Jenny turned at the sound of my voice. "What... Oh, that's a poorly done seam."

I realized she was right. That was what I was looking at, a poorly sewn seam. I turned the bodice inside out and looked at the line of stitching. All of the other seams in the garment were made up of small, neat stitches, exactly what one would expect to see. The seam in question was sloppily done, with large, uneven stitches in black thread that stood out against the grey fabric.

"Looks like the time his lordship tried to mend his own breeches."

"What?" Nothing about that sentence seemed to fit into my brain.

"Agnes and I laughed about that for weeks. Fell off his horse near town and ripped his breeches. He limped to the inn and got cleaned up and warmed up and found he'd torn his breeches, so he decided to mend them himself. Don't know why he didn't ask for a maid to do it, but he sewed them up just like that. I suppose it was better than riding home with his bum showing, but we did have a good laugh over it in the kitchen when Agnes brought them down to fix properly."

My mind went in several directions after hearing that story, including a bit of speculation as to just what Julian would look like riding home with his torn breeches and bum showing. But the bit that hit me the hardest was the point of it. Julian's attempt at mending had looked very like this one. And surely no one with any pretensions of being a lady's maid whatsoever would have made such a sloppy repair. I was quite certain this was the riding habit I had seen, and it had been torn when I'd seen it, and someone had come back and repaired it between the time I'd first seen it and Jenny coming to look at it. But why? Why was this set of clothes so important? "Do you remember this outfit?"

"No, and I thought I saw all of her clothes when I was helping Ellen. She used to ask me to help sponge the hems and press anything that needed it. I would have remembered something like this."

"Was Miss Talbot hard on her clothes?"

"You mean was she careless? No more than most young ladies. Every so often there'd be a torn hem to sew up or something like that, but that can't be helped. She didn't go around ripping them off and tossing them about or anything like that. She took proper care of her things."

So it was unusual at least, but not impossible. Although it did seem Jenny would have been involved had Ellen known the dress had been torn. "I suppose Miss Talbot could have mended it herself to hide the fact that it was torn." But that wouldn't explain why I had seen the dress damaged, unless Miss Talbot's ghost really was haunting the hallways.

"If she didn't want us to know about it? I suppose it would depend on when she tore it, but she wouldn't have done it like this. She wasn't used to darning stockings or tacking up a hem, but there was nothing wrong with her embroidery. It's not quite the same thing, but she would know enough to make proper stitches."

"I suppose you're right. Then I wonder what happened." Jenny didn't seem to have an answer to that, not that I thought she would. Still, it might be something worth asking Ellen. "How would you describe this to Ellen?"

Jenny took the outfit from me and turned the dress right side out. "It's a military-style spencer over a sleeveless dress in charcoal-grey merino with black velvet trim and a short train on the skirt."

I scribbled all that down. I would still write to Ellen and ask her about the outfit, if she remembered when it was torn, and when Miss Talbot had worn it last. There could be some clue in that information. "And you thought she'd run away with someone?"

"At the time, yes, of course."

"At the time?" That seemed an odd statement.

"Ellen and I went through her things looking for clues. All the correct things were gone. Her three best day dresses, her favorite walking suits, her good walking boots, her carriage dress, her fancy nightrail with the pink embroidery, her best corsets--begging your pardon. It was exactly what we would have expected her to pack. And his lordship seemed to think that's what she'd done. We thought it was so romantic. He was set to marry her, but was willing to give her up."

"What do you mean?"

"He had men searching the area, the grounds and the fields, but he waited two whole days to send anyone out towards Gretna Green or London. We thought that was to give her a chance to get ahead of them."

"I wonder why no one found her body then if they were searching so hard."

"Did you see Dunsbrook Culvert? It's small. If she were wedged in there..." Jenny hesitated as she considered what she was saying. "They probably searched the meeting place, thinking she could have fallen or fainted, but why crawl in there? And then when it rained, well, you know better than most how badly it rained here recently."

I nodded and tried to shift the subject away from my arrival. "What made you wonder about her leaving?"

"The dinner dress they say she was wearing. She never liked that dress, said the color of the trim made her look jaundiced. Pity she ended up buried in it." She must have seen the surprise on my face as she added, "I heard Ralph telling Mrs. Hopkins that she was wearing the dinner dress she'd worn that night, and that just doesn't make sense. And not just because she didn't like it and wouldn't have worn it to meet someone she wanted to impress."

"Why not? Maybe it was what she was wearing, and she didn't want Ellen to help her into something else."

"Ellen would have noticed if she said not to undress her. She couldn't have gotten out of one of those dresses herself without tearing it, so Ellen would have known something was going on."

"You're certain?"

"Didn't I help her dress most nights? All the fastenings are in the back, too far for her to reach on her own and too tight to slip out of. Not like this habit. See the hooks down the side of the bodice? She could have put this on herself." Jenny turned the dress so I could see the untorn side where there was indeed a row of hooks.

"So she could have had Ellen undress her, then put on something like this to go to her meeting."

"Exactly. That would have been far more sensible, and she wasn't a fool. But then her case was packed, and she was wearing the right shoes. Why would she wear practical walking shoes with a silly dress?"

"Why indeed." It seemed I had found some clues. Or what ought to be clues. If only I knew what they meant. "Thank you for the assistance."

"Of course. Would you mind mentioning to Mrs. Hopkins that I was a help? You see, I'd like to keep working here. Mrs. Peyton might need an apprentice soon, and it would be so much harder to convince her I'm a good choice if I have to work farther away."

"I'll be certain to tell her."

"Thank you. Let me know if you need any other questions answered."

I suspected she would be more than happy to go through more of Miss Talbot's clothes for me. I picked up the riding habit and followed Jenny out, locking the door behind us. Jenny disappeared down the hallway. I stood by the door, staring at the habit. All I could think of was Jenny's view that the stitching looked like Julian's. But why would he have torn the habit and then mended it? Why would anyone?

And then I realized Jenny had asked the right question. When was the dress torn? That would explain why someone would want to repair it; they didn't want us to know when it had been damaged. That must be a clue to who strangled her, or to where she was going when she was strangled. And really, why would she be wearing a riding habit except to go riding?

Ralph. He'd been working in the stables in one capacity or another for a long while. Perhaps he had seen her or would know someone who might have. It wouldn't hurt to ask him.

# Chapter 14

I WENT DOWNSTAIRS and stopped in the kitchen long enough to tell Mrs. Hopkins how helpful Jenny had been and ask where Ralph was. I found him walking slowly down the center aisle of the stables, looking in on each of the horses. He nodded a greeting as I came in then gave me a quizzical look as I approached him. "Did Mrs. Hopkins need me for something?"

"No, I did, actually. Could I ask you to look at something?"

Clearly, that struck him as a strange request, which I suppose it was, but he nodded, and I pressed on. "Have you ever seen this?" I unfurled the riding habit and held it out for him to look at.

"Belongs to a lady, obviously, I mean. The skirt and all." He stared at the outfit and shrugged. "There haven't been many ladies round here." After a moment, the significance struck him. "Was it hers? The one we found, I mean?"

"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Now that he understood why the outfit was important, Ralph leaned in more closely and began to look at the details. "Was it Miss Talbot? That's what they're saying at the pub, that she didn't run away at all and someone killed her."

"That's part of what I'm trying to figure out. Who do they think did it?"

Ralph shrugged. "Depends how drunk they are. Mostly sober, it was whoever she went to meet, two sheets to the wind, his lordship, and getting ready to fall over, her guardian."

"What do you think?"

He gave a self-deprecating sort of grin. "I'd like it to be Mr. Talbot. He was a rum one. But the one she was going to meet seems more likely. Or she could have fallen. She wasn't used to the moors. If she tried to cross in the night, she could have come to grief."

I was tempted to ask what he thought of the Lord Elmsby theory, but I refrained. Neither one of us seemed to want that answer. "So do you recognize this?"

"She didn't wear it to go riding. I always saw her in dark blue when she came down to ride, which was rare enough to be memorable."

"I see." I made to fold up the clothes only to realize Ralph was still staring at them with a look of complete concentration. I held still and waited quietly to see if he figured out what he was trying to think of.

I was on the verge of giving up and taking the clothes away for the third time when Ralph nodded once and said, "Two days before she left, Miss Talbot came down here to ask me to go to the village to collect a package for her from the dressmaker. That was a bit unusual but not unheard of. The odd part was that she was waiting for me in the stable office when I got back. I gave her the package, and she pulled back the edge to look inside and ran off. I thought I saw dark-grey fabric like this."

"So this may have been a brand-new riding habit?" Then how had it become torn so quickly? "Is the town dressmaker good at her job?"

"Very. She's been making clothes for the best families for years."

"So you would expect something she made to hold together well?"

"Sure. My sister still has a dress she had made three years ago when she got married. Why?"

"One of the seams was split and poorly mended."

"Wouldn't be Mrs. Peyton's fault, not at all."

"And did Miss Talbot come back down here after she picked up the package?"

"No, not to ride. I saw her about the grounds--it's easy enough to see anyone out walking near the house--but she didn't come to ride. Not that I would have expected her to. And I don't remember her wearing that, although I don't know that I would have noticed unless I saw it was a riding outfit and thought she would be needing a horse. Does any of that help?"

"I wish I knew. But thank you." I folded up the outfit and started back towards the house. So Miss Talbot had bought a new outfit and had sent Ralph to collect it then went to get the package directly from Ralph rather than have it brought to the kitchen and handed over to her maid as I assumed the normal process was. At least it was how deliveries seemed to be managed in the houses I'd been in, but I'd only seen the results, not the process below stairs. But in any case, it did sound as if she were keeping the new clothes hidden. And yet she hadn't worn them to sneak away and meet her lover, which would seem to have been the point. Of course, I wanted that to be the point. There could be some other perfectly mundane reason. Perhaps she had a clothing allowance and had exceeded it already. As soon as the thought passed through my mind, I realized that was far more logical than anything else. But it didn't explain the torn seam or how the garment was repaired between the time I first saw it and now.

As I approached the house, I looked towards the study windows, but there was no sign of Julian looking out. He was most likely still at Sir Isaac's or Ralph would have mentioned his return. All I could think of was the sad, resigned look on Julian's face when he'd come back from speaking to Sir Isaac the other day and how quiet he had been at breakfast. There had to be some way to prove he was innocent, even if every clue I found seemed to skirt along the edge of him being guilty.

While I was thinking, I had been staring at the house, and suddenly I noticed I was looking at the library windows. And then I noticed something else. The windows above the library were darker than the others, as if they were closed and covered. The only room I could think of that would be closed off was Miss Talbot's old room. And if that was just above the library, the noises I'd heard seemed to take on a new meaning. If only I could figure out how they were made. The servants' staircase had seemed like such a good theory. Of course, the house was old. There could be some other explanation. I wondered if there were plans of the house. The library seemed to be the place to look for them. At least it would keep me busy while I waited for Julian to return.

By now, I was familiar enough with the library that, even though I didn't know where any plans for the house would be kept, I knew where to find the oldest books and papers. That seemed a place to start, and even if I didn't find them, wandering alone among the shelves seemed a good time to consider what I had learned. Ellen had helped Miss Talbot undress the night she'd disappeared then presumably gone to bed herself in the servants' quarters, leaving Miss Talbot alone. Miss Talbot had put her dinner dress back on and had what? Waited for her lover in her room? If there was a secret passage, he could have slipped up that way. But then how had she ended up in a culvert near a known spot for lovers to meet? Had someone carried her body away? It would have been much simpler for them to have dumped her somewhere more hidden. Somewhere like the vast stretches of moors around the manor house. Why leave her body there?

All right, perhaps the person hadn't been able to move her to the moors. Could that make sense? Only if the person couldn't move her at all, but then he wouldn't have been able to take her out of her room to begin with. I stared at the shelves. Perhaps it had been too dark and he hadn't been familiar enough with the grounds to find his way there. But then how had he seen his way to the meeting spot?

All right, if I wasn't getting anywhere with that line of reasoning, what else could I try? What if she'd been murdered near where she'd been found and her body hidden in the nearest convenient spot? She would have gone to meet her lover and been killed. That had been my original theory. It would have been simple enough for her to sneak out; I'd stumbled on her room when I'd come in from the garden, so the staircase I'd used had been very close to her door. All right, she hurried Ellen out of the room, put her dinner dress back on and snuck downstairs...

I saw the problem with that at once. Why not dismiss Ellen at once? Why have her stay around long enough to undress her? To provide cover? To keep Ellen from getting suspicious? And would a girl wear a dinner dress out to meet someone? I was no expert on women's clothes, but most of the dinner dresses I'd seen seemed filmy and not particularly warm, and it was cold on the moors. And it was hardly suitable for scrambling about in the dark. So she must have been in her room waiting. And then I remembered something else Jenny had said. "A pity it was that one too. She never liked that dress." Why would a girl have her maid undress her and then put the same dress right back on when it was one she didn't like? Especially when she had a wardrobe full of clothes in the room. Especially when she had ordered herself a new dress. A wool riding habit that she had chosen herself. Why not wear that? Because it had been torn?

Unless it was torn later. A wool riding habit would be just the thing for tramping around the moors. And she'd been wearing walking boots. Surely no lady would wear walking boots with a dinner dress, particularly not if she were waiting indoors for a lover. That was the time for a pair of slippers.

All right. Miss Talbot had Ellen help her undress then got rid of her maid. She put on her new riding habit and went to meet her lover at the agreed-upon spot. The lover killed her, then for some reason went back to her room and took the first dress he spotted, the one she'd worn to dinner, and changed her clothes, tearing the new riding habit in the process. Perhaps he'd wanted to make it look as if she'd been murdered in her room and the body moved or worried that there was evidence on her clothes that could tie her to him. Either way, it worked. The dinner dress fit perfectly with the rumors Mr. Talbot spread about Julian killing her even if that hadn't been the killer's intention. Unless Mr. Talbot was the killer. But then who had been in her room? No, it had to be whoever killed her. And my new theory also explained what the killer was looking for. There must have been something in the room that would connect them, some sort of letter setting up the meeting perhaps. But why start looking for it now? What had changed?

I had arrived, but how would that have bothered the killer? I was merely someone sorting the library. Only Julian knew we had become something more. Was there something in the library they didn't want found? If so, I hadn't found it yet. I had searched her room but hadn't found anything useful there either. And her room was where they were looking. It had to be in her room. But where?

"Mr. Brook?"

I looked up to find Jenny in the doorway. "I'm sorry; I was woolgathering. Was I needed?"

Jenny gave me a look that suggested she didn't think that was all I was doing but wasn't going to question it. "Mrs. Hopkins wanted you to know that his lordship just returned."

"Will he be in the dining room at the usual time?"

"I think so. I saw Mr. Grant go upstairs just after he came."

"Then I had better get ready for dinner myself. Tell Mrs. Hopkins I said thank you. You may want to tell Agnes I'll be there as well."

"I think that will set her mind at ease." Jenny grinned as she curtsied and left to deliver her messages.

I tidied away the few things I had used and hurried upstairs to comb my hair and straighten my cravat before seeing Julian.

Julian was already seated at the table when I entered the dining room. He had changed out of his riding clothes and washed up, but done little else. He looked exhausted, but he did manage a smile as I entered. "Good evening, Mr. Brook."

"Good evening, your lordship." I took my seat and helped myself to the plate in front of me. I wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about his day or not, so I tried a hesitant, "Was your visit to Sir Isaac successful?"

Julian sighed and stared at his plate. "Ellen was there this morning. She seemed to think Miss Talbot had left with her suitor and was quite shocked to hear we'd found her. She did identify the dress, however."

Julian looked so tired, I had the distinct impression Sir Isaac had been, if not accusatory, at least suspicious. I also thought it might be best for him if we spoke of something else. "Ralph spoke to her, so I heard a bit of it. Would you mind passing the carrots over?"

Once the food was sorted, there didn't seem to be much for us to talk about. We each tried a few half-hearted conversational forays, then it seemed simplest to merely allow the silence to stretch between us. I spent most of it allowing my mind to wander as I stared at my plate. And then it struck me. "Roses." That night, I'd smelled roses. Why?

"What?" Julian asked as he helped himself to the tray of fish he was being offered.

I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. "Nothing," I said quickly as the fish was brought to me. "Just something I remembered." No point in getting his hopes up if it was for nothing. But the next chance I had, I needed to see Miss Talbot's room again.

Without conversation to slow us down, dinner was finished quickly. As I scraped the last of the pudding from my plate, I considered telling Julian I wanted to go directly to my room. If I could slip into Miss Talbot's room and find where the scent of roses had come from, perhaps I could find where the person I heard that night had been searching, and perhaps find what he had been looking for.

Julian rose from his seat with his blackberry crumble half eaten. "Brandy in the study?"

He seemed so ready for me to agree, I didn't want to have him think I didn't want to go with him. Miss Talbot's room could wait a little while. "Of course."

When we entered the study, Julian went directly to the drinks cabinet and poured us each a glass. He took a long swallow if his then brought me the second glass he'd prepared. "I suppose you want to know more about Sir Isaac's case."

"Does he have one?"

"Not that he's sharing with me, which either means he hasn't got one, or I'm at the center of it."

I wasn't sure how to answer that and took a sip of my brandy to give me a moment to think.

Julian didn't seem to notice. He went to the desk and looked at the papers there. I wasn't sure if that meant the topic was finished or if he was as unsure of how to continue as I was. Whatever his thoughts were, the desk didn't seem to help them. He gave the papers a final swipe and straightened up. "I'll be back in a moment."

I nodded that I understood and watched him leave, looking as preoccupied as he had at dinner. Something that Sir Isaac had said was bothering Julian. I wished I knew what.

Of course, the best way to help him was to find out who had killed Miss Talbot. I paced over to the newer shelves to look at the books there, thinking to pick one up and read a few pages, when something else struck me. According to Mrs. Hopkins, Simon had said he'd heard Julian in the library on the night Miss Talbot disappeared, but that made no sense. Julian had told me he kept his own books in the study. If he'd wanted something to read, this was where he would have gone, not the library.

I thought back to all of the strange sounds I'd heard while I was working. No, it made no sense at all. I needed to see Miss Talbot's room. I could nip upstairs and look around then hurry back down and probably be back in the study before Julian returned. He'd been gone long enough as it was. And if he returned while I was gone, I could always say I'd gone in search of a chamber pot, which honestly had been what I'd assumed he'd been doing until I'd realized how long he'd been gone. I put my glass down on the tray and slipped out into the hallway.

My key fit the lock as always. As I turned it, I thought I heard a scuffling sound, and I prepared myself to grab whoever might dart out of the room, but the room was empty. This time, I locked the door behind me again and stood by it, trying to remember the first night I'd been in the room. There had been the distinct scent of roses. I'd noticed it at the time, but everything had been so strange and surreal, I hadn't thought to wonder where it had come from. A rose-scented ghost had seemed perfectly logical at the time. Later, I had simply attributed it to some flowers outside the window, or to the servants I had thought were using the room for a tryst. But that hadn't taken the breaking glass into account. However, a broken perfume bottle would explain both quite neatly. Julian and I had already examined the dressing table, and if there had been a broken bottle there, I would have come up with my theory much sooner. So where did that leave?

I closed my eyes and tried to remember that night. I had been standing by the door, and there had been movement. I'd smelled the roses then, but try as I might, I couldn't recall which direction they had seemed to come from. I inhaled, trying to put myself back in that moment, but all I smelled was a faint whiff of smoke from a fire somewhere downstairs. I stayed still, trying to think, but my concentration was broken by the sound of the maids in the hallway outside walking past the door and pausing nearby. I wondered if Jenny or any of the others would know where Miss Talbot would have hidden something like perfume.

That was actually a good question. It hadn't occurred to me that if she weren't keeping her perfume on the dressing table, it must have been hidden somewhere in the room. Perhaps her guardian had been the sort who wouldn't allow his charge to wear anything so scandalous as perfume. Or perhaps it was something she was saving for her trysts with the unknown man. In any case, it was hidden somewhere in the room. So where would she have hidden something like that?

I allowed my eyes to drift around, trying to remember anything else I had heard that night. There had been a scraping sound, so whoever had been in here had moved something. The Miss Talbot I'd seen in the paintings hadn't looked like the sort of person who would be able to move anything too heavy, so I could limit my search to anything heavy enough to make a sound but not so heavy that it would be difficult for a young woman to move. That ruled out most of the furniture in the room, except for the bookcase by the bed, I realized. It was short, only two shelves, and if I removed some of the books, it would be possible to move it without too much strength being needed. I knelt on the floor and began to do just that. As I stacked the books on the rug beside me, I noticed the glint of broken glass from between the floorboards. I was in the right place, then.

I emptied half of the first shelf, then decided it was light enough for me to move. Miss Talbot would have had time to empty the entire bookshelf if she'd wanted to. The shelf caught on the rug when I pulled on it, but once I had navigated that difficulty, it pulled away from the wall easily enough. I got to my knees and began to examine the wall. It wasn't hard to find the weak spot in the wallpaper, and once I'd found it, it was easy to find the corner where it could be pulled away to reveal the hidden shelf in the wall. Once, it had probably been a hiding place for texts to be hidden from the Crown. Now it held a small pot of rouge, a tin of face powder, a bit of broken blue glass I was certain came from the bottle of rose perfume I had smelled that night, and a ribbon.

The first two made sense to me; Mr. Talbot did not strike me as the sort of person to allow his ward to use cosmetics, and these were the sort a young girl might purchase on the sly and hide to use if she had a secret paramour. But why hide the ribbon? I pulled it out of the hiding place and examined it. All debutantes wore ribbons in their hair, and there was nothing remarkable about this one. This wasn't an ornament she was hiding, so what could it have been used for that made it worth hiding?

Letters, I realized. She could have tied up letters with the ribbon. I supposed it could have been a lock of hair, but that would have been harder to connect to a specific person. I turned the ribbon slowly and noticed creases along it. A set of pleats and wrinkles about six inches from the ends, which would have matched what one would expect of a ribbon that had been tied in a bow long enough to set the lines, and four little creases farther down, two sets of two, about an inch between each pair and three inches between the sets. A ribbon tied in a bow around a set of letters. It made perfect sense, except there were no letters. I felt around the hiding place and found what I'd hoped to: a second, smaller panel meant to hide the truly incriminating texts from the Crown during any of the religious upheavals that had happened like clockwork when the house was built in the hopes that the searcher would stop searching once they found the first hiding place. Unfortunately, the spot was empty. So had Miss Talbot simply not known of its existence, or had someone taken the letters she'd hidden there?

I looked around the room. The letters had been hidden there; I was sure of it. Something that would have connected Miss Talbot to whoever she had been going to meet. But they'd been taken. Whoever had broken her perfume bottle had taken them when they'd left.

But no, they couldn't have taken it that night. I had heard whoever it was moving around just now, I was sure of it. They had still been looking for something. Perhaps they had known I was looking at the riding habit. Perhaps that was enough to force their hand, to make them come back and look again. But who would have known? Not Jenny; she wouldn't have been strong enough to murder Miss Talbot, not that she would have had any reason to. I couldn't imagine Mrs. Hopkins doing it, but I supposed I couldn't rule her out, although what her motive would be I had no idea. The same for Moira.

And then I realized I was a fool. Of course, I wasn't the only thing to have changed at Gorsewall Manor. Simon had returned. From near Tyneridge. The same village where the heiress had gone missing. How could I have missed that? It had been the talk of every town I'd passed through. She had been found, so he hadn't been involved in that incident, but if it had seemed too similar to Miss Talbot's disappearance, if he'd come back because he thought it was safe here for him again, if a guilty conscience had led him to believe that she had been murdered as Miss Talbot had, that would have been enough to drive him back to her room to look for evidence and make certain the two crimes were never connected. And he'd done his job well, seeing as I was only now realizing the connection. Then the missing heiress had been found, and he no longer needed to look for the evidence of his involvement until we found Miss Talbot's body.

And he'd been in the kitchen when I'd asked about the riding habit. He would have had time to run upstairs and try to mend it. And he was the only one in the kitchen who would have done such a poor job of it that it was noticeable. It even explained why he had come back as a footman, not stable help; Ralph and Graham rarely came into the house past the kitchen, and even then it was only when Mrs. Hopkins or Moira was around. If he hoped to look for anything he might have missed after the crime, he would need to be inside the house.

And now that I thought of it, Simon had known too much all along. He'd run straight to the culvert when we'd arrived at the scene while Ralph and Graham had gone with me to see Mrs. Hopkins and had needed to ask where exactly the body had been found. Mrs. Hopkins had told me the name of the road, so that was what I had told everyone else. And that the victim was a woman, he'd known that at once as well, and while there were only two choices, everyone else had waited until it was confirmed to choose their pronouns. Simon had known who we'd found. That was why he'd been so eager to help. He'd wanted to see if there was anything damaging to him at the scene.

I was still staring at the space, still trying to think of what to do, when I became aware of something else. Smoke, and not from a fire downstairs. Something was burning nearby. I turned at once to my candle, but I had put it down far from anything combustible and it was burning nothing more than its wick. So where was the smell coming from? I stood up and looked around the room. Nothing there seemed to be burning, but the smell of smoke was more distinct. And it was smoke, not the whiff of tobacco I had sometimes caught in the corners of the library. It seemed to be coming from the wall behind the wardrobe. The wall I had fancied I'd heard sounds coming from the last time I'd been in the room. And most of the maids didn't live in at Gorsewall Manor. Why would they be in the hallway so late at night? They wouldn't.

I followed the smell of smoke to the wall with the wardrobe and felt along it, looking for an entrance, but I had already searched that wall. And then it struck me; walls have two sides. It would be almost as convenient to have a passage in the room next to Miss Talbot's as one in her room. I grabbed my candle and hurried out into the hall.

I tried my key in the room next door. It fit. I went in and directly to the wall that was shared with Miss Talbot's room, looking carefully along the floorboards, in the corners, anywhere there might be a seam, until I saw the curls of smoke oozing out from the edges of the mirror. I began to push and tug along every bit of the edge until I got my fingers into a grove that pulled the mirror away from the wall and the hidden door along with it.

As soon as the door was open, a plume of smoke enveloped me. I could see the space behind the mirror was smaller than the servants' staircases, but there was a narrow staircase going down, and a small landing with a ledge built into the wall. It reminded me of a priest hole I'd seen as a child when we'd stayed at the country home of some cousin or another, only that one had not been on fire. It was obvious enough what had happened. The letters were burning in a metal bowl on the shelf, but the flames had leapt over the edge and caught the wooden shelf itself on fire.

A scrambling sound caused me to look towards the hidden staircase and I could see the shadow of a figure in footman's livery running down it. No help there then. I hurried back into the bedroom. Nothing so lucky as a pitcher of water. There had to be something useful to fight the fire.

I heard a door nearby open. "Thomas? Are you up here?"

I realized I'd pulled the door to the room closed behind me out of habit, and Julian would expect me to be searching Miss Talbot's room if I was here. He'd have no way of knowing I was in the room next door. "Fire!" I yelled as loud as I could and hoped he heard me. I grabbed the bedspread and ran into the small space. The fire was contained to the ledge and the wall behind it. If I could beat it out, the house would be all right. If it was a priest hole, it would have been constructed after the house and hopefully not part of the structure itself. I unfurled the blanket and began to beat at the flames, hoping to smother them.

If only I had been faster. I should have excused myself from the table at once and gone to check. Or kept my mouth shut. If I had remembered the servants, remembered that Simon would be there listening as he waited table, I could have gotten here before he did and gotten the letters, gotten the proof that it hadn't been Julian who killed Miss Talbot but her secret lover, Simon.

Then I saw it, one unburned square of folded paper. I reached for it before the flames could consume it. If we were lucky, there would be something in it to prove it was Simon. I shoved the letter in my pocket then began beating at the flames. There was a clatter of footsteps in the room behind me then another form was beside me, beating at the flames with what seemed to be a curtain. There was more yelling, but I was too intent on the flames to bother with the words, although I did recognize the voice as Julian's. And then there was water being thrown, not much, what seemed to be a pitcher from a bedroom, but it was enough to turn the fight, and between us, we were able to beat out the remaining flames. And then I was coughing unstoppably. An arm reached out and pulled me back. Only then did I realize I had been inside the hidden room, hovering on the edge of the staircase as I'd fought the flames.

I stepped back into the bedroom and almost collapsed against Julian. "It was Simon," I murmured.

"All right. We'll find him." Julian shifted so my back was resting against his chest and he was supporting me. He looked down and grabbed my hands. I winced as he touched the tender skin, and he moved his grip to my wrist. "Mrs. Hopkins, send for Dr. Barton."

"Lettie, get your brother to go. Come along, Mr. Brook. We need to get those hands in water."

I leaned against Julian and tried to think. Julian put his hands on my shoulders and marched me out of the room. Mrs. Hopkins seemed to think Julian had me well in hand and swept down towards the kitchens. Julian steered me after her until I was hit with another fit of coughing. Then he stopped at once and rubbed at my back, seeming unsure what to do. "I'll get you some water."

I shook my head and raised a hand to stop him, only to wince as the burned skin brushed against his coat.

"Your poor hands. We have to get you downstairs. The room wasn't worth that."

"The letter was," I said as soon as I had stopped coughing.

"You got one?"

I moved to pull it out only to wince again as my hand brushed my own coat. "It's in my pocket."

"We'll look at it when we get downstairs. Come along. Mrs. Hopkins said you need to soak those, and I would think she would know."

"Simon?" I asked as he guided me down the staircase.

"The staff is watching out for him. He's the only one who didn't come when the alarm was raised. I sent Ralph and Graham to check the library as you seem to have heard him in there, and Connelly to gather a few more and check the cellars as that seemed logical."

I nodded. "How did you know to come for me?"

"You weren't there when I got back to the study. I thought you got tired of waiting and went to your room, then I realized you must have thought of something at dinner. You had said 'roses' so I thought it must have to do with Miss Talbot, and her room seemed the logical place to look for you. Thank God I did."

"And how did you get help so fast?"

"The bell pull. I rang it as I was getting the curtain to fight the fire. Whoever answered it raised the alarm."

The bell pull. I should have thought of that myself, but if I had hesitated, I might not have managed to save the letter.

Julian steered me down to the kitchen, stopping whenever I started coughing to let me rest and catch my breath. Most of the live-in staff seemed to be there, with Ralph and Graham congratulating each other over what looked like mugs of Julian's good ale. "Got him, my lord," Ralph said as we entered.

"Good work, Ralph," Julian said although his attention still seemed to be on me.

Mrs. Hopkins guided us over to the table, where she already had a basin of water waiting for us. Julian didn't say anything as he steered me to the chair and plunged my hands into the bowl. The cool water did feel good. I wanted to ask quite a few questions, but Mrs. Hopkins shushed me every time I tried to and added more water to the basin. Dr. Barton arrived quickly and out of breath with Eddie Welcher just behind him. "Fast enough?" Eddie panted.

Mrs. Hopkins pushed a tray of blackberry crumble towards him as she led Dr. Barton over, which Eddie seemed to take as a sign of a job well done. I could hear Moira making tea as Dr. Barton sat across from me. "We seem to meet in the most appalling circumstances, Mr. Brook, but then that is common in my line of work."

While Dr. Barton treated my burned hands and Mrs. Hopkins fussed over me, Julian explained what I had barely noticed while I'd been in the small room. "I was looking for you upstairs when I heard you yell 'fire' and rushed next door. I rang the bell pull to summon help and tore down one of the curtains."

"And confused we were down here," Moira said from the stove where she was heating more water for tea. "I went up expecting to find rats chewing the bell-cord, and there were you two beating out flames."

"Moira had the good sense to get the water that had been put out in our rooms and yell out the window to the stables for help."

"Good thing she has a good pair of lungs on her," Ralph added. "We all heard and came running."

Julian hadn't moved from my side. "When she brought the water, I told her that whoever set the fire was escaping either through the scullery or the library."

"So I ran down and met everyone else coming up, and Ralph went to watch the scullery and Graham to the library. And as Simon was the only one who wasn't coming, we knew it must be him."

Graham took up the story, "And I heard the sound in the walls there, but no one came, so I ran down to the scullery, and Lettie was there filling buckets, and she told us she'd heard the noises on the outside wall, so we ran out to see if the passage let out somewhere outside."

"I was going to yell if he came out of the scullery," Lettie added.

"And there he was crawling out of the coal shoot."

"Where's Simon now?" I asked to keep my mind off of whatever Dr. Barton was doing to my hands.

Graham answered. "Tied up and locked in a storeroom in the stables. Took everything out that he could use to cut himself free and stripped him to his drawers so he won't have anything to start another fire."

"My idea," Lettie added. "Although I would have taken the drawers."

Dr. Barton was binding my hands, and the worst seemed to be over. "You'll need to rest, and I'll come by in the afternoon and have a look at them. Has someone sent for Sir Isaac to take Simon into custody?"

Julian sighed. "I didn't think of that. We'll do it in the morning."

"We can watch him tonight," Ralph said and gave Graham a look that told me they were hoping he would try to escape so they would have the excuse to recapture him.

"I'll ride over in the morning if you like. Rest, Mr. Brook, and if there's any sign of fever, summon me at once."

Julian thanked Dr. Barton as he showed him to the door. Eddie went with him to help Dr. Barton with his horse. Graham and Ralph followed them out to keep watch on Simon's prison.

Julian came over to my chair. "Let's get you upstairs."

Mrs. Hopkins collected up the salve and spare bandages Dr. Barton had left while Moira got the basin. They both followed us upstairs.

"I'd like to have a look at the room, see if there's anything..."

Julian nodded and led the way back to the scene of the fire.

Mr. Connelly was there, bracing the hidden door open and generally securing the site. "I thought Sir Isaac would want to see it, my lord."

"That was good thinking, Connelly. Mr. Brook wanted to see it as well."

I realized I'd barely seen Mr. Connelly since he'd returned from his sister's wedding, but he nodded quietly in my direction and stepped back.

I stared at the smoldering remains of the shelf. I could feel the servants crowding in for a better look.

"What was it?" Moira asked.

"Miss Talbot's letters from Simon," Julian answered for me.

"So they've all burned up then?" Mrs. Hopkins asked.

I tried to sound more hopeful than I felt. "It doesn't matter. I saw them. I can still testify to their existence." And I still had the one letter.

"And he did set the fire and run," Julian said. "That seems clear evidence of guilt."

Of course, only I had seen that. And I would have to testify as to how I found the letter I'd managed to save and how it fit into the other letters, if I wanted to keep Julian out of prison and make certain Miss Talbot had some sort of justice.

Julian squeezed my shoulder. "Come along. Dr. Barton said you're to rest. Connelly, good work securing the room. The entrance to the passage is through the coal shoot. Would you have Ralph secure that as well?"

"Of course, my lord."

Mrs. Hopkins and Moira brought their supplies to my room. Julian waited until they'd arranged it on the nightstand then said, "I'll see that he goes to bed. If you'd have someone wait until Connelly is finished, the rest of you can retire for the night."

"All right, my lord." Mrs. Hopkins didn't seem surprised by that, and I wondered if she suspected anything about my relationship with Julian.

Moira merely said, "Sleep well," and left.

When we were alone in my room, Julian helped me to undress, gently easing first my coat then my waistcoat and finally my shirt over my bandaged hands. "The letter I rescued is in the pocket," I told him.

Julian draped my coat over the nearest chair then helped me with my trousers, shoes, and stockings, then brought the basin of water over and gently sponged the soot from my face and body before slipping my nightshirt over my head and guiding my hands through the sleeves. Only then did he go to my coat and retrieve the letter and spread the piece of paper out on the nightstand beside me. It was cheap paper, with hurried handwriting. The sheet began in the middle of a sentence. "Is there a salutation?"

Julian turned the sheet over, but the back was blank. "Nothing. He did sign it, though." Julian pointed to the scribbled signature where I could make out just enough to see that it was indeed Simon's name written there.

I sighed. "It's a pity I didn't manage to get the whole letter."

"But it does have Simon's handwriting and Simon's signature. And we have the ribbon proving they were in Miss Talbot's room."

"And my testimony that it was found in the space. My testimony that I heard him in there and saw him run. It only works if I tell them everything I found out, which ties the letter to him and to the murder."

"Ralph and Graham saw him run out of the passage. That's proof he was trying to escape."

"It is, and it might even be proof he set the fire, but not of the murder. He could easily say the letters were about something else, something personal he didn't want revealed, an affair with some married woman in the area, something like that, and it was chance that he was burning them outside of Miss Talbot's old room. He could say he'd never entered the passage from that side and didn't know what room he was by. Or, if he was clever, he could say you told him to burn them there, so you could frame him for the old murder. How badly does Mr. Talbot want it to be you? And how much influence does he have with Sir Isaac? Without my testimony, there's no case against Simon."

Julian sat down on the edge of the bed. "You wouldn't need to."

I sighed. "I'm afraid it's the only way. If I had been quicker, had realized what it was I saw in the room that first night, maybe I could have found the rest of the letters, and then we would have something with both their names on it. Without that, my testimony is the only thing that connects the letters to Miss Talbot."

"That's not what I meant. You wouldn't have to testify. I know it's not what you want to hear as a practitioner of law, but hanging Simon won't bring her back."

I knew I ought to be outraged, but I was too tired to work up any emotion at all. "Are you saying you want to protect Simon?"

"No, I want to protect you."

I sighed and leaned against him. "Well, you can't. I'm an escaped prisoner. I witnessed the burning of evidence. And if we don't let everyone know Simon did it, put all the proof in front of the court and let them rule, the rumors about you doing her in won't stop. And I won't have you living under the shadow of those kinds of rumors."

"Mr. Talbot won't be here forever."

"But last time he was here, he had the town half-believing you killed her. They're taking pride in protecting you, but how long will that last?" I could see he was getting ready to present new arguments, so I cut him off before he could start. "What about if they find out about me? About us? Will they ignore that too? Will they be loyal enough to ignore both rumors, or will they start to wonder?" There was no other way, and eventually Julian would see that. I knew how to get him to stop arguing and forced myself to yawn.

Julian immediately became solicitous. "You need to rest. You saved the house tonight and caught a murderer. Lie down and rest. We'll finish this argument in the morning."

I didn't see that there was much to finish, but I lay back and allowed him to arrange my pillows and tuck me in, then he stretched out beside me. I rolled over so my head was resting against him and arranged my hands so they were as comfortable as they could be. Perhaps my return to London could be delayed until I'd healed. I hated to think what would become of my burned hands in prison.

# Chapter 15

I SLEPT WELL ONCE I MANAGED to fall asleep, until I was awakened, alone in my bed thankfully, by Eddie Welcher, who explained that Sir Isaac had come and Lord Elmsby had insisted I be allowed to sleep, but now Dr. Barton had arrived, and Mrs. Hopkins had thought I ought to see him. I insisted was feeling much better and thanked Eddie for getting me and accepted his offer to help me dress.

Dr. Barton was waiting for me in Mrs. Hopkin's sitting room off the kitchen. He unwrapped my hands and declared them much improved, then reapplied his salve to them and rewrapped them in such a way that I had some movement in my fingers. Enough to manage a bit of breakfast on my own. When I'd finished eating, Mrs. Hopkins cleared my plates and mentioned with a forced casualness that told me she was worried, "Sir Isaac was looking to speak with you, although his lordship said you shouldn't be disturbed."

And that might make him seem guilty. "He must want to hear my account of last night. I suppose I should get it over with."

Mrs. Hopkins nodded. "They're in the study."

"Then I'll go up and see him."

"Good luck."

"Thank you." She didn't know how badly I'd need it.

The whole way up to the study, I reminded myself that I was simply giving my account of what had happened leading up to Simon's capture. There was no reason for anyone to ask me anything about my own past. And perhaps the mere fact that I would testify would frighten Simon into confessing, and my testimony wouldn't be needed at all. And even it was, even if that was the only way to clear Julian, I wasn't being sent back to London just yet. I'd have a bit more time with Julian.

And then I was at the study door. I could hear voices inside, so I told myself it was only polite to wait until they were finished before I knocked and interrupted them. A few more minutes before I had to decide that I would put keeping Julian safe above staying out of prison. William would understand, I was sure of that. And Arthur.

Only it wasn't a few minutes. I had barely taken up a position near the door where I could hear the hum of voices when the hum stopped to be replaced with the sound of footsteps crossing the room, and then the door opened, and I watched Sir Isaac as he led Julian out. Lord Elmsby, I had to remember that. Not Julian. Not now.

It was much easier now that it was starting. I was resigned. I would go to London to testify against Simon, and surely someone would associate Thomas Brook with the escaped prisoner and that would be that. I couldn't drag Julian into that. I turned my attention to Sir Isaac. He was very much what I would have expected. Roughly my father's age, thin but going soft around the middle, grey hair styled so it looked as if he still had all of it. I was a bit surprised to see he wasn't wearing a wig in the fashion of his youth.

"You're certain that is how it should be, your lordship?" That was good. If the magistrate was being so polite, then Julian really was clear of the charges.

"Yes, I'm quite certain."

"You won't mind if I ask then."

"Not at all. He will be in complete agreement."

I realized they were talking about me. So Julian had gone ahead and told him my part in all of this. I had rather thought he might, that that had been the reason he hadn't wanted to wake me. But I didn't see how that would help me. Sir Isaac wasn't the problem; it was word of it getting back to London. I straightened my shoulders, ready to agree to whatever was needed to keep Julian--I meant Lord Elmsby--out of prison.

"His lordship says you would prefer not to testify but would rather allow me to present the evidence to the court."

A way to avoid testifying. It didn't make any sense, but I nodded at once. "Yes, if that's possible."

"You realize I would need to make it seem that I had found most of the information."

That was far and away the least of my worries. "Take full credit for it if you like."

"It's most unusual."

"We'd best tell him all," Julian said.

I nodded although I had no desire to tell Sir Isaac Wynn about my doings in London, and certainly didn't trust him to keep it a secret.

Julian went on as if it had been his intention all along. "You see, Mr. Brook was set upon by highwaymen on the journey here and then got into a bit of trouble of his own. The old schoolboy trick of jumping rides on stagecoaches. He thought it would be an easy way to finish his journey."

"And he was caught at it." Sir Isaac gave a hearty laugh, and I immediately understood him. He was the sort my father was friends with. The sort who thought going off to fight a war or climb a mountain would be a jolly adventure, although they would never do it themselves, and any son of theirs who returned and said otherwise was a fool or weak. He would never believe the cold, wet, miserable part of my journey, preferring to think of it as an extended version of the games my brother and his friends had played. But it gave me the way to secure his assistance so long as I pretended that a lark was precisely what it had been.

Now that I understood Julian's plan, and it was a good one, I knew how to play my part. I managed a wry grin that I hoped made me look like someone upset to have been caught out but not at having done the deed. "And they weren't nearly as understanding as they were when I was a schoolboy. You can see why I wouldn't want such tales getting back to London, and if I were to testify, there would be the chance...."

"I see, yes, beneath the dignity of a solicitor. Have a hard time getting hired with that floating about."

"Exactly." Perhaps this was going to work. "Thank you for being so understanding."

"Not at all. We've all done things we wouldn't want getting back to London. And as his lordship saw this letter was part of the stash the prisoner was burning, I could always call on him to testify if it were necessary. And you know, this will make me look good if they think I sussed all this out. If you're quite certain you don't want the credit..."

"I couldn't risk having my former employers know I'd been jumping stagecoaches. They'd never give me another reference again." Not that they would give me one now, but he didn't need to know that.

"Then I'll keep your name out of it entirely. Yes, this will sound very good when they hear my part of it. If there's nothing else, your lordship, I'll go and arrange for someone to accompany the prisoner."

Julian made the proper farewells and offered to see Sir Isaac out, and I managed to respond when I was supposed to, but my mind was far away. I wasn't going back to London. No one would even mention my name there. Julian was safe and so was I. I went into the study and collapsed into an armchair, trying to take it all in.

Julian returned in a few minutes and sat on the arm of my chair. "He's gone. What did Dr. Barton say about your hands?"

I held them up so he could see the lighter bandaging. "They're better, and..." I realized I'd been so worried about what was happening with Sir Isaac that I'd barely heard Dr. Barton's diagnosis beyond that fact that I could manage silverware again.

Julian chuckled in a way that told me he knew exactly what my dilemma was. "I'll have him come back this afternoon for another look. He won't mind. Then you'll be able to give him your full attention."

I smiled at that and changed the subject. "What was it you were going to show me in the study last night? You were gone quite a while."

"Nothing important, not now. It was a letter Mr. Talbot sent to Sir Isaac to convince him of my guilt. It was quite--forceful in its accusations. I was hoping it would convince you to take my offer to send you somewhere until this all blew over. But now that we and Sir Isaac know what happened, it doesn't matter."

I nodded. I was touched that he had been so concerned about my welfare when he was about to be accused of murder and very glad I wouldn't have to run again, but I did notice something odd. "That was very fast for him to have sent a reply. Could he have gotten Sir Isaac's letter so quickly?"

"I doubt it. I mentioned that Sir Isaac might want to see the letter Mr. Talbot had received at the time and hopefully managed to imply that someone might be posing as Sir Isaac. That was the only way I could think of to get a look at it. Now that we know it was Simon, it should be easy enough to see if the writing matches or if anyone in town remembers him buying the stationery. The trick will be getting Sir Isaac to think it was his idea, not that it will be that hard. He's quite eager for any sort of glory."

"Then it's really over?"

"It's really over. Graham and Ralph went to get some help from the village then they'll bring Simon to the jail in Tyneridge, and we'll be out of it, unless I need to testify." I leaned against his shoulder. Julian put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. "You look like you need rest. I'm sure that's what Dr. Barton suggested. Come, I'll help you up to bed."

I had thought it was a friendly offer and was going to say I could manage on my own, until his hand slid down to my hip and I realized he had an interesting definition of rest. "If you think that's what I need, I suppose I could sleep."

"I believe I said rest, not sleep." He grinned, and we went up to my room.

{--*--}

Simon did indeed confess in the end. It was the letter to Sir Isaac that did it. He had tried to buy stationery that would look like Sir Isaac's, and it was such an unusual occurrence that it was remembered in Tyneridge. Sir Isaac became so incensed at the idea that a mere footman would dare impersonate him and convinced Simon had intended to rob him blind, that a terrified Simon confessed to buying the stationery, why he'd needed it, and finally the whole thing. He had never intended to marry Miss Talbot, only have a bit of fun with her as he put it. When she met him at their rendezvous spot with a new riding habit and her bag packed and a plan to run away to Scotland with him, he'd panicked and hit her, then strangled her when she threatened to go to Julian with the whole story. He'd hidden her in the culvert, grabbed her bags, and run as soon as he decently could. He had been shocked to learn that she had in fact been an heiress and he would have been rich had he gone with her to Scotland.

Julian did end up testifying, but I did not need to and was only mentioned in passing as a visitor from London who was there when the body was found. We told the staff the same story we'd told Sir Isaac, that I didn't want my exploits to get back to London. Some believed, some didn't, all of them kept me more or less out of their accounts of finding the body. Ralph heard from his friends in Sir Isaac's stables that Mr. Talbot had arrived fully expecting to sweep in and see Julian arrested, only to find that he had to settle for a footman. He'd been so upset he nearly went back to Manchester without waiting for the funeral. Needless to say, he turned down Sir Isaac's invitation for him to stay at Gorsewall Manor and went to the Red Stag in Gorsebrook instead, sending the bill to Julian. Julian was glad to pay it as it meant the end of the whole affair.

I spent a good bit of time wondering whether or not to write to Arthur and tell him about our drama. In the end, it seemed the sort of case that might get attention in London, and as I was sure he was looking out for any mention of Lord Elmsby now that he knew I was safe with Julian, it would be best for him to hear about it from me. So the day Dr. Barton declared my hands had healed well and I could now go about my day without bandages, I started on my letter, writing it as if it were from Julian in case it was intercepted and leaving out some of the more worrying bits like my burned hands. I was curled up in the chair in my room after dinner, having just finished what was now the fourth draft and was reading it over to see if I needed to make any changes so as not to worry Arthur needlessly when I heard Julian's soft tap on my door. "Enter," I whispered and put aside my letter.

Julian came in wearing only his nightshirt and holding a bottle of brandy and two glasses. "I thought we should celebrate the removal of your bandages." He'd been very careful of me while my hands had healed, too careful it had sometimes seemed when we lay together in bed.

"I'll bring the table closer to the fire." That would be a good test of how healed he thought I was if he'd allow me to move the small table we normally kept things like brandy bottles on.

Julian put the bottle and glasses down on the dresser. "The brandy's for later. I have much more enjoyable things to do first. Can you manage laces?"

That made me smile. "Yours or mine?"

"Both would seem best."

I crossed the room to him loosen the knot holding his nightshirt closed. "That seemed to work, but I ought to check."

"Best to be thorough," he agreed.

I caught the hem of his nightshirt and pulled it over his head.

"So laces are something you can manage. I'll remember that."

I slid my hands over his chest. There was no pain, no sensation but that of warm skin and hard muscle, so I continued, teasing his nipples and finally leaning in close to catch his lips in a kiss. I could feel Julian's arms wrap around me, pulling me close to him.

When I finally broke the kiss, Julian whispered, "We ought to see if you do as well with your own laces, and then get you into bed."

"I'm not the least bit tired," I said as I reached for the laces holding my nightshirt closed.

"Good," Julian said as he stretched out on the bed, allowing me to see every inch of his beautiful form. "Then we won't need to sleep."

That made me grin. I pulled my nightshirt over my head then climbed onto the bed beside him, where I was quickly wrapped in Julian's arms and held close. I slid my fingers over his skin, relishing the feeling that the bandages had blocked for what seemed an age. As I caressed Julian's cheek, I realized it was smooth. He'd shaved before coming to see me, no doubt to avoid having the prickly hairs brush against my newly healed hands. I wasn't sure how to acknowledge that quiet bit of care, so I pressed light kisses along his shoulder while I caressed his face.

Julian turned his head just enough to kiss my palm. "I love you," he whispered.

I paused my kisses long enough to murmur, "And I love you."

<>

After the Swan's Nest book 2: _The_ Earl of Klesamor Hall

After being arrested at a molly house and serving two years' hard labor, accounting clerk William Hamond knows work will be hard to come by, so when Lord Hartley offers him the position of secretary to his father, the reclusive Earl of Trenwych, he's eager to accept the position and devastated to discover that Lord Trenwych does not want or need a secretary. But he's been promised a salary as long as he stays six months, and Lord Trenwych seems content to have him do so. Then he witnesses an attempt on Lord Trenwych's life, an attempt that could objectively have been made by Lord Hartley, and William realized he has another reason to stay, to try to save Lord Trenwych.

For more information, go to

https://adellajharris.com/the-earl-of-klesamor-hall

# About the Author

Adella J. Harris lives in Ohio where she writes, watches far too much British television, and reads anything with words on it. You can find a complete list of her books at www.AdellaJHarris.com
