Amanda Scott (46 page)

Gwenyth didn’t think for a moment that Ned referred to the Almighty, although from his point of view, it might well, as she knew, amount to the same thing. She grinned at Joey. “He’ll take excellent care of me.” Then she nearly ruined it by adding, “We’re only riding along the river path, after all.”

Joey’s face fell, but he recovered quickly. “There be bad men on the river,” he said stoutly. “Me dad said so. But I’ll look atter you, I will.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said.

They rode in silence until they reached the grassy path along the river. Then Gwenyth said, “What sort of bad men did you mean back there, Joey?”

He slanted her a look without turning his head. “Just men,” he muttered. “Me dad said.”

Realizing that more direct methods were called for, she said bluntly, “I know that Silas Ferguson was your uncle. Do you think someone killed him?”

He turned his head and looked straight at her, replying with equal bluntness, “Aye, they did.”

“But his death might just as well have been an accident,” she pointed out.

“Warn’t,” he retorted, turning his gaze back to the path. “Uncle Silas died o’ a clout on the ’ead. Me dad said so. Said it come o’ talkin’ out o’ turn and that a body mustn’t.” He looked stricken for a moment, then glanced guiltily at Gwenyth. “I oughtn’t ter talk neither, I reckon.”

“Well, if you are afraid to do so,” she replied thoughtfully, “then of course you must not. But I am only a woman, you know, not a villain. And furthermore, I will engage to say nothing to anyone of what you tell me. It is a trifle worrisome, you know, thinking there might be murderers about.”

“I ain’t afraid,” Joey said, straightening in his saddle. “Nor ter talk and not o’ them. “They’ll be looking fer yon treasure, like or not.”

“Treasure! My goodness, what treasure?”

“Uncle Silas said there be a treasure hid. That was afore he was kilt, o’ course. Said it were as good as the ’Oly Grail, whatever that be. Uncle could read, so like as not ’e found it in a book. O’ course, others might already ’ave found it—the treasure, I mean. Me dad did say as ’ow someone opened the lock the night Uncle Silas were clouted.”

“How could he know that? Did the lockkeeper tell him?”

“No, Nat Philps were fit ter bust, ’e were, ’cause they didn’t get ’is paddles back in straight. Two of ’is new ones got split on account o’ not bein’ fit proper against yon sill.”

“Can anyone open a lock, then?”

“Aye, but they be s’posed ter put it back proper.”

“I see. Tell me what your uncle said about the treasure, Joey. What kind of treasure is it?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know no more ’bout it. Uncle Silas said ’e seen what ’e seen. Me, I think it musta been near the river somewheres, ’cause ’e took a boat the night afore ’e died ter visit a lady ’e knowed ’cross the river. Come back late then, ’e did. I looked, though,” the boy added, frowning. “Couldn’t find nothing. Even looked under the ruins—there be some old monks’ cells there—and in them storage sheds in the garden and by the lock. Warn’t nothin’ nowheres ’cept some great piles o’ barley husks and such like muck in the cells.”

A chill raced up and down her spine as she realized he had been snooping into the same sort of thing that had probably got his uncle killed. There was no doubt in her mind that Silas Ferguson had been murdered. “Joey,” she said gently, “you must promise me you won’t talk to anyone else about any of this. ’Tis best if you don’t mention the treasure or even your uncle.”

“That’s what me dad said,” the boy replied, furrowing his brow. “Said ’e’d skelp me an I did.” He looked at her, taking her measure yet again. “You won’t tell, will you? Don’t need another skelpin’ yet a while, if’n it’s all the same ter you.”

She grinned at him. “I won’t tell.”

He nodded, and they fell silent for a time, until they reached the backwater. Then, thinking he might prove to be an acceptable lookout for her swimming, Gwenyth set him to watching the lock for her, making certain he understood the importance of watching carefully before she guided Prince Joseph to the shady place she and Pamela had visited before.

It was lonely there, and quiet. She had not noticed before how quiet. Even the river noises were muffled. Then, a moment later, a single swan glided past, and soon afterward the noises of the woods began again, giving her to understand that her own presence had silenced them. Even so, her desire to swim had vanished. She felt vulnerable, and she realized she would have difficulty getting in and out of her habit without help and that she didn’t really trust Joey to keep his eyes on the river. Sooner or later he was likely to get bored and come to see what was keeping her. Thus, she removed only her boots and stockings to paddle her feet in the cool water, but even that was refreshing. A half-hour later, pulling on her boots again and leading Prince Joseph, she went to find the boy.

They spoke little on the way back, Joey merely pointing out the wiry figure of Nat Philps for her as they passed the lock and, a few moments later, pointing to his father in a gang of men across the river by the capstan.

“He be the biggest,” the boy said proudly.

“I see him,” Gwenyth said. She had seen someone else as well. “His lordship is coming, Joey. See, there, on the path ahead near the bend.”

“Aye.” The boy glanced uncertainly at her, and she realized that he thought Lyford might disapprove of his absence from the stable and had doubts of her ability to protect him against the earl’s possible displeasure.

Lyford was indeed frowning when they joined him, but he said no more than, “I will attend her ladyship now, Joey. You ride on ahead and help Ned and the others with the feed-bags.”

With visible relief, the boy urged his mount to a canter and soon left them behind.

Gwenyth said calmly, “He serves as my groom, sir. You ought not to have dismissed him so cavalierly.”

Giving her a straight look, he said, “He is not only not your groom, but he cannot provide sufficient protection for you either while you ride or while you swim. Indeed, if you should dare to tell me that you did swim with only that brat for company, I shall have a good deal more to say to you than you will like to hear.”

She returned look for look. “Indeed, sir? You have not that right, I believe.”

“You would be wiser not to put me to the test, Lady Gwenyth.” The stern look on his face as he said the words was similar to one she had seen on Tallyn’s face more than once. Biting her tongue, she decided not to press the issue.

He was riding on her left, and just then the two horses moved nearer one another and Gwenyth’s skirt brushed against his leg. He took a firmer grip of the stallion’s rein and widened the distance again, but the touch had made her singularly conscious of the fact that she was alone with him. She saw a tightness in his jaw that she had not noted before and wondered if he had worried about her safety.

When she still had not spoken a moment later, he said, “Well, must I ask?”

“Ask?” She looked at him, puzzled, but only briefly. “I didn’t swim, sir. I thought about it but decided … that is, I was afraid that …” She blushed, not wanting to tell him she had feared that the boy would watch her. “Well, I didn’t, that’s all.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Joey has a stronger sense of integrity than one might think. I doubt that he would invade your privacy if you made it clear to him that you trusted him not to do so. However,” he added, serious again, “when I asked you not to swim alone, I meant that you should take an adult with you, not a child, and not only a groom to watch for the flash but a woman as well, to sit nearby. You could drown before your lookout ever realized you were in trouble.”

“I swim well, Lyford,” she said.

“There are weeds and the current to reckon with,” he retorted. “We won’t argue about it.”

She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “No,” she said, “we won’t. I trust you won’t blame Joey or Ben for any of this. It was entirely my fault. I fled your grandmama’s drawing room out of boredom and decided I wanted company on my ride.”

“Yes, Ben explained that much to me,” he replied, looking straight ahead.

“Oh, dear,” she said, conscience-stricken. “You were angry with him. I hope you were not too harsh, sir.”

His lips pressed together for a brief moment before he said abruptly, “What did you want to talk to the boy about?”

Gwenyth’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked away, unable to think what to say to him. Not for a moment did she believe he would think kindly of her attempt to learn more about Silas Ferguson’s death. “I … I merely wanted to talk, sir, about various matters—the river, Berkshire, the chalk, scufflehunters …” She glanced at him, only to look quickly away again when she found him regarding her more sternly than ever.

“I expected honesty from you at least, Gwen,” he said, very gently indeed.

Flushing, she forced herself to look at him again. “I beg your pardon, sir. That was uncommonly cowardly of me, I know, but I am persuaded you won’t like the truth.”

“No doubt you are right,” he replied, “but suppose you tell me anyway.”

With a sigh she said bluntly, “You told me that Silas Ferguson was Joey’s uncle. I wanted to know more about him, that’s all, about his death.”

“I thought that might be it.” He sounded grim rather than satisfied, however, and she knew he was displeased, but there was nothing she could say in her own defense, so she remained silent. After a long moment he said, “Do you fancy yourself in the role of first female Bow Street Runner, Lady Gwenyth? If you mean to play the part seriously, you must order yourself a small black occurrence book to carry in your reticule.”

She wasn’t certain whether he had meant to hurt her or not, nor could she have explained why the lump rose in her throat, making it hard for her to swallow. She did know, however, that a scolding would have been easier to bear than his gentle mockery. Glancing at him again, she saw that he was watching her closely, measuringly, as though he would guess how his words had affected her. The look stirred her temper, making her eyes flash.

“You need not mock me, sir. I have seen little by way of extraordinary investigation into the matter of Mr. Ferguson’s death, although more than one person has suggested foul play. I am a guest here, as is my aunt. I believe I have every right to question whether we are safe in your house.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, “but you would have done better to question me, you know, rather than Joey. I should then have assured you that I have the matter well in hand, that there is no cause for you or Lady Cadogan to be alarmed.”

“Would you have admitted that Mr. Ferguson was most likely murdered?” she asked. “Or would you have insisted, as Mr. Hawtrey did, that his death was an accident? As I recall, when the subject arose before, you allowed Mr. Hawtrey’s comments to pass unchallenged.”

He did not answer immediately, again surprising her, for she had been certain he would tell her it was no concern of hers, that she ought to trust him to protect her. It was what her brother would have said in a like circumstance.

“I don’t know what I would have told you,” he said at last. “I suppose much would have depended upon what, precisely, you happened to ask me.”

“Was he murdered?”

“Yes, I’m nearly certain of it, but I should prefer that that information not be bruited about as a proven fact.”

“Is there a treasure?”

His eyebrows rose. “Young Joey has been busy.”

“Well, is there?”

He shook his head, but more in resignation than as a negative response. “I shouldn’t suppose there is anything hereabouts that would count as a real treasure. It is my belief that Ferguson discovered something, but I don’t know what it could possibly have been. Perhaps he then made certain unwise demands in the wrong quarter.”

“Money for silence about what he had found?”

“It would not be the first time a man was killed for such a reason,” he said. Then, looking directly at her, he said harshly, “Look here, my girl, you keep out of all this.”

“And if I don’t?” She returned his look, challenging him.

He groaned. “Why hasn’t your brother married you off to a strict, overbearing husband who could keep you out of mischief? Tell me that, for I should like very much to know.”

She pretended to consider the matter. “I do not think I should like one who was overbearing, you know. In fact, I am persuaded that I shouldn’t like having one at all.” When she saw the surprise in his face, she said with a smile, “Tallyn doesn’t force me, sir. That is the one great advantage to have come out of his years in America, that he does not constrain me, or indeed any of us, to march to his piping. Oh, he was strict when I was young, and still can be so if one of us behaves badly, for he takes his duties as head of the family seriously. But when I told him I had no wish to marry, that was the end of it.”

His surprise was clearer than ever now. They had reached the abbey, but he made no move to turn from the river path, and she could not take the lead while he rode where he did. Realizing that she had no wish to end this particular conversation anyway, she held her peace, allowing him to guide her past the front gardens to the tree-shaded riverbank beyond.

Finally, watching her closely, he said, “You truly have no wish to marry? Ever?”

She shrugged. “I cannot imagine why any female of sense would wish to do so, unless of course, like your grandmama, she requires financial support.”

“My grandmother,” he said grimly, “has no such need while she remains beneath my roof.”

Seeing that she had offended him, she was quick to apologize. “I was not criticizing you or your grandmama, sir. Truly, I was not. But you must see that while you control the purse strings—as indeed you do, for she cannot live as she is accustomed to living without your leave to do so—she lives under your thumb. Auntie Wynne has a great deal more independence.”

“Your aunt is no spendthrift.”

“Do you think not? You ought to see her during the Season, my lord, before you make such a judgment. The point is, however, that she has control over her own life and fortune. I do not, and your grandmama does not, though she would have had it, had your grandfather done properly by her and not wasted her fortune on himself. A woman must be married and her husband must die before she has any right to look after herself. Then she can live well only if she has been provided for in his will or if he has left her dower money untouched. And men, in my experience, rarely concern themselves with their wives’ needs. There, that is plain speaking indeed, but you provoked it.”