Abandoned to the Prodigal - Mary Lancaster Page 0,84

be somewhere else, quite safe, watching who comes and what they do.”

She searched his eyes, her own brilliant with worry and extraordinarily beautiful. He couldn’t look away. “You will need a witness,” she declared. “I shall come with you.”

“Oh, no,” he said at once, for he had come prepared for such a suggestion. “I need you here to tell everyone where I’ve gone. And to take care of Gun, if you would be so good.”

She frowned, as though still suspecting she was being kept out of the way. Fortunately, she seemed to see it necessary, for at last, she sighed with resignation. “Then you will take Patrick? Or better still, young Pat? He can be added protection as well as a witness.”

He hesitated, unwilling either to lie or to take this beyond the family. “I’ll speak to Pat,” he said at last.

She nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do it. But, Dan?”

Halfway to the door once more, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Be careful,” she pleaded, and he was almost undone.

For the first time, he wondered if she actually loved him. Rather than simply being intrigued by a different kind of friendship with a taste of passion.

He managed to smile. “And you.”

*

In the end, he did speak to both Patrick and his son about the various members of his family now residing at the house. But they knew nothing of Colin or Hugh except his lordship’s derogatory comments. Old Patrick at least remembered their mothers as children. Jenny had been his favorite, but unexpectedly, he also harbored a soft spot for Tabetha.

“She looked after Miss Hetty,” he recalled. “Even when she didn’t need to. It revealed a kinder spirit than she often showed the world.”

It was interesting, but not terribly helpful, and when young Pat spoke of an appointment at some distant farm that morning, Dan gave up, with relief, any lingering obligation to confide in him or ask his help.

Instead, he left the father and son to their duties and remounted to ride toward the hamlet.

He had wondered whether or not to ride this morning, for the place he had in mind for his trickery was within easy walking distance of the house. But in the end, he took the horse, more as proof of his presence to leave standing around for any watcher to see. And the horse was Lord Myerly’s, not his own. No one would willingly harm it, which was not the case with poor old Gun.

It also meant he could move across the country more quickly, and he had time to call in at the tiny tavern.

“About your guest,” he said when he had returned the tavern keeper’s cheerful greeting, “Sergeant Owens.”

“What about him?” the man asked with a wary glance toward the narrow stairs.

“He had a visitor yesterday afternoon.”

“Young Susan, from the house.”

“Did they quarrel?”

“They walked outside. Didn’t seem to quarrel.”

“Really? Interesting. Did she go back to the house alone, or did he walk with her?”

“Must have gone alone, because he came back here without her after only a quarter of an hour or so.”

Boots thudded heavily on the steps, and the sergeant himself appeared, glowering. “What’s it to you?” he demanded.

“I was just wondering whether or not it was safe to tell you,” Dan said, already walking to the door. “Susan was taken very ill last night. She seems to be on the mend, but if her mother isn’t there already, she soon will be. The rest is up to you, but don’t make the servants—or my cousins—throw you out.”

With that, he left and made for the river. There, he spent some time examining the ground along the Myerly bank and working out what could be seen from where. When he had decided on the likeliest spot, he walked over the bridge to the Hornby woods until he found a branch of about the height, thickness, and strength he needed.

Armed with his stick, he returned to the Myerly side and his chosen spot, climbed down to the water’s edge, and rammed the stick into the mud. Then he placed his now thoroughly disreputable hat on top of it and climbed up the bank. From the top, it looked exactly what it was—a hat on top of a stick. But when he had walked a few yards back from the river, in the direction one would approach from the house, he could no longer see the stick, just the hat. Now, he hoped, it looked as if someone was sitting by the water’s edge,