the inn. Beside him Nicholas did the same. A groom took both of their horses to be rested, watered, and fed.
“I’m glad we rode,” Nicholas said while they entered the coaching inn. “It has been both faster and more leisurely, since we make these stops. I think at this one some food is in order.”
Chase was hungry too, and he accompanied Nicholas into the large public room. A busy crowd filled the inn, with the tables occupied by the people traveling in the stagecoach having its horses changed in the yard.
Nicholas led the way over to a counter where the publican dispensed beer. “They should leave soon.”
“I don’t mind standing a while.” A couple of hours on a horse and his body begged for some stretching.
They bought pints and lounged against the counter while they watched the quick movements and quicker eating of the patrons.
“I called at the Home Office,” Nicholas said. “I asked Peel what theories were being considered about Uncle’s fall. I received much attention and deference, but no information. Perhaps they are not looking into it at all.”
“While we are at Melton Park I will take a better look at that parapet. My examination after the funeral was necessarily quick and cursory, but perhaps more can be determined.”
“You do that, but—he went up there regularly. He probably knew every stone and slate tile. Even if he tripped, going over that wall would take some doing.”
Those were Chase’s thoughts too. It was one small step after that to debating who had done it. To avoid that conversation he shifted his stance a bit away from Nicholas and watched the stagecoach party collecting themselves to leave.
One passenger caught his eye. A pretty girl with very light brown hair, she wore a blue muslin dress and a darker blue bonnet. Something about her looked familiar, but he could not place her. Her companion wore all gray and her back was to him. While he watched, the companion reached over to slide her reticule on her arm and her hand came into view. It was an especially lovely hand.
They filed out with the others to retake their spots in the stagecoach. Chase leaned toward the publican. “Where is that coach going?”
“Brighton. There’s two of them stop here every day.”
Nicholas pushed away to claim one of the tables that the coaching party had used. Chase joined him, wondering why Minerva Hepplewhite was traveling to Brighton.
* * *
“Do not be worried. You can do this. If in your mind you become a young woman of some substance, that is exactly who you will be. It will be just like in my garden.” Minerva gave the instructions to Elise while they strolled down the lane in Brighton. They passed fine shops as befitted neighbors of the shop that sold Mr. Oliver’s wares. They had just visited that establishment to confirm that those lace cuffs and collars resided there.
Now they advanced on the other shop reported to have the same merchandise. The one that should not have it.
An obvious change occurred when they made their way through a small crossroad. The shops became smaller. The goods offered appeared less luxurious. Minerva doubted the ton, when visiting Brighton, passed the crossroad when shopping.
Mrs. Oliver had provided the name of the other shop, and they found it easily. The window displayed some nice linen and ribbons, but no cuffs. She and Elise entered.
The owner, Mr. Seymour, stood behind the counter showing a patron a box of silk braids. Minerva browsed the wares and squinted at the shelves behind Mr. Seymour. No cuffs.
“They are not on display,” she murmured to Katherine. “He may have had cause to tuck them away. Let us find out. Pout and look disappointed.”
As soon as the other patron left, Mr. Seymour turned his attention to them.
“It appears your friend was wrong,” Minerva said to Elise. “I did not think we would find such as that here.”
“She was most specific,” Elise said.
“Well, she was wrong.”
“Can I be of service in some way?” Mr. Seymour nipped out from behind the counter.
“My friend Mary said that you had lace cuffs here, beautiful ones,” Elise said. “Are they in a drawer, perhaps?”
“I regret they are not.” Mr. Seymour beamed while he gave the bad news. “They were all purchased. The last sold three days ago. There was a line waiting to buy them. Some very fine ladies availed themselves of my stock in order to obtain them, so even some of my usual patrons were disappointed.”