Fred scowled. “Must we speak of him? This is meant to be a merry party.”
Mrs. Beresford affected not to hear him. “I believe the viscount must have visited the region sometime or other,” she said. “Perhaps he used an assumed name? Young gentlemen will have their pranks. To be sure, his father indulged in many such amusements when he was a young man. And blood will tell, they always say. Like father, like son.”
“An assumed name?” Mr. Applewhite appeared utterly perplexed by this line of inquiry. He turned to Maggie. “Who did you say this fellow was again?”
“It’s not important. Quite the opposite.” She set aside her needlework. “It’s late, Vicar. Shall I call for your carriage?”
Mr. Applewhite gave her a look of relief. “Yes, thank you, Miss Honeywell. You are very good.”
Maggie rang for a footman. And when, a short time later, the same footman returned to announce that Mr. Applewhite’s carriage was ready, she insisted on accompanying the aged vicar out herself.
“I’m obliged to you, Miss Honeywell,” he said as they descended the curving staircase and passed through the entry hall. “Such hospitality. You’re to be commended for the fine meal. And the wine—from your father’s cellar, I collect. A splendid vintage. I haven’t tasted—”
“Mr. Applewhite,” Maggie interrupted. “There’s something particular I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Eh?”
A footman opened the front doors for them, and Maggie and the old vicar passed out onto the wide stone steps. The night was cool, the evening sky dusted with stars. An old carriage pulled by two equally old chestnuts awaited the vicar in the drive.
There was little privacy to be had. Only the space of seconds between the top of the front steps and the bottom. Maggie took full advantage of them. “Have you ever encountered a clergyman in the district by the name of Father Tuck?”
“Who’s that?”
“Father Tuck. It would have been some thirty years ago, I suspect.”
“Don’t know of a Father Tuck.” Mr. Applewhite’s brow creased. “I’ve heard of a Friar Tuck, of course.”
She frowned. “Quite. But this man wasn’t a character in Robin Hood.”
“Certainly not. Though I daresay that’s why he was called such. Expelled from his order, I believe it was. Never met him myself but heard the tales, a long time past. Something to do with that hedge tavern in Market Barrow.”
“Market Barrow!” Maggie’s pulse skipped.
“Love of drink is at the heart of many of the world’s sorrows, Miss Honeywell,” Mr. Applewhite said. “I won’t say a man can’t enjoy it, but one mustn’t ever become a slave to the grape.”
At that, they reached the bottom of the steps. Maggie stood, unmoving, as a waiting footman helped the vicar into his carriage and shut the door after him. She raised her hand in a gesture of farewell. But her mind wasn’t on Mr. Applewhite’s departure. It was on Market Barrow. On Friar Tuck and Jenny Seaton.
It was on Gentleman Jim.
She was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn’t notice Fred coming down the steps to join her. She started in surprise when he appeared at her side. “Good lord, you gave me a fright.”
He was dressed in an evening ensemble, his coat tight across his shoulders and his silk neckcloth as lavishly arranged as ever. He’d long ceased wearing his sling. “I came to escort you back to the house.”
“That was unnecessary.”
“On the contrary.” He took her elbow. “You’ve been overexerting yourself.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “By walking the vicar to his carriage? Hardly.”
Fred kept pace alongside her, up the stone steps and back through the marble entry hall. “I’m not talking about the vicar. I’m talking about your visit to Entwhistle yesterday. A visit you made when you were supposed to be confined to your room with a megrim.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “Who told you I’d been to see him?”
“His housekeeper, Mrs. Square, came to tea with our Mrs. Wilkins this afternoon. Their conversation was overheard.”
Our Mrs. Wilkins. As if the housekeeper at Beasley Park already belonged to him. Or, even worse, to the both of them. As if they were already a married couple.
“Overheard by whom?” she asked.
“Beresford’s valet. A canny fellow. He keeps his ears open.”
“I’ll bet he does,” Maggie said acidly.
“And a good thing, too,” Fred went on in the same officious tone. “I don’t like you walking off alone in your condition. If you wanted to go over estate matters, you should have told me. I’d have accompanied you in the