his wife numerous times and Maurice Mitchell during a visit the day before, he was being made to feel like a criminal, and he did not like it one little bit.
Here was this upstart reporter from London with his fashionable attire and his cultured English accent when he was very probably not even a gentleman, coming to question them about what was purely a criminal matter. He questioned them about rents and tithes and Poor Law taxes and road trusts and tolls. And all the time Sir Hector would swear that the man was siding with the damned rioters. Were the sharp rises in rents really necessary? What provision was made for a good tenant who could not pay his rent and had to forfeit his land? Why did tolls have to be collected from farmers who were about their business, hauling lime, for example?
The man in his ignorance did not realize that it was the carts with their loads of lime that were mainly responsible for breaking up the roads and necessitating more repairs. But Sir Hector had set him right on the matter fast enough.
It seemed that it was Rebecca who had brought the reporter to West Wales. He had had the gall to write and invite The Times to send someone to investigate. Crimes did not need investigation. They needed solving. The criminal needed to be caught and punished harshly enough to discourage anyone else from trying to follow in his footsteps. And yet this reporter would give no information at all about Rebecca. He would not even show the letter.
Sir Hector would wager that the man would arrange somehow to talk with Rebecca. Then he would be fed a parcel of lies and no doubt would believe them. Well, if Sir Hector got wind of it and if the reporter would still give no information, he would have the man arrested for something—for aiding and abetting a criminal, perhaps.
And if the reporter was to be believed, the government was seriously considering sending commissioners to West Wales to investigate the unrest and its causes. What was there to investigate? These were crimes that were being committed.
Sir Hector was in such a bad mood that he merely growled a greeting to Matthew Harley when the latter called quite early one morning and asked for a private word with him. He was shown into the study.
“Harley,” he said with a curt nod. “I suppose you have heard that the Penfro gate went again last night. Damned scoundrels with the gall to attack a gate they had already destroyed once. I’ll catch the pack of them if it is the last thing I do.”
“Sir.” Matthew Harley observed his usual respectful manner, yet even Sir Hector could see his eyes gleaming with suppressed emotion. “I know who Rebecca is.”
Sir Hector went very still.
“Rebecca and the Earl of Wyvern are one and the same person,” Harley said, triumph in his voice.
Sir Hector gaped for a moment, and then his jaws snapped shut. “Oh, nonsense, Harley,” he said. “Pure wishful thinking. You had me hopeful for a moment.”
“I saw it for myself, sir,” Harley said.
Sir Hector looked closely at him and then frowned. He stood before the fireplace, his hands clasped at his back, his feet braced apart. “Suppose you tell me exactly what you did see, Harley,” he said.
“I suspected it before,” the steward said. “When I looked for him one night to give me permission to take constables and pursue the rioters, he was not at home, yet none of the servants knew he had gone. And I saw him return alone on horseback very late the same night. But that was only suspicion and not even worth reporting. I waited for more definite evidence, sir.”
“And?” Sir Hector made impatient circling gestures with one hand. “Come, man, this is not a theatrical performance, though I can see you are relishing every word.”
“Last night,” Harley said, “I heard that Wyvern had left the house again and I lay in wait for his return up in the hills, from which direction he had come the other time. But this time I saw more. It was just before dawn, sir, and I had all but given up hope. And then I saw Rebecca.”
Sir Hector hissed in a breath.
“He was in full disguise,” Harley said. “He was escorting a woman home—that would account for the late hour. But after he had left her and ridden even closer to me, he peeled off the disguise, hid