Chapter 18
Any concern that Lucy held about the appearance of her sister diminished as they reached the outskirts of town.
Groups were talking with unusual enthusiasm, with serious expressions and sombre nods.
Lucy concluded that there had been definitive Talk.
Even if their incident on the way had somehow arrived before them, Margaret’s impromptu goat-wrangling would not have risen to the level of Talk.
Such an incident might be commented on in casual conversation, perhaps over breakfast or tea.
To rise to the level of Talk it had to be something spread actively, not passively.
Lucy’s deductive mind immediately went to work.
It was not likely to be a scandal. There was an openness in the conversation she saw, not the furtive giggles and tut-tuts that might accompany a sordid revelation.
Nor was it likely to be major political news from elsewhere.
How curious that she could hypothesise on the mood and interactions of a crowd but have such difficulty reading a conversation in an intimate setting.
She kept her observations to herself, confident the story would be revealed in time, and aware that it would be poor manners to ask.
Their first stop was the dress shop and tailor run by Mrs Calloway and Mr McDonald.
She was a spry Welshwoman, he a slow and precise Scotsman, each attending to the garment needs of their respective genders.
They both lived in the apartments above the store and their exact relationship had been the cause of considerable speculation on their arrival in town, and more than one sermon by the vicar.
Despite gossip and speculation, no further evidence could be pried from them.
Over time the novelty wore off and they became an accepted part of the landscape.
It was generally agreed upon that they bickered like a married couple and that was good enough.
‘Oh, Miss Elliot, whatever have you done to yourself?’ Mrs Calloway exclaimed as Margaret removed her shawl.
Lucy’s dishevelled sister then explained the incident with the goat in a casual manner Lucy felt she would have been quite incapable of herself.
‘Glad to see someone teach those Birkenshire animals a lesson,’ said Mrs Calloway. ‘They’re a menace, they are. Mr McDonald dropped off a pair of trousers there once and he was mobbed by chickens.’
‘I suspect we might have had better luck with chickens,’ Margaret mused.
‘Don’t be so sure. He said they were terrors. Now the good news is that the seams can all be patched up. I can do that now if you want. But those grass stains won’t be coming out. You’ll need a whole new panel to replace them.’
‘I think that shall have to wait for another day. But if you can do some repairs now, then I’m prepared to wait. Lucy, if you wish to go elsewhere, I shall not take offence.’
Lucy politely took her leave as Mrs Calloway continued her tale. ‘Pecked him, they did. Great stab in the side of his coat …’
Outside the store, Lucy looked up and down the street, considering where she might best attain the knowledge she knew was out there, when a tall figure emerged from the post office and she recognised the stern features of Oliver St Martin.
‘Miss Elliot,’ he greeted her.
‘Mr St Martin. How are you this day?’
‘I am quite well. Just sending some business correspondence to London. It is an odd thing to be witness to misfortune so close to home.’
‘Misfortune?’
‘Robbery, Miss Elliot.’
‘Robbery? At St Martins Hall?’
‘No. Our home was untouched. But a delivery destined for my father never arrived.’
‘What manner of delivery?’
‘Brandy. A whole case of the stuff. Some fancy brand, difficult to get these days with the war in Europe. Father was hoping to use it in his preserves, and recreationally of course. But the coach never arrived. No, that is an error – the coach arrived.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘The coach and horse were found by a farmer this morning by the roadside. No driver and no cargo. It could have wandered there from anywhere. George thinks the driver went and got drunk somewhere and lost the cart.’
‘You disagree?’
‘A trusted driver taking a whole case of expensive brandy? Nonsense. At worst he’d steal a shot for himself. Someone got to him in the early hours of the morning.’
‘He was travelling at night?’
‘Quicker road out of London, apparently. He was scheduled to arrive just before dawn but he never did.’
‘And now it’s the talk of the town.’
‘My father is not known for his subtlety. He came to town as soon as he discovered the cart had gone missing and he’s been talking to the magistrate for some time. I decided to go about other business.’
‘You are not overly concerned?’
‘It was a frivolous expense for a hobby I do not share. While it is a concern there may be highwaymen in the district, there is little you or I can do about it – unless you are aware of any unsavoury characters that frequent the roads at night.’
Lucy smiled and hoped desperately that her expression did not give away her discomfort. ‘What other errands do you have?’ she asked. ‘I’m free to roam if you wish for company.’
‘Thank you, Miss Elliot. My next port of call is’ – he checked a list – ‘to collect a pair of trousers from the tailor’s.’
‘Might I suggest postponing that briefly?’
‘For what reason?’
‘My sister is currently there having her dress repaired. While she should not admit to embarrassment, I dare say she should feel it.’
‘Then I shall delay that visit until later. Shall we peruse the carts? Perhaps we can discover a rare pepper to lift my father’s mood?’
The market stalls offered some distraction, and Oliver St Martin offered good company, but the path of her thoughts led repeatedly back to the possibility of foul play on the very roads she’d sped along the night before.