Chapter 20
Over the following days, perhaps to distract herself from her indiscretion, Lucy continued to ponder what might have happened to the missing driver.
It was one thing to ridicule the story of a ghost horse, but thus far no other outcome had proved itself either.
George’s theory seemed less and less likely as the days went by, with neither driver nor brandy resurfacing.
George himself admitted this and now wondered if the man had got drunk and stumbled into Longburn Mire.
There was talk of a search, but the roads were long, the mire itself impassable, and while there was concern for the fate of the driver, the case of brandy – expensive as it was – seemed a poor use of manpower.
Lucy, however, had a different perspective.
If the driver had absconded, he would likely have taken the cart with him.
He could have changed vehicles, but there was little to be gained by leaving the horse and the cart to be discovered the next day.
Travelling on foot was out of the question, as the case would have taken at least two men to carry, and even then it would have been slow and heavy work.
Foul play was the most likely option. While coincidence was certainly possible, Lucy could not dismiss the fact that the robbery occurred on a night where several expert coachmen were assembled in the district.
Lord Rathbone seemed the least likely culprit.
He seemed too honourable to engage in villainy, too wealthy to bother with such petty spoils and too stern for it to be some kind of prank at Sir Walter St Martin’s expense.
The other suspects all seemed much more probable.
The coastal party, having had their coach ruined, might have taken out their frustrations on a driver later that night. If they were longshoremen or transporters themselves, they would likely have recognised the value of rare brandy. It might therefore have been a crime of opportunity.
Though she had a respect for Torres and his team, she also knew little of them outside the Night Races.
That they might make a living through questionable means was entirely possible.
If she were to ever put together a group for the purpose of coach robbery then it would include the daring precision of Dante Torres, the owl eyes of Ulcha, and the craftsmanship of Hekili and Elsa Reinhardt.
If they set themselves to it they could pluck the cargo from a coach without the driver even knowing it.
And then there was Captain Dashwood. He was a talented driver, reckless at heart, but with more than a little cold steel in his manner and skeletons in his closet to match.
She had raced with him and danced with him, but there was much she did not know and much he clearly did not wish to be known.
She recalled her observations of the ball at Elsworth – Dashwood eyeing the room and endearing himself to his neighbours.
Was he gathering information on potential targets?
But why would he indulge in such a theft?
For the pure thrill of it? Or perhaps his gambling debts were not as settled as some believed.
If he was responsible, would it be a solo act?
This was the very train of thought she was following, sitting alone in the garden, when she was interrupted by her father.
‘My dear Lucy, there is a matter on which I desire your perspective.’
‘And is my perspective to be one of objective thought or subjective opinion?’
‘Both, as it happens. We have been invited to dinner at Elsworth Manor.’
‘By Captain Dashwood?’ she asked, surprised. The invitation itself was not out of the ordinary, but she had been assessing the possibility of him being a highwayman only moments earlier and the change in direction was jarring.
‘Indeed. I encountered him while doing some business about town. There has been discussion of the local regiment patrolling the night roads after a recent delivery went awry. An overreaction if you ask me, but the idea has been floated and Captain Dashwood has been asked for his input on it.’
‘Has he indeed?’ she asked.
‘Did you know he has a history with coaches?’
‘It … had come to my attention.’
‘Well, he was happy to give some thoughts, but he didn’t want to be dragged into local affairs.’
‘How curious,’ Lucy noted. ‘One would think as a man in uniform he would feel a responsibility to his home district, however temporary.’
‘I cannot disagree. However, I suppose he is not here in any official capacity and his consultation was a favour rather than an obligation.’
‘Yet how does this relate to a dinner invitation or my perspective?’
‘After he explained all this, he asked if we should like to attend a dinner. At first it seemed the invitation referred only to myself, but he clarified that it was also for your mother, Margaret and you.’
‘It is not uncommon for our family to visit friends and neighbours.’
‘No. But to visit the home of a bachelor, without the company of neighbours, might be seen as having certain connotations.’
‘And you are wondering about the propriety of this invitation?’
‘I am. Though I cannot pin down a solid reason, I must confess something about it seemed … askew.’
She nodded, her thoughts passing over possible ulterior motives. But if Captain Dashwood could have such motives, then she could too.
‘Well,’ she began, ‘you cannot think it odd that we might invite him to dine here?’
‘Not at all. He would be most welcome.’
‘Then those who sit at the table shall be the same either way.’
He laughed. ‘That is a fine way of putting it. But there is another aspect I feel must be addressed, one of a more personal nature.’
‘Which is?’
‘We are being asked to the home of a bachelor and I have two unmarried daughters. It is not unreasonable that the thought of a potential union should cross my mind. It has certainly crossed your mother’s.’
‘It is … not unreasonable to give thought to the prospect,’ she replied.
‘He did dance with you at the ball.’
‘He danced with a lady from every household. He showed no greater favour to me than any other that night.’
That night, she repeated in her head to assure herself she was not engaged in deception.
‘And you can think of no other exchange that might have hinted at this?’
‘I can assure you, Father’ – she considered her words precisely – ‘that I have never given the man words or actions that would lend themselves to my being considered for his wife.’
Unless he wants a wife with an encyclopaedic knowledge of coach mechanics, she supposed.
‘And Margaret?’
‘I cannot speak for her. Though to the best of my knowledge she has not exchanged one word with Captain Dashwood.’
‘Well then. It is possible that it is his intent to explore this possibility even if it has not yet been broached. I do not wish to throw you or Meg into an unwanted match, and my accepting this invitation stands on your deference.’
‘You are too good to us, Father. Many a parent would engage in relentless matchmaking had they daughters of our ages.’
‘Of your ages, perhaps, but not of your dispositions. You are both of you quite singular in your own ways.’
‘I am undecided as to Captain Dashwood. There seems to be both good and ill in him and I cannot weigh one greater than the other in my estimation. Yet I should in no way be opposed to a family visit.’
‘I am glad to hear it. If Margaret has no reservations, I shall send word at once that we shall attend at his convenience.’ With that, Mr Elliot left his daughter to her contemplation.
It appeared at first that fate had placed an opportunity in Lucy’s hands to better acquire the very information that was at the heart of her considerations.
Yet, she cautioned herself, there was an equal opportunity for reconnaissance on the part of Captain Dashwood – continuing, in a more intimate fashion, the observatory behaviour he had exhibited at the ball.
It remained to be seen to whose greater advantage the visit would be.