Chapter 48
‘I am afraid, Miss Margaret, that you Elliot women have developed a habit of ruining dresses. I have sewed up the hems, but it shall never match the standard of a lady at a ball.’
‘That is quite well, Mrs Calloway. I have no desire to wear it again. I’m sure you will find another to appreciate it.’
‘I quite understand that you should not want to wear something that would remind you of such a foul turn of events. How fortunate it was that Captain Dashwood and his man were there to defend you.’
Margaret nodded, but winced slightly at the comment. Beyond the damage sustained, the dress had stains upon it that were only visible to the older Elliot sister’s eyes.
‘I am not too sure we’ll find a home for it in the district,’ continued Mrs Calloway. ‘It is too elegant for the purposes of any lady I know who might fit it. It shall, however, find a home in London, I am sure. I plan to meet with some old friends of mine there on an excursion next week.’
The seamstress paused in thought for a moment.
‘Forgive me if I am presumptuous, Miss Elliot. I am to meet with several other merchants and dressmakers with stock in excess of my own. If it was your wish to acquire some more garments for the coming season, I am sure I could facilitate a fitting.’
‘I am grateful for the offer, but I am not sure we can entertain the extravagance of a trip to London merely for my dress shopping.’
‘Therein lies my presumption. If it would not offend your sensibilities to travel with myself and Mr McDonald, then we have more than enough room for an additional passenger.’
‘I should not be offended at all,’ Margaret replied. ‘I have cousins in the West End who would, I’m sure, accommodate me for the duration of any visit. How long do you intend to be away?’
‘Four days. It is all we can afford to be away from the store, but with the latest ball season over, there is a small window that permits it.’
‘I shall send word to my cousin at once. Some time away should do me good, I think.’
Lucy’s feelings upon learning about the trip were mixed.
Mrs Calloway had been so generous as to extend the offer to Lucy too, but she had politely declined.
London was a busy and cluttered place of unfamiliar things.
Given time she might acclimatise – and there were certainly things she should like to do – but given so narrow a time as four days she did not think she would benefit at all from a change of location.
She was, of course, reluctant to part company with her sister, with whom she had so recently reconnected, but she saw no reason that her own inclination should delay her sister’s travel.
Her only request was that, should Margaret get the chance, then she should acquire any used technical manuals for coaches that she could locate.
Margaret had laughed and told her that for Lucy she was always on the lookout for such things.
Five days later, the Elliots took their coach to town, and from there Margaret departed with Mrs Calloway and Mr McDonald in a wagon that, for what it lacked in elegance, it made up for in cargo capacity.
Lucy watched them go, feeling a curious sense of optimism that she could not rightly justify.
Perhaps it felt, just a little, that things were returning to normal.
The following day saw Lucy’s humour considerably improved. She no longer bore the weight of secrecy upon her shoulders and, she smiled to herself, Margaret’s shoulders were well suited for such support.
She arose at a healthy hour, took a walk around the grounds and returned to complete a needlework project she had been working on with intermittent attention since autumn.
This done, she began to wonder again at the greater mystery of the abandoned coaches.
Dashwood had asked her that she do no investigation, but acknowledged that this did not preclude contemplation.
She found herself again in agreement with the theory that their coach robbers on the night of the ball had not been directly responsible for the previous disappearances, but nor were the events unrelated.
It pointed to a larger affair afoot. If Dashwood was correct about the engineering plans for this Iron Adder being the target, then the robberies at Lord Rathbone’s and St Martins Hall had likely been connected and actually searches for information or correspondence.
But surely neither man would be so careless as to secure such papers in a place where common thieves might locate them.
It pointed to a separation. Perhaps the theft of the brandy had not been intentional, but an accidental acquisition.
The real target might have been valuable information on its way to Sir Walter St Martin, only to be stymied by the man’s predilection for pickling.
That would explain burying the chest until some later date, since it was not the intended goal.
That the bodies might be dumped in Longburn Mire still made sense and pointed to ruthlessness.
Did that ruthlessness extend to their own men?
It may not have been the intention, but the end result of the ball night was five dead robbers, a hefty cost for any plan.
Had the thieves been sent in the expectation that they were expendable? It was not yet clear.
She hoped Dashwood was having more luck than her, but she could not see how, as he was far away and in possession of little more knowledge than she was.
In the end, her thoughts reached no clear conclusion and yet, once again, she felt better for them, rather than bogged down.
Yes, Captain Dashwood had been forced to leave, but there was no reason to think he would never return.
How they might engage after the shadow of this investigation had passed was something to look forward to rather than lament.
With this in mind, she felt lighter and spent the rest of the afternoon immersed in sketches, first of some coach ideas and then, feeling an odd inspiration, of Torres and his team. The results resembled quite lifelike renditions of waxworks if they had been modelled on the racers.
Though she lacked the company of her sister, Lucy did not find the following days empty, taking long, leisurely walks of increasing distance as her legs became more familiar with them, finishing several other long-neglected art projects and even spending an afternoon out with her father.
Andrew Elliot had joined Lord Rathbone and several others on a pheasant shooting party.
The pastime had never been one Lucy was especially fond of, with the loud, intermittent noises usually setting her on edge.
Her purpose in doing so this time was explicitly to challenge her fears.
Twice since the incident of the St Martins’ ball she had awoken from a nightmare drawn from the memory of her near-death experience.
She had decided that the best way for her to process this was to face it head on, thus asking if she might attend with her father that afternoon. He was surprised, but did not refuse.
Lord Rathbone was in better spirits than he had been in some days, convinced that the increased security and patrols should keep the road safe should any traces of the gang of thieves try anything.
There was something in his words that confirmed to Lucy that Dashwood had been correct, that information was at risk rather than goods.
For her part, Lucy merely attended and listened.
Out of practical interest, she tried firing one of the fowling guns, something one of the attendants was happy to show her.
It was discovered that Lucy Elliot was an excellent shot, so long as the target was no more than ten feet away and not moving.
Between this, the loud noise, and her aversion to the thought of killing a bird, she concluded that the life of a hunter was not for her.
Instead she engaged in various conversations along the line. A new regiment of militia was expected to replace the group that had left earlier that day. Renovations were beginning to take place at St Martins Hall. The headless horseman had been sighted again, this time by a groundsman out late.
Lucy processed all this with polite curiosity, careful to wear her hat in the warm sun to avoid burning again so soon.
The sound of shots was as unpleasant as always, but no worse for her recent experiences.
The afternoon was declared a success, Andrew Elliot proudly bringing home a modest pheasant and his wife and daughter politely silent on the fact that the bird had grown considerably by the time it had been roasted and served for dinner.