Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Bennet disliked horses. A Londoner born and bred, he had no understanding of them, considering them four-legged dangers to health and happiness.
Unfortunately, it fell to Bennet to brave the stables and retrieve his lordship’s brand new hat, which he had mislaid during his latest harebrained escapade.
Picking his way across a stable yard scattered with horse manure, he met a boy coming out of the main door of the stable, carrying a saddle. He stopped the youngster and enquired after the missing hat.
‘I’ve got it safe in the chaff room.’ The boy’s face brightened. ‘Are you Corporal Bennet?’
Bennet stiffened. ‘Mister Bennet now, lad.’
The boy smiled. ‘I’m Peter Thompson. No one’s ridden Pharaoh like his lordship did today. Even his late lordship never quite...’ Realising he may have spoken out of turn, the boy turned pink. ‘What’s it like in the army? I’d give anything to join the cavalry.’
‘Would you, lad? Couldn’t imagine anything worse meself. I prefer to have me own two feet firmly on the ground.’
The boy’s eyes darted to the door of the stable. ‘I can’t leave Pa by himself. Not now Ma’s sick and Amy’s gone.’
‘Amy?’
‘My sister,’ the boy said with a downward turn to his mouth. ‘She... she died last autumn. Pa’s got no one but me now. It was a bad winter. First Amy and Ma... then we could scarce believe when his lordship had his accident.’
Bennet’s interest piqued. ‘I ’eard he had an accident. Do you know how it happened?’
Peter hesitated. ‘It isn’t my place to say.’
‘It’s all right. You can tell me,’ Bennet invited.
‘His lordship went a-visiting up at Lady Kendall’s,’ Peter said.
‘Near as we know, he took the hedge over by Lovett’s Bridge and the girth broke.
’ The boy’s face took on a sullen, defensive cast. ‘It weren’t our fault.
It were a brand new saddle. Her leddyship had given it to his lordship for his birthday only months afore and he used it all the time. We checked it regular.’
Something in the boy’s voice caused Bennet to pause. ‘Did you look at it after the accident?’
Peter’s eyes darted around the stable yard, and he jerked his head at the door.
‘Come wiv me and I’ll get his lordship’s hat.’
As Bennet followed the boy into the long building, his nose wrinkled at the smell of horse—many horses. Apparently impervious, the boy led him down the line of horse stalls. He stopped at a door at the end of the row and looked back at Bennet.
‘Her leddyship told us to destroy the saddle.’ The boy shifted his weight and looked around. ‘It seemed a shame to destroy such a beautiful thing when all it needed was a new girth strap.’
Bennet looked at the boy, who shuffled his feet as his eyes slid sideways.
‘It’s all right, lad. It’s only me, you won’t get into trouble,’ he said.
‘I put it away somewhere safe.’
‘So you still have it?’ A small spark of curiosity flared in Bennet.
The boy opened the door. ‘Aye, ’tis in here.’
‘’Ow about you show me?’ Bennet suggested.
The chaff room was lined with large wooden bins where the horses’ oats and feed were stored.
Peter went to the furthest bin and lifted the lid.
On first sight, it appeared to be full of chaff.
Peter leaned over the edge of the bin and rustled around in the chaff.
With a grunt, he pulled out a large, awkward sack and set it on the table.
He pulled off the covering to reveal an elegant, modern saddle. The leather around the pommel had been heavily tooled and bore the Somerton arms. Bennet recognised the stars, from escutcheons all around the house.
As Peter watched, Bennet turned the saddle over.
He may not have liked horses but he knew enough to recognise the girth strap, which still hung buckled to the saddle.
It had broken high up beneath the saddle flap on the off side.
Bennet held up the torn edges. In his hands, the leather still felt new and firm.
Even he could see there should have been no reason for the girth to fail. Unless …
He drew a deep breath as he looked more closely at the broken ends.
To the casual observer, the strap appeared to have torn, but now, as he looked at it, he was not so certain.
The first half-inch on both sides of the strap betrayed a clean cut—a knife cut.
He turned the strap over in his hands, looking at the underside.
Unless he was very much mistaken, the underside of the strap had been scored with a knife as well.
It meant that the girth strap had been severely compromised and, put under any kind of stress, would have failed.
Bennet frowned, letting the implication of his discovery sink in.
Someone had cut the girth strap. Someone had intended for it to fail.
Someone had intended Lord Somerton to suffer a serious fall.
He ran his hand over the embossing on the pommel.
Someone had intended for Lord Somerton to be injured or . .. killed. His blood ran cold.
‘It didn’t seem right,’ Peter said. ‘I thought if anyone asked the question...’ He tailed off.
Bennet nodded. ‘You did the right thing, boy.’
‘What should I do with it?’
‘Just you put the saddle back where you’ve been hiding it,’ Bennet said.
‘Are you sure? Do you think his lordship should know?’
Quite possibly, Bennet thought.
‘Just put it back and I think we will keep it our secret for now, lad.’
He watched as the boy returned the parcelled saddle to the bottom of the feed bin. As the boy turned around, Bennet looked around the room.
‘Now where’s his lordship’s ’at?’
Bennet stamped into the bedchamber carrying Sebastian’s hat. Sebastian set his book to one side and considered his batman from over his steepled fingers. He knew Bennet’s moods as well as he knew his own. And something troubled his batman.
Bennet stood by the window, absently brushing chaff from the beaver skin.
‘Something on your mind, Bennet?’ Sebastian enquired.
Bennet started as if he hadn’t noticed Sebastian.
‘Beg pardon, m’lord,’ he said.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow and, taking his silence as it was intended—an invitation to talk—Bennet set the hat down and crossed over to Sebastian’s chair.
‘Mind me speaking out of turn, sir?’
‘When has that ever stopped you? What’s troubling you?’
‘Well, you know as how the late Lord Somerton died?’
‘Girth broke and he came off his horse.’
Bennet nodded. ‘I... No, it don’t make sense.’
‘What are you talking about, Bennet?’
‘I’ve just seen the saddle and the girth strap was cut.’
Sebastian stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’
‘As certain as I am standing here talking to you.’
Bennet took a breath and recounted his interview with young Peter Thompson. When he had finished, Sebastian sat back in the chair and let the enormity of what Bennet had told him sink in.
Anthony’s death was no accident. Someone had intended, if not to kill him, to at least cause a serious injury. He glanced at the door and thought about the residents beyond it.
Someone in this house could be a murderer.