Chapter 10
THE RIDGE
Mrs. Norcroft has sent word that all the invitations have been accepted,” Gideon announced when he strode into the breakfast parlor the next morning.
“Excellent,” Cecilia said.
“And Mr. Thornbridge will be here shortly to discuss the plans for today and this evening,” Gideon continued as James entered the breakfast room.
Cecilia nodded. “I’d like to speak with him privately, if I might.”
“Why?” Gideon asked as he reached for a plate.
She gave a little half-smile. “Old ties, old ways of communicating.”
“What she means is…” James said as he filled a plate with ham and potatoes, “she will ask questions of him that you and I will feel useless and time-wasting and he will hesitate to answer as she wishes with us present.”
Gideon shrugged. “All right, if that is what you wish. I’ll send him to you in the library after we finish our discussion with him in the estate room.”
Mr. Thornbridge did not immediately sit when Cecilia entered the library and took a seat. He stood near the window, hat in hand, as if uncertain whether what he had to say warranted her desiring to speak to him privately.
“You wished to see me, my lady?”
“Yes, Mr. Thornbridge. You were at the clay pit yesterday after I left.”
“I was, my lady. His lordship asked me to have a look about for anything untoward and set some men to watch over the place.”
“And did you?” she asked.
“I did. The damage is much as you saw it. Worse, perhaps, where the mudslide first occurred. It isn’t stable.
” He sighed. “We had a couple more timbers slip, for several young folk were inclined to want to walk about it. We had a time chasing one lot off. They thought it great fun, running and sliding in the mud.”
Cecilia’s lips curved faintly. “Yes, children being children, I was afraid that might end up being the case. Sit, please. I’ve missed talking to you.”
His lips quirked up on one side, but he did as she asked and sat in the chair at right angles to hers. “You are a Lady, now. Back in your birthright, no longer a merchant’s widow.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “You were my investigative partner before Sir James.”
“A foolish investigator who got himself stabbed,” he reminded her.
She had the grace to wince slightly. “Yes, but you were good at observation. I want your observations, now.”
He nodded. “There were other gentry who came by the clay mine after you left,” he said.
Cecilia’s attention sharpened. “Who?”
“A Dr. Pettigrew and a Mr. Lamont, though neither stayed long nor asked any questions.”
“But someone did ask questions?” she asked.
“Mrs. Hargrave, and Mrs. Johnston. They drove around the mine as others did, but did pull up to ask questions.”
Cecilia cocked her head to the side. “Curious. They were out the day before. Did they give a reason for their visit?”
“Concern, as most have done. They said they wished to speak to me of the extent of the damage themselves, and to reiterate their offer of help with the cleanup.”
Cecilia nodded and folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Entwhistle said Mrs. Hargrave offered to send help and she repeated that yesterday afternoon when we saw her.” She paused. “And did that seem their only purpose?” she asked quietly.
Mr. Thornbridge shifted his weight slightly. “Mrs. Johnston spoke of it so, my lady.”
Cecilia tilted her head. “And Mrs. Hargrave?”
He smiled slightly. “She asked rather more particular questions,” he said, “if I’m understanding your question—she questioned with a different light in her eyes—as you’ve taught me in the past to notice.”
“And you noticed a different expression.” She smiled. “How did you see her questions as peculiar?”
“More pointed, my lady. Though she could see the mudslide area, she wished to know which section of the pit that was, if it was an actively worked area, and whether the disturbance reached into the lower terraces, or did the mud merely cover the lower terraces. Also, she wondered—quite avidly I thought—whether anything had been uncovered in the mudslide.”
Cecilia did not immediately respond. “That is…specific.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And Mrs. Johnston?”
Mr. Thornbridge hesitated a fraction. “She spoke more generally. Of the danger, the poor man injured, the inconvenience to the estate. But…” He stopped.
“But?” Cecilia prompted.
“As she spoke she kept looking toward Mrs. Hargrave, my lady. As if waiting upon her to say something and take the lead in the matter.”
“Go on,” Cecilia prompted.
“When I mentioned that small pieces of pottery had been found in the soil on that side of the pit, Mrs. Johnston appeared, I don’t know, unsettled perhaps? Only for a moment. She recovered herself quickly.”
“And Mrs. Hargrave?”
“Did not appear interested. Unnaturally uninterested, if you were to ask me. I thought that odd as everyone has been interested.” His brow furrowed. “And not a moment earlier she’d asked what had been uncovered in the mudslide.”
Cecilia looked down at her hands as she thought, then back up. “Did she comment at all on the pottery?”
“Only to ask whether any of it had been removed from the site.”
That gave Cecilia pause. “And has some been?”
“No, my lady. Not to my knowledge.”
“Actually, a piece has been. Sir James took a piece.”
Mr. Thornbridge inclined his head slightly. “Well, she seemed satisfied with my answer that none had been removed.”
Cecilia rose and moved a step or two toward the window, though this time, she did not look out of it. Mr. Thornbridge’s account did not match with the Mrs. Hargrave she had met earlier that same day. The horseback ride today could prove interesting. She turned back to face Mr. Thornbridge.
“Thank you, Mr. Thornbridge. You have been most helpful, and as always, have given me much to think about.”
He bowed. “My lady.”
As he withdrew, Cecilia remained where she was, her gaze unfixed.
Mrs. Hargrave had asked the right questions.
Mrs. Johnston had reacted to them.
And neither, Cecilia thought, had come merely to observe a mudslide they’d already seen. Two women. That was odd.
Mrs. Hargrave and a groom leading a roan horse with a side saddle arrived at Pomum Court precisely at 10:00 in the morning. Cecilia laughed as she opened the door and went down the wide stone steps of Pomum Court.
“You are precise,” Cecilia said.
Mrs. Hargrave nodded happily. “I like to be, and it was something my father taught me. He said punctuality was a virtue in business. He also said that was why the gentry and aristocracy so often failed in their business dealings: they saw tardiness as a virtue.”
Cecilia laughed. “My father certainly saw tardiness as a virtue.” She let the groom help her into the saddle. Once settled with her skirt distributed about her, she looked up at Mrs. Hargrave.
“Which way should we go?”
“Have you been up the ridge yet?” Mrs. Hargrave asked.
“No.”
“Then we should go that way. There are glorious views from the top.”
“Then lead onward,” Cecilia said. She had wanted to get an idea of where that man went when he climbed the ridge, and this was an ideal opportunity. “Can we go cross country?”
“That is the best way.”
“Then lead on.”
They cut across the pasture and rode toward the far end of the apple orchard, away from the cider mill. At the end of the orchard there was a sheep or cow path that followed a hedgerow up the hill.
“Whose land is this?” Cecilia asked.
Mrs. Hargrave laughed. “A bit of several estates: Pomum, Baron Compton’s, mine, and Mr. Searle’s—I mean Mr. Falstaf’s. I sometimes forget about Mr. Searle’s passing this past spring.”
“I gather from things Gideon has said that Mr. Searle cooperated with smugglers.”
“Yes, he did. He thought it was a great game. His main interest was in anything Roman in the area and he could properly play the ditsy old antiquarian quite well when the revenuers came around,” she told Cecilia with a wink.
“They didn’t want to get him in conversation for he wouldn’t let them pass without hearing his diatribe on the Romans in the area.
He believed the Romans would have had a guard station at the top of the ridge to support the fort Lord Compton found.
“Sounds like what I did when I was investigating my first husband’s death,” Cecilia told her.
“I hadn’t realized you were previously married,” she said.
“I was. For eight years.”
Mrs. Hargrave looked across the space between them, her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “How long have you been married to Sir James?”
“Two years. I met him during my investigation.”
Cecilia saw Mrs. Hargrave looking confused at her.
She laughed. “I was married off when I was sixteen. It was arranged by my father and brother as a means to recover the family fortune.” She looked ahead toward the top of the ridge.
“It seems so long ago now.” She looked back at Lady Hargrave.
“My late husband owned Waddley Spice and Tea Company.”
“I know of them. My father used to do business with them. I believe I saw in the newspaper last year that they were sold off to another company.”
Cecilia was impressed that Mrs. Hargrave read newspapers, particularly the business newspapers. She liked to read them herself. “I sold the company to Partridge and Son Import and Export Company.”
Mrs. Hargrave gave a crow of laughter. “I would wager that was not good news to my father!”
“What do you mean?” Cecilia asked.