Chapter Seven #2
She and Miss Ellen had been careful to cover their tracks, for Kat was worried that Miss Ellen’s eldest sister would discover Kat’s trick with the purse in the safe, and Miss Ellen was convinced that Miss Clara Miller would want to spoil Miss Ellen’s chances if she happened to find out about them.
Had Mrs. Dove-Lyon sent Captain Harraway and his servant? Or sent Jacob, with Captain Harraway as cover? And if so, for what purpose?
“Well, Kat Fivepence, he is coming to visit,” said Mrs. Kirby. “You shall have to ask him whether he knew you were here, and why his master came.”
True. So that’s what I’ll do . But in the meantime…
“Mrs. Kirby,” said Kat, “Captain Harraway is expecting to meet the Lady of Carr Abbas. Can we please stop at every field and tenant’s cottage along the road to Carr Abass? I need to make sure they all know what to say if the captain asks them whose fields and cottages these are.”
Mrs. Kirby shook her head. “You are a caution and a half, young Fivepence. Be careful not to be so sharp you cut yourself.” She sighed. “I suppose we are on this track now and must continue to the end. But I shall be pleased when the next week is over and our lady is safely married.”
So, for that matter, would Kat.
“You were right,” Captain Harraway said. “Lady Ellen is masquerading as the Lady of Carr Abbas. But I cannot believe she means any harm. She is not that sort, Jake.”
“I don’t think she is, either, captain,” Jake said, remembering even as the words left his lips that the captain didn’t know he’d met the lady. “At least by your description, sir. We need more information.”
“We’ll reconnoiter tomorrow,” the captain decided. “Today, my lad, I need you to ride to the nearest place you can buy paints, paper, canvases, and an easel. If you do it here in Ealing, Lady Ellen will find out, and then she’ll know I lied to her about what I’ m doing here.”
It was easy enough. The market town of Brentford was only a few minutes ride away, and within half an hour, Jake was back with enough supplies to at least look credible, even if the captain grumbled about the quality of the oil paints.
“I purchased what was available in a small town, sir,” Jake pointed out. “If they are not acceptable, I can go back into London tomorrow.”
Captain Harraway looked repentant. “I am sorry, Jake. I was being unfair. They are just for cover, after all.”
The captain’s willingness to apologize when he was in the wrong was one of the reasons that Jake was devoted to the irritating pig-headed man.
That, in addition to his life-saving intervention in stopping the lieutenant from hell, his appointment of Jake as his servant, and the fact that, from day one, he had treated Jake like a human being.
“This Lady of Carr Abbas has knocked you for a six, captain,” he observed.
That fetched him a sour glare and the comment, “I just want to know what she is up to.”
Fair enough. Jake was intrigued, too.
They had been alone in the tap room’s snug, but the door opened and someone entered. Jake didn’t turn to look until he heard a hated voice. “If it isn’t Captain Harraway and his dog.”
“Waterford. Fancy meeting you here,” drawled the captain. “I thought you’d be on the road north, or on your way to the coast to take ship for France.”
The nasty sod had always had a sour expression which turned an otherwise unremarkable face ugly.
His lazy and gluttonous habits had added fat, not improving the view.
The scowl that responded to Captain Harraway’s words made him look even more repulsive.
Jake had known fattened Christmas hogs, pig swill dripping from their jowls, that looked more appealing.
He stuck his chin out. “I should call the constable on your gutter rat. He should hang for burgling my house.”
The captain arched a single eyebrow. “Burgling? Flynn, here? How ridiculous. Why should a respectable valet do such a thing?”
That marked a milestone. The first time anyone had ever called Jake respectable! He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ll wipe that smirk off your face,” screeched Waterford, taking a step toward Jake with his fists up, but he met the captain’s fist before he got near.
It rocked him back, and perhaps knocked some sense into him, for he looked from Jake, who had his own fists ready, to Captain Harraway, and snarled, “The constable, I say.”
“Do so,” said the captain. “I shall tell him, on my honor as a gentleman, that it is a lie. Flynn has not taken anything that belonged to you. No, nor has he stolen from anyone else, either, since we last raided a French camp for supper before the battle of Toulouse.”
Waterford opened his mouth to object, but the captain repeated, “He has stolen nothing that belonged to you, which is why I know you have no evidence to put before the magistrate. You, on the other hand, have no idea what evidence I have of your crimes.”
The pair of them glared at one another. Waterford broke first, of course, turning away and lumbering out of the room, calling for his horse.
“And good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Captain Harraway.