Chapter 21
Twenty-one
Grey
“I am not superstitious,” Grey insisted. Sitting at the wobbly, linen-covered dinner table with his worried assistants, he squashed that ridiculous rumor.
Superstition had nothing to do with that lethal man trap they’d found in the yard. Gamekeepers had once used them to capture poachers—fatally.
Thoroughly rattled, he gulped his cider and wondered where he might buy wine. He might need more than a few cases of wine to survive these next months.
He refused to consider who had set that monstrosity and for whom.
He stayed with the current subject. “My cousin is all about in her attic. Don’t listen to her.
” Superstitious! Him. Thea took odd notions.
He’d have to disabuse her of that one before she spread theories of his cowardice across the shire.
He was here with two companions, wasn’t he?
Ergo, he was not afraid of endangering them. Too much.
Until now. That trap had been deadly. Andrew could have been killed.
Perhaps he should send the twins away. It wasn’t superstition if someone was actually trying to kill him—although art history professors were not generally the target of murderous fiends.
Besides, he’d only just moved in. That trap could have been set months ago. For the banker? By the banker?
He tried to make light of their discovery until he determined the best path. Damn Thea for making him look like a milksop if he did the sensible thing and suggested they leave. “We were in no danger. We were simply looking for a shorter path to the mercantile.”
“You found a trap large enough to cripple a man or kill a child—open and set. That is not superstition. That is a death threat.” Miss Leonard glared at him over the dinner table.
Glared. His presence was already shredding his intrepid assistant’s complacency. Perhaps he should start eating in his room. Or send her to the kitchen—would that be sufficient distance to keep her safe?
He’d spent the better part of his life dining alone or with strangers, dammit. He didn’t wish to give up the exchange of intelligent conversation for which he was paying generously.
Animal traps did not fall under the category of intelligent. He tore off a piece of chicken rather than gulp more weak cider.
“The trap could have been there forever.” Andrew attempted to placate his sister. “It was not necessarily set for us. It’s rusted and old.”
“Then it should have sprung years ago. After that brute’s warning—a brute who most likely hit the professor on the head—I don’t believe we should be so dismissive.” Miss Leonard sipped her cider defiantly.
This was the reason Grey dined alone and refused to accept responsibility for others. Arguing was a damned nuisance and interfered with his thought processes. It had naught to do with foolish superstition.
Except natural instincts shouted to send them both back to Edinburgh for their own good.
He wrestled with the dilemma of protecting the helpless while fearing he was a foolish milksop.
“I shall report the device to Mr. Russell,” Grey decided with distaste.
“Although, if it was set, it was most likely for Mr. Comfrey. He obviously had enemies.” He tried to convince himself of that.
“We should find out who the man is who warned El. If he believes this house is his, then he is the most likely culprit.” Andrew cleared his plate with their new cook’s most excellent bread.
Sensible. “I will go to the pub this evening and ask about a large, dark-haired pirate who threatens young women.” And tell his cousin to shut up, although he might need to visit the manor for that.
The people at the manor had invited him to stay, but endangering an entire household of happy families did not suit either. They’d no doubt all die of cholera. Superstition, he reminded himself. Perhaps he could send his assistants there.
He feared they wouldn’t go. Miss Leonard had already displayed her irrational loyalty.
After dinner, Grey grabbed his walking stick, prepared to stomp into the village in the last of the midsummer twilight on his errand of superstition, when Miss Leonard hastened from the kitchen.
“Take your curricle, please, my lord.” The serene face that seldom ever expressed concern now wore the wrinkles of a frown.
He’d done that to her. Guilt ate at him. He was turning her into a milksop as well. Of course, she was female. That was allowed, he supposed. But a curricle to travel half a mile. . .
They had stabled his horses in the ramshackle shed behind the house so Andrew might more easily get about, but hitching up a curricle without servants to jump at his call was a bloody nuisance.
They needed a mount that could be ridden.
Or that damned path through the yard cleared—except he couldn’t risk any more deuced traps.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, not disguising his irritation. He didn’t know the last time anyone had fretted over him. He was a little old for that now. He was always fine. It was everyone else who suffered.
Damn, he’d been doing excellently on his own these past years. He’d grown over-confident to invite the twins on this journey.
Andrew unexpectedly swept in on a gust of damp wind. Thank heaven their laundry had been delivered earlier, before the drizzle. What had he been doing outside?
The lad answered without questioning. “I thought I’d try to ride into the tavern, but it seems likely to pour. Might I borrow the curricle?”
The wretches had planned this, Grey was positive. But he’d prove his wretched cousin’s notion about superstition if he refused.
“Fine then, let us both go in. You can see what’s to be learned from the tavern, and I’ll try the pub.” He grabbed his cloak from a hook in the hall.
A short while later, Andrew took up the reins and sent the horses down the drive. With nowhere else for his wandering thoughts to travel, Grey searched the shadows for bearded men and what. . . nooses? Snares? This place would turn him into a lunatic.
“Shall I inquire about the threatening cove El described or just keep a watch for him?” Andrew asked, reasonably enough.
Grey still wanted to order him to stay out of sight.
Andrew was a full-grown man, Grey reminded himself, not his responsibility. “Ask for a name if you see a likely suspect, but do not let anyone know you’re interested in more than ale.” There, that didn’t sound superstitious at all.
“Well, I’m also interested in finding work,” the lad admitted. “The tavern owner owns the men’s clothing shop. You really do not need me except as my sister’s chaperone. I like to keep busy.”
Her twin had a point. If it would get one of them out from underfoot. . . “Your aid has been invaluable, but you are far too educated to be a laborer. Can your sister ride? I’ve been thinking we need a horse or pony cart so she needn’t be molested by strangers again.”
Then give her lots of tasks that took her away from his dangerous presence.
“Growing up, we had a cart and pony, but El never learned to ride like I did. The assumption was that El wouldn’t need to, that she’d marry and have servants.” Andrew shrugged. “Life doesn’t happen as planned.”
Given this glimpse into what must have once been their respectable upbringing, Grey winced.
No, as he well knew, life tended to hit one with deadly meteors out of the blue.
He really didn’t wish to be another destructive force in their lives, but he wasn’t the best one to figure out how to prevent it.
“Look into a pony cart she can use, then. With both cart and gig available, you might work in town but stay at the house in the evening. Now that we have staff, that should satisfy propriety.”
That would at least remove one twin from his immediate proximity. Perhaps he could find an excuse to send his sister to the manor.
Andrew steered the curricle into the innyard. “Thank you, sir. El doesn’t need much looking after. She’s been taking care of us on her own for years. She really ought to have been a professor, like you.”
And there was the rub. He was the only one who respected her capabilities.
The manor folk would treat her as a mere secretary.
“A woman would never be allowed to teach men, and I suspect a roomful of ladies who can afford tuition would prefer to learn watercolors, not art history.” Grey didn’t hide his disdain for female schools. “Your sister is a rare breed.”
“She will argue that with you, if you give her a chance. Ladies without funds have little choice but to marry, and to marry, they can’t be bluestockings, so there is no reason for them to study. That doesn’t mean they’re incapable of learning.”
Grey tried not to give that too much thought. He wasn’t responsible for the world. Or Miss Leonard.
Andrew hobbled out of the carriage and held the horses until an ostler ran up to take the reins. “I’ll come find you in the pub in about an hour?”
“That should be sufficient.” Tearing his thoughts from the disaster his new home had become, Grey wondered if the innkeeper knew where to order wine.
Rural living had its disadvantages—another of those reasons he left his estate to those more qualified.
Grey preferred the sophistication—and anonymity—of towns.
It was not because he thought he’d bring disaster on his servants. Or his heir.
The pub was busy on a Saturday night. Grey didn’t recognize anyone in the light of swinging overhead lanterns. So he made his way to the bar where the ginger-haired giant of a bailiff conversed with his customers.
Rafe immediately turned to Grey. “Pint?”
“Cider, unless you know where to find wine and animal traps.”
The bailiff halted in the process of reaching for a mug. “Manor has brandy. Lady Elsa will tell you about wine. Animal traps?” At Grey’s gesture, he filled a mug and set it down.