Chapter 14
A NEWLY WED MAID
Cecilia sipped her morning tea. The sunlight streaming in the breakfast room caught strands of her pale blonde hair that refused confinement like spun gold. “I think,” she mused, “I’d like to talk with Mrs. Wayne’s maid.”
James nodded and turned to his cousin. “Why don’t we pay a visit to Mr. Falstaf?”
“To what purpose?” Gideon asked.
“I found his defense of the magistrate to be curious. I’d like to learn more,” James said calmly.
Gideon nodded slowly. “He didn’t even live in the neighborhood when Jasper died.”
“Nor has he known the magistrate long,” James added.
“No, but his uncle did…” Gideon said slowly. “And his uncle enjoyed twitting the magistrate.”
“What do you mean?” James asked.
“The Searle estate runs down to the main river that leads to the bay and up the ridge. Smugglers were known to cross the property—with Mr. Searle’s blessing and a cask of the finest of whatever they brought. Revenuers tried to catch them there but were never able to.”
“You think young Falstaf has discovered this happens on his land and is trying to ingratiate himself with the magistrate so he never ties him to the smugglers?” Cecilia asked.
James nodded. “Makes a rather strange sort of sense; however, what he doesn’t understand is that with Kassell’s mind set, he wouldn’t see smuggling if it was directly in front of him. He is magistrate of the most crime free district.”
“We need to speak to my young neighbor,” Gideon said.
“Hmm, it seems as if we have our tasks set before us,” Cecilia said.
James looked at her sharply. “Promise me, if the maid is no longer in Mrs. Wayne’s employ, you will not go alone to try to find her.”
Cecilia huffed. “Do not jump at shadows, my love.”
“Why don’t you wait for us to accompany you?” suggested Gideon. “We should not be long with Mr. Falstaf and I am interested to meet this maid as well.”
“I shall take Sarah with me, and I will not be going within this hour,” was the only promise she would make.
“M-my Lord Monteith, Sir James,” Mr. Falstaf stammered when his butler escorted them into the Falstaf’s parlor.
“Our apologies for calling so early,” James said, “however we did wish to talk to you before your day’s activities made you unavailable.”
“Of-of course, please come in,” he said.
Lady Falstaf started to rise from her chair.
“Please don’t get up, Mrs. Falstaf,” Gideon said winningly. “We won’t be staying long.”
“After you left, I was pondering your strong defense of our magistrate and denigration of poor Mrs. Wayne. It seemed so odd when one considers your uncle’s involvement with night riders.”
“What? No, no, my uncle didn’t, my uncle wouldn’t…”
Gideon laughed. “Your uncle did and would. You are drawing more attention to yourself and your property than you are away from yourself by the posture you took last evening at my home.”
“They sa-said that if I was to tell anyone about their use of my land my life would be forfeit.”
“Everyone in the area is aware of the smuggler’s use of your land. Even Squire Kassell, if he is honest with himself, which I doubt. You owe Mrs. Wayne an apology.”
“See, I told you so, Franklin Falstaf. She has been so kind to us since we’ve been here and you…you…” she burst into tears.
Mr. Falstaf looked chagrined and helpless at his wife’s tears.
“We will leave you to think about this, and what you want your reputation in the village to be,” Gideon said solemnly.
He bowed to Mrs. Falstaf then he and James left the Falstaf’s to whatever discussions they would have.
“Well done, cousin,” James said to Gideon.
Gideon smiled and gave his head a little toss to the side. “Yes, and it felt good, too.”
James laughed. “Let’s find my wife before she hares off into danger.”
“You think she would?”
James looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Between one heartbeat and the next.”
Mr. Thornbridge found Cecilia and Sarah in the front entry hall preparing to go out.
“Down to the village,” Cecilia said. “We want to talk to Mrs. Wayne’s maid.”
Mr. Thornbridge frowned. “Mrs. Wayne doesn’t have a day maid,” he said. “Unless you mean Julie?”
“Yes, her name is Julie,” Cecilia said. “I understand that she helped the vicar’s wife to prepare Lord Jasper’s body for burial.”
“Julie is no longer in service.”
“Oh, no! I so need to talk to her. Do you know where I might find her?”
“I do, as a matter of fact. She married Alfred Houston.”
“Where can I find him? I do hope not in the next county,” Cecilia said.
Mr. Thornbridge laughed. “No, my lady. He is one of Lord Monteith’s tenant farmers. They live quite close.”
Cecilia sighed. “Good,” she said as she pulled on her gloves. “Might we walk there?”
He nodded. “It is closer than going to the village. At the old Roman road, do not turn right toward the village, instead turn left. Walk up the hill. On the far side of the road is Baron Compton’s property.
At the top of the ridge, on the right, is where Mrs. Hargrave’s property starts and the Baron’s ends.
On the left is Houston’s farm. You won’t see the house directly; it is behind the screen of trees that are immediately to your left.
It is just a little way down the hill from there,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Thornbridge. That was plain enough, I don’t believe we will have trouble finding it at all.”
“Don’t let Mr. Houston’s gruff manner put you off. He’s rather protective of his wife,” Mr. Thornbridge warned.
“I’m glad to hear that he is! I won’t be put off, I promise. Have a good day.”
“Good day my lady, Miss Sarah,” Mr. Thornbridge said, bowing to them both. He went on to the estate room.
“That doesn’t sound far,” Sarah said.
“I agree. Let’s be off.”
They cut across the ground rather than walking down the Pomum Court drive and then back up the Roman road.
At the Roman road, they turned left as Mr. Thornbridge had instructed.
A hundred yards ahead, they saw evidence of digging on Baron Compton’s property along with a crude, temporary fence guarding the area.
“Do you think this is that Roman site everyone speaks of?” Sarah asked.
“I think it is. I knew it was close just not how close.”
They walked to the edge of the road and looked across the land. “There does seem to be evidence of clay bits dug up,” Cecilia said. “See those three pieces of clay just there on the right?”
“Hallo!” Suddenly a man stood up from a shallow swale.
Cecilia’s heart thudded wildly, until she realized the man was Mr. Lamont.
“Mr. Lamont!” Cecilia called out, shielding her eyes from the sun. “What are you about?”
He held a notebook and a pencil in his hands. “Surveying,” he said. “Last night Mr. Hawley gave me the go-ahead to proceed, so I thought to start it early this morning,” he said, indicating his equipment off to the side. “I was just taking notes on my measurements.”
“I’m glad to hear things will be proceeding now,” she said. “Well, we won’t detain you from your work.” She gave him a wave as they trudged up the hill.
“Be a mite of work on this part, my lady,” Sarah said.
Cecilia laughed. “Yes, but it is good for us. Oh, bother, I seem to have acquired a stone in my boot. And it is in a most painful spot. I need to sit down.”
“There’s a boulder right there at the edge of Mrs. Hargrave’s property. You could sit there to remove your boot.”
“Yes, good sighting, Sarah.” She hobbled over to the rock and sat down. “Why don’t you see how much further it is to the Houston house?”
“Will you be all right here by yourself?”
“Sarah, look around! I’m in the middle of a wide open field. Do not be a ninny. You are sounding like James and you know how I get when he hovers.”
“Yes, my lady.” They weren’t far from the crest of the hill, so Sarah quickly reached the crest and fell from sight on the other side.
Cecilia raised her skirts, unlaced her boot and pulled it off. She shook it upside down, but nothing came out. She bent sideways to look at the bottom of her foot. There was a hole in her stocking that the pebble made. She felt for the rock and worked it toward the opening in her stocking.
“What have we here? A beautiful lady in distress?” said an amused man’s voice.
Cecilia dropped her foot and pushed her skirts down, then she held her hand over her eyes to see who the voice came from.
A handsome dark blond man with blue eyes and impossibly long eyelashes was staring down on her from the back of a horse. It was Mr. Entwhistle. She remembered him from the clay mine. How had she not heard him approach?
“Mr. Entwhistle,” she acknowledged formally. “I seem to have acquired a pebble in my stocking. I was just working it back to the hole it created when you appeared.”
“Allow me to help,” he said politely.
“No, that’s—” Cecilia said, but he was quickly off his horse and by her side.
He went down on one knee in front of her. Cecilia reflexively jerked her head backward while she held her dress firmly against her legs.
“I am quite all right, and my maid, Sarah, will be back in a moment.”
“Mrs. Hargrave has spoken to me of your intelligence and your—I think the word she used was—cunning when you investigated your late husband’s death.”
Cecilia wondered why Mrs. Hargrave might have told him that story.
“Many men do not appreciate an intelligent woman,” Mr. Entwhistle continued. “I am not one of them.”
Cecilia’s brows drew together. “Cunning, I wonder why she would use that word? I do consider myself an intelligent woman,” she said, “so I thank you, Mr. Entwhistle, for the compliment.”
“I also do not cow to them, Lady Branstoke.”
She shrugged. “I see no reason as to why you would be,” she said, trying to understand his manner.
She saw his shoulder tense, his face take on a harder expression. He was trying to intimidate her which only served to increase her curiosity. But why?
“What are you about, Mr. Entwhistle?” she asked.