Chapter 8
The Lay of the Land
“… you tell me nothing which does not accord with what I have known, or could imagine.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Adam was unsurprised to find that the Green Briar was an orderly and cheerful place.
He knew Mrs. Kendricks well enough to be certain that she wouldn’t be connected to any establishment that wasn’t immaculate.
The yard was swept, and all the buildings seemed to be in good trim.
The men all seemed to be brothers or cousins of the Leighs, and they clearly knew their business when it came to the horses.
Adam soon had his box stowed in his room at the end of the hall, next to the private parlor.
He heard Rosalind’s and Laurel’s voices coming out of her room as he passed, and considered knocking on the door, but decided against it.
Let her have this moment to settle in. She needs it.
Once he’d unpacked his belongings, Adam took himself downstairs to get the lay of the land.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep easily tonight if he hadn’t gone over the property at least once, especially since Rosalind was with him.
He wasn’t a nervous man, but he was cautious.
Rosalind’s inquiries, and his own, had brought trouble to their doorsteps more than once.
He wasn’t about to wait for an emergency to find out where the inn’s exits and entrances were.
He’d just finished his circle around the outside and was coming back into the yard when he ran into Mr. Leigh.
“Now then, Mr. Rutherford.” Leigh added a wink as he spoke the name. “All squared away?”
“You’ve a fine house here, Mr. Leigh,” said Adam.
“Well, I do thank you. Mrs. Kendricks, she’d a deal to do with it. A right slovenly lot we were when she came to us, but she had us all whipped into shape inside a month.” This last at least, Adam could readily believe.
“It’s a hot day, Mr. Leigh,” he ventured. “I’d be glad to share a drink with you, if you’ve the time?”
Leigh grinned. “I was just saying to myself that a drop would be most welcome. After you, sir.”
The public room looked out onto the courtyard. The windows were open, letting in the fresh breeze but also the smells of hay and city summers. Sir Anthony brought down two pewter pots from the hooks above the bar and filled them both from a crockery jug.
“There now.” He set a pot in front of Adam. “You try that and tell me if it’s not the best you’ve ever tasted.”
The ale was excellent, and Adam said so. Leigh’s grin broadened.
“That’s Mrs. Leigh’s doing. She brews it and won’t tell anyone her secret. Founding the family fortune she is.”
Adam raised his pint. “To Mrs. Leigh’s very good health.”
“And to the health of Mrs. Rutherford,” Leigh returned, raising his own. “Mrs. Kendricks says you’re here to do with the races.”
“The races?” said Adam surprised.
“Well, you’re here about the Kinsdales, so it’s got to be some’at to do with the races.”
“I know Sir Anthony breeds horses,” said Adam. “But I hadn’t heard that he was running any this year.” In fact, from what Rosalind had told him, there weren’t any left to run.
Leigh was giving Adam a sideways glance, as if deciding how much to say.
Adam leaned over the bar. “Mr. Leigh, this business, it’s personal for my wife.
” As he called Rosalind his wife out loud, his heart thudded once, hard.
“There’s an old friend of hers who could be hurt if things go badly for the family, and she wants to prevent that.
If you know anything that might be helpful … ”
Leigh glanced toward the door. “Well, all I can rightly say is this friend, whoever they may be, should think long and hard before putting their money on Kinsdale’s Pride.”
Adam raised his brow, and waited.
“Now, I don’t know if you’re a betting man yourself,” Leigh went on.
“But the races here attract all sorts. The men who have horses in the running come early, if they can. Gives the horses time to rest from the journey, get fed, work with the trainers and the riders. Get fighting fit, as it were. Some of the lads from the stables and the trainers come here when they’ve a night off, and I can’t help but hear some of the talk. ”
Adam gestured gently with his pint pot, indicating that no one could help hearing the things said right in front of them.
“Now, you know and I know that when it comes to a race, the real money’s not coming from the prize, is it? The real money’s in the betting.”
Adam nodded. This was true everywhere.
“So, from what I hear, this Sir Anthony, he’s got some sort of reputation for breeding horses, or at least his family did some time back.
But what they’re saying is that this year he’s brought in a skinny nag …
the lads were having a right laugh over it.
Bag of bones, they say. Couldn’t outrun a drunken snail.
But Sir Anthony, he keeps bringing these sporting types out to the stables.
Paid off at least one of the men to get him to say nice things about the horse.
Even got his ladyfriend batting her eyes at them and all—”
“Ladyfriend?” said Adam casually.
“You know how it is.” Leigh gave Adam another one of his heavy, knowing winks.
Adam did indeed. He finished his pint and laid a couple of coins down on the bar. “Thank you for the drink, and thank Mrs. Leigh,” he said. “If it happens you hear anyone talking about the Kinsdale horse, you might let me know, if it’s no trouble?”
The coins were gone before Adam could blink. “I can’t see it being any trouble, sir, you being friends with my wife’s sister and all.”
Adam took his leave of the landlord. He went back out into the courtyard. The sound of children’s laughter rang out and a flock of the youngest Leighs raced screeching across the yard, followed by Mrs. Kendricks flapping her apron at them.
“Away! Away with all of you!” she cried, but when she saw Adam, she drew up short.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kendricks.” Adam tried to keep his tone conversational, but he was conscious of more than a little wariness. Mrs. Kendricks did not exactly blame him for Rosalind’s failure to accept Devon Winterbourne’s proposal, but she didn’t entirely absolve him either.
“Good afternoon, sir.” Mrs. Kendricks smoothed her apron down. “Little urchins,” she added fondly. “I found them in the larder, rooting through the apple barrel. It seems one of them has done something to the window latch.”
“Children can be very enterprising in that way. My siblings and I were in constant trouble with our mother.” And a good number of the neighbors.
Mrs. Kendricks’s expression said she could readily believe that. “I trust you’ve found everything satisfactory with your room?”
“Indeed I have, thank you.”
“If you were looking for Miss … Mrs. Rutherford, I believe you’ll find her in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kendricks.”
“Mr. … Rutherford?”
“Yes, Mrs. Kendricks?”
She drew herself up very straight and met his gaze. “I have not yet had the chance to congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage. I wish you very happy.”
Adam bowed. “Thank you, Mrs. Kendricks.”
She nodded, smoothed her apron with a brisk gesture, and marched straight back into the inn.
Adam felt himself smile, and went to find Rosalind.
As Mrs. Kendricks predicted, Rosalind was in the private parlor at the end of the hall.
She sat at a table by the window, with several letters spread out in front of her.
She looked up as he entered and smiled in welcome.
Adam’s heart performed a complicated maneuver—something between a flip and a tight squeeze, and he knew he’d best get used to it, because it was the inevitable result of seeing Rosalind light up when she knew he was there.
“I was just about to come looking for you,” she said, as he took the chair opposite her.
“We’ve an invitation from Sir Anthony Kinsdale for tomorrow.
” She held up the card. “There’s to be an evening of supper and cards with a, quote, few select friends, end quote.
Devon’s also written.” She held up one of the letters.
“He says he’ll be there, and has offered to send his carriage for us at seven.
He thinks it advisable to impress upon Sir Anthony that we are his special guests. ”
“This means evening dress, doesn’t it?” said Adam.
“I’m afraid so.”
Until he’d met Rosalind, Adam had never worn evening dress, let alone owned its components.
It was actually their friend Sanderson Faulks who took him aside and told him that his wedding present to Rosalind would be to make sure that Adam was properly outfitted to escort her to (almost) any sort of event.
He’d taken Adam to his tailor and during a session that he sincerely hoped none of his former Bow Street colleagues ever found out about, Adam had been measured for a suit of clothes that he (reluctantly) admitted would prove useful to own, but that he mostly tried to ignore.
Rosalind was watching him. “Is everything all right?”
“Except for the evening dress, it’s all as it should be,” he answered. “But I did have a word with Leigh and he had some interesting things to say about Sir Anthony Kinsdale.”
“Did he?”
Adam nodded. “It may be that Mrs. Lynn isn’t after access to Casselmaine’s fortune after all, or at least that might not be what drew her to this family.”
“You think she might not be a fortune hunter?”
“It’s more a question of which fortune she’s hunting. We knew the Kinsdale family has a reputation in racing circles.”
“Yes, and Clara said they were forced to sell all their horses.”
“But it seems they kept one,” Adam told her. “And Sir Anthony has entered it in the sweepstakes at Lansdown. The men who work at the stables don’t think much of its chances.”
“Ah. That might explain why Clara didn’t like to mention it. But what has this to do with Mrs. Lynn?”
“Where there’s racing, there’s betting,” said Adam. “And where’s there’s betting, there’s cheating.”
Rosalind considered this. “Well, if this is about a horse rather than simply access to ready money, it would explain a question I’ve had.”
“What question is that?”
“The timing of Mrs. Lynn’s entry into the Kinsdale family circle,” said Rosalind.
“From Clara’s account, Mrs. Lynn became attached to Elizabeth before the Kinsdales moved to Bath.
That was while Clara’s relationship with Devon was still in a state of considerable uncertainty.
What hardened fortune hunter would spend time on a relationship when the fortune might still fall through?
Unless she’d planned to try to snare Devon for herself, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. ”
“And if she thought she could facilitate matters, she would attach herself to Clara rather than Elizabeth,” said Adam.
“But you think she’s attached herself to a bad horse instead?”
“It’s not as outrageous as it first appears,” said Adam. “There’s plenty of people who can be convinced to believe in a long shot, if someone tells them a good enough story.”
Rosalind nodded. She’d certainly seen that for herself.
“Well,” she murmured. “One thing we can say is that this will surely be a most interesting card party.”