‘Shotgun?’
‘Oh yes. And she can handle it too, by all accounts, according to those footmen. Fine female that,’ he added meditatively.
‘Jed.’
‘She’s a grown woman, knows her way around. She’s put one husband in the ground so she’s no blushing village maiden. No harm in trying.’
‘You behave yourself. A groom with his breeches full of buckshot is no use to me and a cook in a temper is no help to Mrs Albright,’ Theo said severely. Which was hypocritical of him, he knew. He was thinking ab
out Laura in that way – and she was a respectable virgin. And one who appeared to be attached to his good friend, which only made it worse. Leaving aside the fact that he was engaged to be married. He must write to Lady Penelope, let her know where he was, make polite enquiries about her health…
‘I’ll behave myself, don’t you be worrying, my lord.’
Theo rolled his eyes and urged his horse into a canter. Trying to get the better of his groom was impossible, he had learned that long ago.
Chapter Seven
How long does it take to scrub some wax over some paper? Laura wondered irritably. She was tired, anxious and puzzled. Not a good combination and made worse by the suspicion that she was making a fool of herself over a handsome face and a pair of blue eyes. Stop it. What kind of woman yearns for a man who is spoken for? Theo’s an honourable man and you should be just as principled.
Mr Thwaite was in and out of what seemed to her to be more a restless sleep than unconsciousness now. It was only natural that he should be feverish, she told herself and Mrs Bishop agreed, but there was no denying that she would feel a lot calmer if he was awake, rational, free of infection and able to produce some answers. What had he found out about the tomb? Who had attacked him? When, exactly?
They had worked out that it must have been late last night, because the churchwarden reported that the curate had gone over to the church after supper for some reason. That was not unusual and he had his own door key, so the fact that the couple had gone to their bed before he came back did not worry them. It seemed that Mrs Lubbock, as well as being a bad cook, was not a fussy housekeeper, and she had not gone up to her lodger’s chamber to make the bed until well past nine the next morning. When she found it unslept in she had told her husband who had set out to search and had found Will sprawled across the threshold of the church porch in a welter of blood.
If the attack really was a result of Theo’s conversation at her uncle’s house, then whoever attacked the Curate either knew he was likely to be found in the church late in the evening or it had been a lucky sighting – for them, that was.
Which doesn’t get me any further forward, Laura thought, calling Edward to help her give Mr Thwaite a drink before he lost consciousness again.
He blinked up at her. ‘Miss Darke.’ That was encouraging, at least he recognised faces. ‘Where am I?’ And that was not. He had asked the same question six times at least and had been answered every time. She was beginning to worry that he might never regain his right mind.
That could be a good story to put about, one that might make the attacker feel there was no need to risk breaking into the house to try again.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Albright.’ Pitkin stood in the doorway, managing to look her in the eye and sound confident, she was glad to see. ‘Mrs Bishop says to tell you that his lordship has returned and that she has luncheon ready. I can sit with Mr Thwaite while you eat, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Pitkin. He has just been awake for a few moments and has had a drink. If he is restless, bathe his brow with the vinegar water and call me if you are worried.’
Laura had expected to eat in the kitchen, but Mrs Bishop shooed her though to the dining room. ‘His lordship said so.’
It was a novelty to have a man stand the moment she entered the room, to pull out her chair before Terence the footman could get there. Her uncle and cousins had been careless about such courtesies to her and now she felt flustered by the attention.
‘Mr Thwaite still only wakes for a few minutes at a time and he is no more coherent,’ she said abruptly, the moment she was seated. ‘And he is feverish. I did wonder whether to send for the doctor, but Mrs Bishop says there is no cause.’
‘It is very soon after a blow to the head, I imagine this is only to be expected. May I serve you some soup?’
‘Yes, please.’ She managed a smile. ‘I confess to feeling a trifle out of sorts.’
‘To be expected, I would say. Bread and butter?’
‘Thank you.’ The normal civilities of life were a useful shield, she realised. They gave her something to say, an excuse for watching Theo’s hands as he dealt with ladle and bowls. ‘Did you manage to take the impressions?’
‘We did. And we tried to remove the lid of the tomb, but of course it was far to heavy. Even the two of us could not get it to shift by a fraction, which rather quashes my vague idea that it might be a hiding place.’
‘Ugh, what a horrid idea. I much prefer to think of tombs staying firmly closed with their lids on tightly.’
‘So do I! You are not a reader of Gothick tales then?’ he asked with a grimace that made her laugh.
‘Definitely not the frightening ones. Will you study the inscriptions this afternoon?’
‘I thought we both might, if you are still minded to help – I think it needs at least two pairs of eyes. Pitkin can sit with Thwaite for a while. He says he has eaten.’ Theo demolished a slice of cold game pie, then sent her a quizzical look. ‘Have you been advising young Pitkin, Laura?’