‘Three daughters, no sons. There was some scandal, years ago now, not that I recall the details, but there was another son of the old man’s. Dead now, I suppose, nothing’s been heard of him, so they say. They’ll find some cousins somewhere in the family tree to inherit.’
There was a buzzing in his ears, like that time he’d been shot in India and he hadn’t realised how serious it was until Cal was shouting at him, catching him as he fell. Hell. Jared clenched his fist until the short nails cut into his palm and the pain steadied him.
Chapter Twenty
‘The maid ordered refreshments?’ He sounded quite steady Jared noticed with the part of his brain that still seemed to be functioning normally.
‘Yes, sir. The girl will be along directly.’
He went back to the private parlour, scratched on the door, and, when Faith opened it, waited until the servant brought a loaded tray.
Guinevere was pale, but she ate, making inconsequential conversation, apparently for her maid’s benefit, or perhaps so that she did not have to talk to him about anything that actually mattered.
They finished the meal, still both painstakingly polite to each other, then Jared enquired whether Guinevere wished to walk up the long flight of steps to the church and abbey. ‘The view is very fine.’
‘Perhaps another day. I believe I would like to go home now.’
They walked back to the carriage in silence to find the coachman, groom, both footmen and Dover lounging around it finishing off pies and gossiping. There was a concerted scramble to stand and brush off crumbs and generally look as befitted the escort of a titled lady, but Guinevere said nothing to them, simply got into the carriage.
‘Ride inside,’ Jared ordered Dover and unhitched his horse from the back. On horseback he did not have to speak to anyone.
‘Excuse me, sir, but may I stay and visit my old mother in the town?’ Thomas stood looking up at Jared, hat in hand. ‘I can catch a ride back with the carrier’s cart this evening.’
‘Why didn’t you ask before?’ He felt like snapping a negative – why not make everyone’s day as bad as his was? But there would still be five men left. ‘I suppose so – ask Lady Northam’s permission first.’
Without Thomas they trundled along the quayside and followed the River Esk to Aislaby and the bridge where they crossed. As they began to climb out of the valley on the Pickering road Jared made himself relax in the saddle, his eyes scanning before and behind them, watching for trouble even as his mind struggled with the fact that William was dead. And had left no sons.
A battered fingerpost pointed back the way they had come. Someone, aiming to save time or paint, had abbreviated the name to A’sl’by, the opposite arm read Pick’ring.
He let the surface of his mind drift over that as they traversed the flat moorland. What would a complete stranger make of A’sl’by, what might he construct from that? He had been unimaginative himself when he had adopted his new name and hardly abbreviated at all. He could have called himself Jack, for his first name, James, or Jamie, come to that.
Hell. Under him the horse snorted and sidled as his hand clenched on the reins. Abbreviations. He knew who Willoughby’s sister was.
In front of him the carriage jolted as the road dipped sharply at the beginning of the short drop to the Ellerbeck with its treacherous bend just above the stream bed. It was going too fast and that rear wheel was surely wavering – Jared spurred forward, shouting. ‘Stop! Now! Rein in, damn you.’
The coachman pulled up to a sliding stop, the horses backing and restless on the unstable road surface. ‘The brake’s not right, not holding, sir. Johnny, get down there with the shoe – now.’
The groom was already vaulting down, reaching to unhook the metal shoe from the side of the carriage and thrusting it under a rear wheel. Jared rode up to the carriage door. ‘Get out, all of you. Hurry.’
Faith tumbled out, then Dover, holding up his hands to help Guinevere. She took one look at the plunging team, the sliding coach and pulled Faith up the bank out of danger.
Paul, the large, stolid footman, ran to help the groom calm the horses as Jared swung out of the saddle and began to jam stones under the wheels. At last the horses steadied, the carriage settled against the makeshift blocks and the coachman got down to look at the wheel.
‘That’s been interfered with. The pin’s been sawn part through.’ He traced back the brake mechanism that acted from a lever by his hand to the sabotaged wheel. ‘And look here, sir. Some bugger’s slackened off half the joints then smeared dirty grease over to hide it. No wonder it wouldn’t hold.’
Guinevere slid down the bank and came to look. ‘Another attempt. On these roads, with these steep banks and endless becks, this could have been fatal.’
The coachman swore again. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady.’
‘Not at all. I quite agree.’
‘When has the carriage been unattended?’ Jared demanded.
‘At the house we called at, sir. We left it in their stableyard and went in to have a drink in the kitchens. Then in Whitby Thomas stayed with it while we went to buy pies and a jug of ale.’
Jared nodded and drew Guin aside. ‘And now we know who is behind this.’
‘Thomas?’