Chapter Three

In Which a Conversation takes Place and Presents Cold Facts in Front of a Warm Fire

Having assuaged the worst of his hunger with the tasty foods Holly had managed to squirrel away into her bag, her guest looked a lot better.

His head was clean now, thanks to her continued efforts with a damp cloth, and the gash seemed to be settling down. There was no sign of any infection, she was pleased to note, and other than a bit of a scar beneath his hair, he wouldn’t have much to show for it after it had healed.

He was still pale, but the warmer the Nook got, the more colour returned to his cheeks.

“Here. Tea. I couldn’t bring milk or sugar for it, but at least it’s hot.” She offered the mug.

“And most welcome.” He carefully sipped, then sighed and leaned back in the chair, shifting his knees under their covering. “’Tis good to feel warm again. My thanks, Miss Trease. I do believe I’d be dead without your assistance.”

She snorted. “You would have recovered consciousness sooner or later, Mr Hawkesbury. And found help too.” She wrapped her hands around her own mug and studied him from the chair on the other side of the hearth. “So, would this be a good time for you to relate the story of how you arrived here? And ended up nearly face down in the stream, freezing to death?”

“A little dramatic,” he commented, raising his eyebrows.

“Possibly, but not far from the truth.”

He sipped again, using the movement as a delaying tactic. What to tell her? How much would she believe, and what was the likelihood she’d run home and reveal all to her parents? That would put the cat amongst the pigeons, without a doubt.

“You said your name is Richard Hawkesbury, yes?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you reside in this area?”

He shook his head. “No. I have lodgings in London.” He sighed. “I am a solicitor, and a man of business, Miss Trease. I have clients who hire me for various tasks, mostly to do with estate work. Not everyone needs someone like me as part of their household. So it is convenient to be able to call upon creditable and trustworthy assistance when it’s time to value a property, for example. To take an inventory of estate assets, using current market values…and so on.”

“I see.” She thought about that. “And how do people know you are there to perform these functions? Word of mouth? Or do you work for a firm that hires out gentlemen like you on a regular basis?”

He blinked at the question. “Er—the latter. My employers are Durnford and Hutchins, Solicitors.”

“Hmm.” She thought for a moment. “You seem, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, quite young to be a solicitor. Doesn’t it take many years to acquire that title? You have to be an apprentice to an already practising solicitor, which takes…what…six or seven years?”

She caught him by surprise, and his eyebrows rose. “You are very knowledgeable for a young woman, Miss Trease.”

Her chin shot up. “I read, Mr Hawkesbury. I enjoy learning. In other words, unlike many of my contemporaries whose lives revolve around fashions and balls, I have a mind that works quite well, and I prefer to use it in ways that benefit me as a person.” She let out a defiant snort. “Knowing what fabrics and styles will be de rigueur each Season is, in my considered opinion, absolutely useless. However, knowing the facts about the sky at night, the stars, and other phenomena visible through my telescope, may one day stand me in good stead. Science surrounds us. How silly to ignore the wonders of this world for a few yards of cambric trimmed with Valenciennes lace.”

He grinned. “Well, that put me in my place. I owe you an apology.”

She waved that aside. “’Tis of no matter. Since you reside in the Metropolis, I’m sure you’re quite used to the fashions and fabrics type of person.”

“I have had some experience there, I confess.” He watched her face. “But know here and now, I respect education. I respect learning from those with more knowledge than myself, and I also read voraciously.”

“Very well then.” She nodded her head. “Having settled that, perhaps now you would tell me why you’re here, why you were attacked, and what was in your bag that apparently nearly cost you your life.”

Richard finished his tea and put the mug down on the table beside him. He was warm at last, tucked up in cloak and blanket, his belly no longer aching with hunger, and the fire in the room burned brightly. “I have a question first. How did you know I was attacked? I might have just fallen and hit my head…”

She gave him a derisive glare. “Your injuries did not come from a fall. Anyone would know that. Unless you make a habit of falling on daggers?”

A look of embarrassment crossed his face. “Um, no.”

“Well then. And truth to tell, I was observing the evening sky last night through my telescope. I saw something that looked like a fight, three people struggling, quite clear against the dusk sky. It was getting darker all the time, but I knew something had occurred.”

“You could have sent a footman…”

She shrugged. “I suppose, yes, I could have. But the word of a young woman with a telescope isn’t going to count for very much when it comes to sending out servants on a cold night.”

“Good point.”

“So, to repeat the question I asked earlier, why are you here, why were you attacked, and what was in your bag that was so important to someone they almost killed you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Oh bloody hell.”

She swore softly, stood, and collected both mugs, vanishing into the kitchen for a few minutes. He listened to the sound of energetic dishwashing, and knew without a doubt that she was cross with him.

He fought an inner battle with himself, and by the time she returned, he thought he had a grasp on the situation.

“I apologise,” he began. “But let me say firstly, that this is not my story to tell.”

“Oh.” That information seemed to calm her temper. “So it is a confidential matter?”

“Yes. Many of my assignments are. So please do not take my refusal personally.”

A brief nod signified her assent, and she tipped her head to one side. “Well then, might I ask who you were visiting? Or on your way to visit? Or leaving…or something?”

Richard grinned, enjoying her attempts to elicit information. He’d have done exactly the same thing in her shoes, so he couldn’t find fault with her for it. “All right. I was on my way to visit Rosewood Park. I managed to get halfway there, when I had to dismount for a moment…” he cleared his throat, “and that was when the dratted horse decided to take off on its own because, stupidly, I had neglected to fully secure the reins. My plan was to walk to Rosewood Park and take care of business, which, at that hour, would have meant an overnight stay.”

“Then back to London?”

“Yes. By leaving very early, I might have made it back in good time.” He sighed. “It was immediately after my mount deserted me that the two men appeared out of the darkness and set upon me before I even realised their intent. After that...well it’s a bit of a blur.”

Holly nodded in acknowledgement. “I can believe that. They were determined to knock you to the ground, and make sure you stayed there.” She shuddered a little at the memory for a few moments, then glanced at him. “Are you acquainted with the owner of Rosewood Park?”

“Sir Duncan Aylmer? Not personally. But he’s used our firm for many years, I understand.”

Those words seemed to ease her, and she leaned back in her chair. “It seems Sir Duncan already has one guest staying with him. A gentleman by the name of Blackstone. Might you know him?”

He shot upright. “Where did you hear that name?”

She stared at him, a look of surprise on her face. “I met him this morning. At Forest Grange. He and Sir Duncan were breakfasting with my father.”

*~~*~~*

The drastic change in Richard’s expression was not lost on Holly. “You know this man? This Mr Blackstone?”

He nodded. “Yes. Although we’ve not met personally.”

She pursed her lips and thought for a moment or two. “Might one assume that you do not hold a high opinion of him?”

“One might.”

“Ah.” She waited, but apparently he was going to be obstinately tight-lipped on the subject. The silence was deafening. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, say something—anything. My immediate reaction to this man, Blackstone, is that he seems like a very odd companion for someone like Sir Duncan.”

Richard took a breath. “Well, yes. I can agree with that.”

Seeing an opening, Holly continued. “I found him to have the appearance of everything proper, and just what he said he was, an acquaintance of Sir Duncan’s. But there was something…” her voice faded away as she struggled to find the right words.

“Yes. You have good instincts, Miss Trease.” Richard’s face was difficult to read. “There is indeed something about him.”

She took a breath. “I didn’t…he…” she swallowed awkwardly, “the way he looked at me. It made me uncomfortable, and I don’t know why.”

“Did he say anything to you? Touch you?”

Her eyes widened. “Goodness no. And I wasn’t formally introduced. I was with Mama in the hall when Sir Duncan arrived, bringing Mr Blackstone with him. It was just the ordinary kind of welcome. Nothing specific, and I left as soon as I could.”

“Good.” Richard rubbed a hand over his face. “I cannot make accusations against that man, Miss Trease, not without evidence, of which I have none. But I will say this as one friend to another. Keep your distance from Blackstone. He is not a man I would introduce to my sister, if I had one.”

“And yet he was apparently on good terms with Sir Duncan, as if they had known each other for some time.”

“I cannot imagine how they met, or why he’s here, that’s for certain. That is a puzzle.”

Holly thought about that, getting up to put another log on the fire, and then returning to her chair,absently tucking one leg up beneath her. “D’you think it’s possible Sir Duncan is thinking of selling Rosewood Park?”

Richard shook his head. “I doubt it. Besides, that amount of land?” He whistled softly through his teeth. “The money needed to purchase those acres would be phenomenal. I would imagine there are only a few Dukes around with sufficient assets to put in a bid.”

“All right. I’ll accept that, because it seems rational.”

“Thank you,” replied Richard, his lips twisting into a wry grin. “I am pleased you have decided I possess a modicum of common sense.”

“Well, that’s a given. After all, you’re a solicitor, for heaven’s sake. I would assume being sensible is a basic requisite for that sort of work.”

He laughed. “Mostly.”

She smiled back, her eyes lighting up in amusement. Then her face became serious. “You cannot remain here for too long, Mr Hawkesbury. You are aware of that…”

“I know,” he nodded. “This…” he waved his hands around, “your little Nook…it is a miracle and has probably saved my life. As have you.”

Holly knew colour was rising in her cheeks at the praise, but ignored it. “Anyone would have done the same. But now we must consider how to move forward and ensure that you reach your original destination.”

“Damn,” he muttered beneath his breath.

Surprised, Holly frowned at him. “What?”

He tilted his head to the window. “It’s begun to snow.”

“Urgh.” She unfolded herself from the chair and walked to the window. “Well, that does it. The clouds are heavy, and there’s no sign of any breaks in the distance. We’re in for a good one, apparently.” Turning to look at him, she shook her head. “I’ve grown up with this weather, and I know what’s ahead. Nobody is going to be able to ride anywhere, least of all London, for a few days at least.”

His shoulders clearly sagged. “I have to think,” he muttered. “This is a dangerous mess, Miss Trease. One I would not have you involved in.”

“And Blackstone is part of it, I would assume,” she replied calmly.

He opened his mouth to reply, but she held up her hand. “Don’t bother. I pride myself on being fairly intelligent, and our conversation, although lacking a lot of specific details…” a glare followed, “has clearly led to that conclusion. Whatever Blackstone is doing with Sir Duncan, it’s not business as usual.”

“I should leave. If I could get a horse, I could at least get a few miles away…”

“No, that’s not going to work. I can’t just go to our stables, saddle a horse, and tell our head groom it’s for some man I met in the forest. He would refuse me without hesitation.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not the best horsewoman around, and to ask for a horse for myself at the beginning of a snowstorm?” Her eyes said it all.

“All right, we’ll set that idea aside.” He stood, pushing the blanket and cloak aside, and stretching a little, wincing as his arms moved.

“How is the wound?” Holly got up and moved close, pushing the jacket away from his shirt. “Hmm. No bleeding, that’s good…” She started to unbutton it. “Let me look…”

“Er, thank you, but no.” His hand stopped hers. “It is healing well. I washed it clean, and in fact only the skin was pierced. I was very lucky indeed.”

Oddly rattled by the touch of his hand on her fingers, Holly nodded and stepped back, out of reach. “I will take your word for it then, since you have professed to be a sensible solicitor.”

He had to chuckle at that, but acknowledged the vague compliment with a dip of his head.

“So there’s really only one thing for it, Mr Hawkesbury.”

“What’s that?”

“You will have stay at Forest Grange for the duration of the storm, as my guest.” She walked away and stared at the fire. “Let’s see. You lost your seat riding toward Rosewood Park, and the horse ran off. That accounts for you being on foot.” She turned ideas over in her mind. “No, better…you were thrown by your horse when a fox startled it. That’s good.” She glanced at him. “Just to confirm, you were on horseback, yes?”

“Yes. And I will add that the horse was not terribly happy on country roads. I think he missed the hustle and bustle of his stables.”

Holly shrugged that off. “Right then, we have our story. You have been unconscious for some time, and when you recovered, you saw the smoke from the Nook, tapped on my door, and I immediately brought you to Forest Grange for assistance and refuge from the storm.”

“And how do I explain the loss of my bag?”

“Hmm.” She thought furiously. “Which road were you on to Rosewood?”

“Uhh…the one from London.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Of course. But there is more than one, and it’s easy to get lost if you’re not sure where you’re going. So we’ll just say that once the horse ran away, you got lost, fell—which accounts for your injuries—and lost your bag somewhere along the way.”

He sighed. “I’m going to look like a hapless idiot stumbling around and getting lost in a forest at night. At which time I also lose my bag.”

She nodded. “Yes, you are. But since you’re engaged in some sort of secret mission, and you’ve been set upon and nearly killed, I’d say being viewed as a hapless idiot is the least of your worries.”

Richard sighed. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an uncommonly sharp wit for a young lady?”

“Pretty much everyone I meet.”

“I’m not surprised.”