Not even the strait-laced Mrs Blackwell, who demanded that each of her pupils be a pattern-card of decorum, found anything to cavil at Miss Amanda Gilbert's conduct when she burst into said lady's parlour one afternoon, waving a letter.
"He's back! Clara, he's come home at last!"
After having been anxious about her brother's well-being for many weeks, such joyful news of him might well excite even the best-behaved young lady into overstepping the boundaries of what was right and proper. Considering these circumstances, Mrs Blackwell chose to ignore Miss Gilbert's lapse even at the best of times Miss Gilbert was difficult to control.
Most pupils in Mrs Blackwell's Seminary for Young Ladies knew to whom Amanda was referring. They'd been regaled with Captain Gilbert's misfortunes ever since Amanda had joined them in their select boarding school, and the tales of his woes as well as his adventures had excited many a young lady's fancy. Without knowing it, and certainly without intending to, John Gilbert had become the hero of most of their daydreams, even though none of his sister's school friends had ever laid eyes on him.
Captain Gilbert had gone to Spain with his regiment the previous summer; had suffered a great deal of hardship, and had narrowly escaped death numerous times (or so Amanda chose to think). He'd been glad to go at the time, she'd told the girls who raptly listened to her narrative; for shortly before his departure he had found out that the young lady he'd wanted to marry was betrothed to somebody else what was worse, she was about to marry a man he'd thought to be his inferior. His anger and disappointment had been great, and he'd secretly hoped to die a hero's death (though Clara Baines, Amanda's closest friend in school, took leave to doubt that part of Amanda's story a professional soldier of many years' standing such as the Captain would take a rather more realistic view of death in the field, she felt, and besides if he'd secretly hoped to die, how did his sister know about it?) a hope that many had feared to be realised when no news of him had come to his family's ears for several months, while the most alarming reports of retreat, cold and starvation had reached England. Even Clara Baines, in spite of her excellent connections her uncle was a General had failed to discover what had become of Captain Gilbert, much though she had tried. The chaos in Spain had made it impossible for General Baines to discover the whereabouts of one particular soldier; though Clara was afraid her uncle had not made much of an effort. He never did where she was concerned.
But, unlike many others, Captain Gilbert had made it. He'd come home after all.
Clara, who was sitting by the window doing her needlework, looked up and smiled. "I am glad," she said simply. "I gather this letter is from your brother?" Her unruffled manner did much to calm her friend down.
"No; it is from Mama," Amanda replied. "Apparently he is not as well as we could wish, but it doesn't matter. He will be better in no time! Mama says she hardly recognised him when he arrived at home; he was so dreadfully thin! And tired Mama says he went to sleep almost at once, and has spent most of his time in his room ever since."
Clara who, thanks to the newspapers she read and the hints her uncle let fall from time to time, had a very clear idea of what the Captain must have endured although she had not shared her knowledge with her friend, nodded.
"He probably has some catching up to do; it is very likely that he didn't get much sleep in Spain," she told Amanda. "You are right; he will be better soon, and your mother will be happy to pamper him."
"If she tries to do that they'll have a row within a week," Amanda said. "John never liked to be cosseted."
"He has certainly chosen the right career for himself then," Clara laughed. "No one is likely to cosset him in the Army. But I do believe that he will make an exception for once."
This was the first news of her brother's return that reached Amanda in school. A letter from Captain Gilbert himself soon followed, which, though it did not contain any stories of his lucky escape, informed her that he was glad to be home and get some rest, though he was afraid that the peace and quiet of Colby Green, the village in Shropshire where his family's home was situated, would soon bore him to death. Captain Gilbert was not the kind of man who liked to be idle, and staying in his father's house without having anything useful to do was something he could not endure for long. He was looking forward to rejoining his regiment, he wrote, an announcement that horrified Amanda, who'd taken it for granted that he was going to stay at home now.
Since the Captain felt heartily bored in Shropshire it was not surprising that, only a week after Captain Gilbert's missive to his sister, another letter from Lady Gilbert arrived for her daughter. Amanda was to come home.
For you know, my dear, that your poor brother's spirits are quite low, and I mean to collect some young people around him a house party will amuse him more than your Papa and I can, I know. I strongly suspect that he is still pining for Sally Yates, whom I never could like, and it is our duty to do our best to take his mind off the unfortunate affair.
Do ask your friend Miss Baines to come with you, for she has been so kind to us all when John went missing that I wish to thank her personally for all her efforts; besides I know how fond you are of her. You will enjoy having her for a visit I am sure.
"You will come, won't you?" Amanda asked her friend. "Say you will! Please say you will!"
"I'd love to," Clara replied. "But I can only come if my uncle permits it."
Clara Baines was an orphan, and her uncle a bachelor and a military man who was abroad more often than not had placed her in Mrs Blackwell's care, depending on that lady's excellent reputation for turning giddy damsels into elegant young ladies. Although General Baines usually left every decision regarding his niece to her formidable school mistress, Clara felt that it was only right to ask for his permission before she left Mrs Blackwell's school. He was her guardian after all.
She therefore wrote a letter to him, telling him everything she knew about the Gilbert family, and asking him for his advice regarding the invitation. Her uncle's reply was characteristic and showed that he could not care less as to what Clara did, as long as she gave him no trouble. As usual, he left the decision to Mrs Blackwell, and Mrs Blackwell allowed Clara to go. She could hardly have done otherwise, Clara reflected later since Lady Gilbert might well take offence if Mrs Blackwell had forbidden Clara to visit her house.
Clara was glad to leave Bath behind her for a while. A Mr Harding a nephew of Mrs Blackwell's with a small estate near Bath had been showering her with his attentions of late, and she was quite at a loss as to what to do about it. She had nothing against Mr Harding in principle; he was nice enough, not ill-looking, and would probably make her a good husband. But the thought of being married to Mr Harding and having to live with him for the rest of her life was such as kept Clara awake at night, and she hoped and prayed that it would not come to that. Mr Harding, for all his virtues, was a dead bore. Maybe, Clara hoped, if she left Bath for a while Mr Harding would find some young lady who truly appreciated him. At least she'd be able to escape him and his attentions for a while and to think of a plan to get rid of him.
One morning in early spring, a post-chaise halted outside Mrs Blackwell's door in Queen's Square, and a young gentleman Amanda's brother, the Reverend Simon Gilbert was shown into Mrs Blackwell's parlour.
Clara immediately liked Mr Gilbert. He was good-looking and his manners were excellent; he showed great willingness to entertain his sister's friend and betrayed no sign of resenting the inconvenience of being obliged to travel to Bath for their sake. He was dressed neatly and with taste, even though his attire was not in the height of fashion. Since fashion was not one of the things for which a clergyman like Mr Gilbert should care overly much in Clara's opinion, she found no fault with this, although she was sure that there were one or two young ladies among her fellow students who might.
They took their leave of Mrs Blackwell and their school friends; then Mr Gilbert handed them into the carriage and, once he'd ascertained that the ladies had everything they needed for their comfort, took his seat opposite them.
"Now tell me, Simon," Amanda said as their carriage left Bath on its way north. "Who else is coming, apart from us? From Mama's letter I assumed she has invited at least a dozen people, and I was wondering where she was going to accommodate them!"
Mr Gilbert laughed. "Not really a dozen," he said. "Apart from Miss Baines there are only three more guests."
"No more? A fine house party," Amanda laughed along with her brother.
"I believe my mother fears that too many guests might get on John's nerves," Mr Gilbert said. "He seems rather tense to me. It's no use asking him what's wrong though, he won't tell you. I suppose he's had a hard time of it in Spain, and needs time to recover. Anyway, Mama has only invited Walter and Eleanor -"
Amanda groaned. "Not our insipid cousins!" she cried. "Heavens, they'll bore us all to death! I thought the purpose of this house party was to entertain John?"
"They are not at all boring," Mr Gilbert protested. "It's just that you don't like them, Amanda, but that's not their fault."
He turned to Clara and explained, "Walter and Eleanor Swinford are our cousins. Eleanor is two years older than my sister, and has always been presented to Amanda as a paragon of virtue whose perfection she ought to work hard to achieve, which may explain her animosity towards her. Eleanor may have her faults, but she is a very kind and pleasant girl, and certainly not a bore. Neither is her brother. In fact, we my brother Ben and myself have always liked him a great deal. He's a good sport."
"He is a bore," Amanda insisted. "If you like him so much I hope you will entertain him and keep him out of my hair."
"I'll be glad to," her brother said with a smile.
"Will Ben be there too?" Amanda inquired. "I thought he was in Cambridge?"
"So he is, and not likely to come home. Mama wanted him to, but he is preparing for some important exams and cannot get away. Benjamin is my youngest brother," Mr Gilbert explained to Clara.
"I thought as much," Clara said with a smile. "Who is the third guest, Mr Gilbert?"
"Captain Morrison, one of my brother's closest friends. They have both been in Spain, and my mother hopes that his presence might do a great deal to cheer him up."
Amanda's face brightened. Francis Morrison had often featured in her brother's war reports and her fancy, Clara suspected, had made some kind of romantic hero of him. Although she had not made his acquaintance so far, Amanda had endowed him with every possible virtue, and meeting him in person would, in Clara's opinion, end in disappointment. Captain Morrison could not possibly live up to the picture of him that Amanda had created in her mind.
"There are many young people staying in the neighbourhood at the moment," Mr Gilbert said. "We won't be lacking amusement, Miss Baines, I promise."
"I did not think we would," Clara said with a smile.
"Ernest Norman has come home from Town, and the Overtons are quite pleasant people too. Lord and Lady Waldegrave are in residence at the moment as well; they've brought their son with them, and some nephew of her ladyship's, but I'm not acquainted with him yet."
Amanda's eyes brightened even more after having been locked up in a school with only girls to keep her company she was looking forward to meeting some young men for a change, and probably saw herself the adored center of their attention, Clara thought with some amusement.
"I don't think John will like having Ernest Norman around," Amanda said after a while. "They've always hated each other, haven't they?"
"I do not believe John ever hated Ernest Norman," her brother replied. "Though they never were the best of friends, I'll grant you that. They have lived in mutual dislike for years. But since John need not depend on young Norman for his entertainment, I am willing to believe that they will get along on those few occasions when they are obliged to be in each other's company."
Amanda had to admit that her brother John was perfectly capable of being polite to people even if he did not like them overly much, and that he was not going to beat up young Mr Norman unless provoked even though she confessed that she'd have found it entertaining to witness the scene.
Colby Green was a tiny village some ten miles from Shrewsbury, which would probably not have come into existence at all had it not been for the fact that a major road passed through the place, and a convenient coaching inn had been built on the green that had given the village its name. One of Lord Waldegrave's ancestors had had it built on his land, right next to the chapel that was to house the remains of the members of his family, and the village had grown around it.
The Colby family had gained consequence since those days; the chapel had developed into a church, the coaching inn had prospered but the village was still as insignificant as ever. However, since it was not far from the county town, some of the local gentry had settled down in the area. During their journey, Amanda and Mr Gilbert told Clara what they thought she ought to know about their neighbours.
The most distinguished member of Colby Green's somewhat restricted society was Lord Waldegrave and his family. The viscount owned a large estate to the north of the village; a huge Elizabethan house situated in the midst of extensive gardens. Most of the land in and around Colby Green belonged to him, and the majority of the farmers in the area were his tenants. Lord Waldegrave rarely came to stay in Colby Hall for a longer period of time; he spent most of his time in London and his visits to Shropshire were usually brief. His lordship and his family were in residence at the moment, however, and Lady Waldegrave was said to be a genial hostess, so Clara was likely to see a great deal of Colby Hall while she was staying with the Gilberts, or so Mr Gilbert said.
Sir Cecil Gilbert, Amanda's father, was quite a different gentleman. He preferred the peace and quiet of country life to the hustle and bustle in Town, and took care of most of the village business, especially during those months when Lord Waldegrave was in London and did not wish to be bothered with the problems of a small rural community. He was a well-liked and well-respected man and acted as magistrate in Colby Green a duty that Lord Waldegrave had been only too glad to pass on to him. His house, Antigua Lodge, was on the southern end of the village. It was rather modern Sir Cecil's father had built it when he'd bought property in the area after returning from years of service at sea, and had named it after the station where he'd spent most of his seafaring years, to remind his descendants where exactly their prosperity had come from.
Sir Cecil and Lady Gilbert had four children; three sons and one daughter. John, their eldest, appeared to have inherited his grandfather's adventurous spirit, and had talked his father into buying him a commission in the 95th Rifles; a regiment that suited his disposition very well. The younger sons, Simon and Benjamin, were of a more scholarly turn of mind and had made their parents proud with their academic achievements. Amanda, the only daughter and baby of the family, was her mother's darling and had been grossly indulged and spoilt in consequence. She was wilful and selfish on occasion, but during her stay in Mrs Blackwell's school her conduct had mended a little. Clara had found out that Amanda, in spite of all her faults, had an affectionate heart and was fiercely loyal to her family and friends. Those qualities, Clara felt, often made up for her obstinacy and her tendency to exaggeration, and if she found a husband who could handle her moods in the appropriate way Clara saw no reason why her friend should not lead a happy and contented life in marriage.
"We are almost there," Mr Gilbert said as the carriage travelled through some woodland. "This is Hermitage Wood the gate to my father's property is only a couple of hundred yards beyond it."
"Hermitage Wood?" Clara asked. "Has there been a hermitage in the area?"
"Oh yes, apparently there was a holy man living in this forest during the Middle Ages, and the remains of his dwelling are still there."
"This sounds interesting! Can we see them from the road?"
"Unfortunately we cannot; it is hidden in the undergrowth, but if you like we can take you there one day. It is not far from our house. I have to warn you though that it is an uncomfortable walk; the path is narrow and there is not much to see at the Hermitage, apart from a dilapidated wall with a window - not an arched one either, I'm sorry to say and a spring right next to the wall."
"And the ghost," Amanda added with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Clara laughed. "The hermit?"
"No; a highwayman," Amanda said. "I saw him once."
"What you saw, dear sister, was John wearing a black cloak and hat and growling at you. You see, Miss Baines, when we were boys we used to play at the Hermitage. It was our castle, and in the true chivalrous spirit we did not want any girls there. Nosy little sisters ranked at the top of our list of enemies, and my brother John being who he is he came up with this ingenious plan to get rid of one particular specimen."
"You were afraid too," Amanda pointed out.
"Of course I was, and so was Ben. The act had to be convincing, right?"
"I detest the whole lot of you," Amanda said, pouting and turning away from her brother.
"I know." Mr Gilbert said soothingly, and not at all upset at his sister's angry outburst. Clara suspected that he was used to outbursts of a similar kind, and found nothing wrong with such a moderate one.
"Can you guarantee that I will not see a ghostly highwayman when visiting the Hermitage with you?" Clara asked Mr Gilbert. "Or a hermit, for that matter?"
"I can. I'll ask John to leave his black cloak at home," Mr Gilbert replied, grinning.
Antigua Lodge was a comfortably-sized building in the modern style situated in a large garden. Clara found out from Mr Gilbert that the garden contained many exotic plants that his grandfather had brought with him from his travels.
"He was a bit of a scholar, even though he never had the chance to obtain book-learning until late in his life," Mr Gilbert told her. "He was particularly interested in natural history, like my brother Ben. Life in the Navy suited him very well; he was content to travel around, and only got married in his late forties. That was when he retired having received a baronetcy in return for the years he'd spent in the King's service and bought this piece of land to build a home for his family."
Looking at Antigua Lodge, Clara thought that the late Admiral Gilbert had had taste. The house looked elegant, yet it was obvious that it had not been planned as a mere show-piece for the fashionable world, but that it was meant to live in. It certainly looked inviting.
As the carriage stopped, two footmen came outside, let down the carriage steps and took care of the luggage while Mr Gilbert assisted Clara and Amanda in getting out. A butler had materialised in the door in the meantime, respectfully greeted Mr Simon, Miss Amanda and Miss Baines, and informed them that her ladyship was to be found in the back parlour. He then proceeded to lead them across the hall, only stopping for a maid who relieved them of their travelling cloaks and hats, and then opened a door at the back of the hall, solemnly announcing them.
Lady Gilbert was not alone but had her family and guests with her. She was lounging on a sofa, every inch a lady of fashion, wearing an elegant gown, exquisite jewellery and a fetching lace cap. With a welcoming smile, she rose from her reclining position and cried, "At last! I was getting worried that something dreadful had happened to you!"
"Fie, Mama," Amanda cried. "As if anything could, with Simon to take care of us!"
"Thank you for your confidence in my abilities as an escort, Amanda," Mr Gilbert replied, greeting his mother with a filial kiss on her cheek.
"Oh, I have every confidence in them as well," Lady Gilbert said. "You must not think I do not! If I'd had any doubts I would not have trusted you with the office."
Amanda remembered her duties as a friend and hostess, and introduced Clara to her mother.
"My dear Miss Baines!" Lady Gilbert said, rising from her seat and taking both Clara's hands. "I am glad to make your acquaintance at last! I have wanted to thank you for everything you have done for us for ages! Welcome to my house! We will do everything in our power to make your stay in Antigua Lodge a pleasant one."
"Thank you, ma'am," Clara said, smiling at her hostess. "Thank you for your generosity in inviting me to stay with you."
"It is the least we can do to repay your kindness to my daughter," Lady Gilbert replied.
"Your daughter has made it very easy for me to be kind to her," Clara said. "I have found her a delightful companion, and I am very fond of her."
"Let me introduce my family to you," Lady Gilbert said, apparently pleased with Clara's affection for her daughter. "My husband, Sir Cecil." She motioned towards a tall gentleman in his fifties, who was standing by one of the windows. He favoured Clara with a formal bow.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," Clara said, curtseying.
"My son, Captain Gilbert," Lady Gilbert continued, indicating a young man standing next to Sir Cecil. Captain Gilbert did not look like the picture Clara had had of him although she had never really had a clear notion of what he might look like. Like his father he was tall, and his hair was dark-brown like his brother's but this was where the family likeness ended; at least as far as Clara could tell. Captain Gilbert was not as good-looking as his younger brother, nor was he as amiable as Mr Gilbert.
After greeting her with a formal bow, just as his father had done, he said, "I have been told you have been exerting yourself on my behalf, Miss Baines?"
Clara bristled. She did not relish the tone of mockery in his voice - she was no little schoolgirl pining for his approval; and she wasn't going to let him patronise her. She did not care for his sarcasm, and he was going to learn that it was so before he was much older.
"Have you, sir? Whoever told you so was entirely mistaken, I am afraid. I have been exerting myself on your sister's behalf," she replied. "She was upset and I did my best to help her. I am not fool enough to believe that I could have been of use to you in any way. I am glad, however, that you did not need my or anyone else's assistance and have returned home unscathed."
She had said this in a calm, pleasant manner, but Captain Gilbert was quick to pick up the challenge in her demeanour, and, with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, thanked her for her concern but agreed that it would indeed have been difficult for her to do anything to help him.
Clara was glad when Lady Gilbert introduced her niece and nephew to her next her conversation with Captain Gilbert was not such as she would have liked to continue for much longer. It was strange, she thought, how different in character a pair of brothers could be two young men who had shared more or less the same education, whose parents must have brought them up according to the same principles! She really liked Mr Gilbert, while she well, maybe she did not detest Captain Gilbert, but she was far from liking him, and if Captain Gilbert's behaviour towards her was anything to go by the feeling was probably mutual.
Luckily Mr and Miss Swinford were different. Mr Swinford greeted her shyly, but in a friendly way. He was younger than his cousins; probably about Clara's own age or not much older, and while his manners lacked his cousin Simon's ease at least he did not try to talk down to her but treated her like the grown-up woman that she was.
Miss Swinford was a beauty, which partly explained why her cousin Amanda was none too fond of her, Clara suspected. Amanda, though a pretty girl herself, could not hold a candle to her cousin, who was simply stunning. Everything about her was perfect her golden curls, her rosy complexion, her guileless blue eyes and her trim figure. She was dressed becomingly, though modestly, and gave Clara a dazzling smile. One could only hope, Clara thought, that Miss Swinford had some faults somewhere. Otherwise she would have no choice but to hate her. Miss Swinford was the kind of girl that made her feel more of a wallflower than she was.
Whatever her faults might be, Miss Swinford's manners were perfect.
"I am happy to finally meet you, Miss Baines," she said. "My cousin has been full of praise in her letters to me; I was dying to make your acquaintance one day! Your journey has been pleasant, I hope?"
Clara replied in the affirmative; and Miss Swinford then turned to her cousin to ask her where she had bought the ravishing gown she was wearing.
In the end, Mr Swinford made room for them by getting up and joining his uncle and cousin at the window, and Clara and Amanda sat with his sister, discussing this and that, until Lady Gilbert took them upstairs to their rooms. It seemed as if Miss Swinford was not only a remarkably beautiful but also a likeable girl, and Clara was looking forward to getting to know her during her stay at Antigua Lodge.
Clara's room was large and airy and right next to Amanda's. Its windows overlooked the gravel drive leading up to the house, and the road in the distance. Hermitage Wood was to her right, the tower of the Colby Green parish church to her left. The tower was all she could see of the village; the rest of it was hidden behind a small copse.
A maid was at work in her room unpacking her trunks, but Clara was used to performing this task for herself and dispensed with the girl's assistance. She was glad when the girl offered to come back later and help her dress for dinner, however, and accepted the offer.
Having put her belongings away, she sat down at a writing table by the window to write a letter to her uncle. He might not show much interest in what she did, but he liked to be kept informed of things nevertheless. She therefore told him that after a long but uneventful journey she had arrived at Antigua Lodge; that her hostess was a very agreeable lady, and that she was looking forward to a pleasant stay in her friend's home. She hoped her uncle was enjoying his customary good health, and would write to him again soon. After having finished this highly informative missive, she sealed it, and again went to the window to look out. The sun was gone, and it was getting chilly outside.
A knock at her door alerted her to the presence of the maid, who brought hot water for Clara's bath. While Clara sat in the tub next to the fire, enjoying the warmth, the maid laid out her evening gown. Once dressed, Clara sat down at a dressing table and allowed the girl to do her hair.
Unlike Miss Swinford, Clara was no beauty; at least she did not think she was. Her dark hair refused to curl, and therefore fashionable hairstyles were impossible for her to achieve. While her complexion left nothing to be desired at least not much her face was not remarkable. Her eyes were dark brown, but not large enough to excite interest, and they did not possess those long lashes that other girls had and which she sometimes coveted. Her mouth was a little too wide for her taste, and the best that could be said about her nose was that it was straight and not too large. Instead of being tall and willowy, like Miss Swinford, Clara was rather short and, while not plump, she was not slender either. All in all she was well enough she supposed, and not exactly ugly, but not the kind of girl to catch anyone's eye. Even Mr Harding, the only admirer she'd had so far, had told her that she was the sort of girl to "grow on one". But the moment the maid left her room, Clara had to admit that she was looking as well as she was ever likely to look, and was rather pleased with her appearance.
So was Amanda, when she came into her room a couple of minutes later.
"Oh! You are wearing your ivory gown!" she cried. "I agree with Mr Harding it really suits you very well!"
"Did Mr Harding ever say so?" Clara asked, smiling.
"Well, I said so to him at the Assembly Rooms the other evening, and he agreed with me," Amanda replied. "He said he liked it best of all your gowns! You are going to marry him, aren't you?"
Clara laughed. "Amanda, he has not even asked me to!"
"He will," Amanda said dismissively, as if this formality could be done without.
"And even if he does, I am not certain I will," Clara replied.
"Don't you love him?"
"No; and I never have done."
"Then you should not marry him," Amanda said. "It would not be a good thing to do."
"You are quite right," Clara said. "Shall we go downstairs? I do not want to keep Lady Gilbert waiting."
"Oh, we are still waiting for Captain Morrison to arrive," Amanda said. "He should be here any minute now, I think."
"We'll go downstairs nevertheless," Clara decided. "Even if Captain Morrison wishes to keep us waiting for longer, we must not be tardy."
Captain Morrison arrived the moment they were coming down the stairs. The doorbell rang, and one of the footmen opened it.
"Captain Morrison I believe I am expected," a young man outside said, and the footman gave way for him to come in. The first thing Clara noticed about the Captain was that he was rather unsteady on his feet. The second thing was a stain on the sleeve of his jacket a bloodstain, she suspected.
"Sir, are you hurt?" she cried.
"Only a scratch," Captain Morrison replied with a faint grin. "Nothing serious. Once my man has had a look at it I'll be fine. Please do not be alarmed." He almost keeled over, but got hold of the banister and kept himself upright. Clara turned to Amanda.
"Go and get your brother here," she said. "Quick! There's not a moment to be lost!"
Amanda hurried off to the drawing room, while Clara turned to the footman. "There's a chair over there," she said. "Help me take the Captain there so he can sit down. Stay with him and support him we do not want him to take a fall."
"I can walk by myself," Captain Morrison said between clenched teeth. "I got this far without assistance; I'll be able to cross the hallway too."
Realising that argument would be fruitless, Clara said, "Very well, as you wish." She gave the footman a significant nod, and the man followed Captain Morrison to make sure he would reach his destination without any mishap.
"What happened?" she asked the Captain, once he had sat down on the chair. "Have you had an accident?"
"Something of the kind," Captain Morrison replied, but did not vouchsafe any further information. Since at that moment Captain Gilbert came out of the drawing room and hurried to his friend's side, this was all Clara was going to find out, she knew.
"I think Captain Morrison needs a doctor," she said, turning to Captain Gilbert.
"We'll see," Captain Gilbert replied. "First of all, he needs his batman, who has tended to his injuries often enough and will know what to do. Ready, Frank? I'll take you upstairs."
Captain Morrison nodded. "Ready."
"Off we go then." Captain Gilbert took hold of his friend's injured arm, taking care not to hurt him, while the footman took the other.
"Thank you, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert said to Clara over his shoulder. "Please be so good as to tell my mother that I will be downstairs soon and that Captain Morrison is unlikely to dine with us tonight."
"Certainly." Although she would have wanted to be present when Captain Morrison told his friend what accident had befallen him she knew that the gentleman was unlikely to talk while she was there. It was useless to hover around now that Captain Morrison was looked after, and so she went to the drawing room to deliver Captain Gilbert's message.
"What the hell has happened?" John demanded once his friend was safely in his room, with his batman examining a nasty-looking wound in his upper arm.
"I was held up in the forest, not far from here," Frank Morrison replied. "The fellow fired at me, but I was lucky and managed to get rid of him."
"It's not as bad as it looks, sir," Collins, his batman, announced. "Only a scratch."
"I thought as much. Rotten luck that I should come in just as your sister and her friend were coming downstairs, though. I wanted to get upstairs quietly, have Collins look at the cut and then send word to you. I didn't want to upset the ladies, but ..."
The footman came back with some bandages John had sent him for, and Collins set to work at once.
"We needn't tell them the truth," John said. "You've been hurt in some accident, that's all they need to know. Although if there are footpads in the area my father ought to be told. He's the magistrate in these parts."
"Tell him, then, but try to keep the news from the ladies."
"Ah no, I'll go downstairs and tell them straight away," John replied, grinning.
"I think Miss your sister's friend, what is her name?"
"Miss Baines?"
"Right. Miss Baines. I think she won't allow us to fob her off with some half-truths. I'm afraid she suspects that there has been foul play involved. She didn't say so, but there was something in her expression that told me she doesn't believe I was hurt in an accident."
"There's no need to confirm her suspicions," John insisted. "I'll send word to the kitchen that you're going to dine in your room tonight, and you'll feel better by tomorrow. If not, I'll get the doctor here."
"Thank you. I am rather hungry," Frank said laughingly. "And there will be no need for you to go for the doctor tomorrow, I promise."
Once he'd seen to it that his friend was properly looked after, John went back downstairs and joined the party in the dining room.
"How is Captain Morrison?" his mother asked him as he took his seat at the table. Miss Baines, who was seated to his right, gave him an expectant look.
"He begs to be excused tonight," John said. "His injury is trifling, but he feels rather shaken and prefers to stay in his room. I told him you would not object."
"Naturally! The poor young man are you sure he is well?"
"Absolutely. He will be back on his feet and none the worse for wear by tomorrow morning," John replied.
"I am glad to hear Captain Morrison is not seriously hurt," Miss Baines said to him.
John did not quite know what to make of his sister's friend. From what his mother had told him, he'd thought she was a featherheaded schoolgirl like his sister, though probably even more meddlesome than Amanda; taking interest in matters so wholly unconnected with her. She had certainly looked like a schoolgirl on her arrival. But she had already demonstrated to him that she was well able to stand up to him, and now that she was dressed in her evening gown he realised that she was not a schoolgirl at all. She must be several years older than Amanda, John thought, and she possessed the bearing and dignity of a grown lady. Miss Baines might not be much to look at though in her finery she looked prettier than she had before but she had presence.
Clara was relieved to find that Captain Morrison's injury had been but trifling, but she did wonder what kind of accident could leave a man unscathed but for a scratch on his arm. If he'd taken a fall from his horse, she reasoned, there'd have to be other injuries as well. Still, she did not ask any questions; it was clear to her that neither Captain Morrison nor his friend would tell her what had really happened. It was against a gentleman's principles to give a lady any information that might upset her, and they would stick to that particular principle, she was afraid. They looked like that kind of men, Clara thought. She greatly resented chivalry at times; especially when men treated her like a child, or worse, like an idiot.
"For how long have you been staying in Mrs Blackwell's school?" her host, who was sitting next to her at the dinner table, asked her and successfully diverted her thoughts from the subject of men and their inherent arrogance.
"For six years," Clara replied. "My mother died when I was fourteen, and my uncle placed me in Mrs Blackwell's care then."
"At twenty you seem to be rather old to be still living in a school," Sir Cecil remarked. "Unless, of course, you are teaching?"
Clara laughed. "No, I do not teach," she said. "I am a parlour-boarder. I live under Mrs Blackwell's roof but I do not take part in her lessons any longer. When I turned eighteen my uncle asked me whether I preferred to go and live in a house in Town with a chaperon he suggested my great-aunt Harriet, who is in her eighties and ailing besides or to stay in Bath with Mrs Blackwell. I must confess that I did not find it difficult to make my choice, and my great-aunt Harriet was most relieved to find that she was not supposed to take charge of me, at her age."
"You have no relatives, apart from your uncle and your great-aunt?" Sir Cecil wanted to know.
"Oh, I do. There are plenty of them on my mother's side of the family, but they live abroad; and in times like these my uncle thinks it is safest for me to stay where I am."
"I daresay your uncle is right," Sir Cecil remarked, and turned his attention back to his soup.
Clara was quite happy to do so as well, and did not expect her other neighbour to address her. He had shown no inclination to talk to her so far, and to say the truth she didn't feel any either. Her surprise was great, therefore, when he suddenly did.
"My sister told me your father used to be in the diplomatic service he met your mother abroad, I presume?" Captain Gilbert asked.
"Quite so. My mother was Italian, and her family lives in Naples. According to the information she has given me, there are my grandmother and numerous aunts, uncles and cousins there but I have never met any of them."
"It must have been hard for your mother to leave everyone behind when she had to follow her husband to England," he remarked.
"Possibly; but I have never heard her complain. It was what she'd chosen to do, and she did not mind the consequences. I suppose she believed the outcome was well worth the sacrifice."
"A courageous lady."
Clara laughed. "Very," she agreed. "And one who knew her own mind."
Apparently Captain Gilbert thought that he'd done his duty for the evening, for he made no reply, and did not make an attempt to start another topic either. It was Sir Cecil who demanded her attention again soon afterwards, and endeavoured to entertain her with some information about the neighbourhood of Colby Green. Clara politely listened and asked some questions in between, but she was not really in the mood for such a conversation. She still wondered how Captain Morrison had come by his injury, and was glad when Lady Gilbert took them to the drawing room after dinner where she knew they'd have some entertainment that would take her mind off the matter.
Amanda made the most of having been there when Captain Morrison had arrived. The drama she described was as unlikely as it was sordid, and she herself featured largely in it as its heroine, who'd unflinchingly done what had been necessary to save the Captain's life. Clara let her have her way for a while, but when she noticed that Miss Swinford's countenance grew paler the longer the story was, she decided to put an end to her friend's bout of storytelling.
"Amanda, before you tell everyone how we left the servants mopping up pools of blood in the hallway you had better stop. Can't you see that your cousin is feeling faint? Have a little mercy on her!"
If her glare was anything to go by, Amanda felt very much like favouring Clara with a stinging retort, but she refrained from doing it no doubt the many months of careful training under Mrs Blackwell's aegis had done this to her. She merely shrugged.
"I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you, Eleanor," she said.
Clara smiled at Miss Swinford. "Believe me," she explained, "Captain Morrison's injury was not at all as serious as Amanda's report suggests. The truth is that it did not appear to worry him much. Nor was Captain Gilbert anxious on his friend's behalf, or he would hardly have joined us at the dinner table, you will agree."
Some colour returned to Miss Swinford's cheeks. "But Captain Morrison was hurt?"
"Undoubtedly, but as I said his injury does not appear to be anything of a serious nature. Captain Morrison will have his breakfast with us tomorrow with no sign of ill health, I am certain."
Miss Swinford looked rather better again. "I am a very poor creature," she sighed. "Descriptions of how people hurt themselves have always made me feel faint. I need not even see how it happens; somebody telling me about it is quite enough."
Clara, who was made of sterner stuff, replied something suitable and, in order to take Miss Swinford's as well as her own mind off Captain Morrison and how he had come by his injury, she suggested a game of Speculation. Amanda, who was very fond of the game, immediately set about getting the card table ready, and that way Clara did not find it difficult to distract Miss Swinford from her uncomfortable thoughts.
In the meantime, Sir Cecil had listened to his son's report of what had happened to his friend, and was discussing with him what was best to be done to deal with the affair.
"Can Morrison describe the assailant?" Sir Cecil wanted to know. "Is there anything that might enable us to identify the culprit?"
"I did not ask him," John replied. "The most important thing, in my opinion, was to make sure his wound got proper treatment. But I do not doubt that Morrison will be happy to tell you everything you wish to know about the incident once he is feeling better."
"You should have sent for the surgeon," Sir Cecil said. "I do not like the thought of a guest in my house needing medical treatment and not getting any."
"You don't know Morrison," John said. "He has the greatest dislike of surgeons, and if any of them came unbidden into his room he'd probably kick him out again in no time, no matter how ill he may be feeling. You may rest assured that man of his knows what he's about, and Morrison has the constitution of a horse. I'm not saying his injury won't cause him some discomfort for a while, but it will not be anything he cannot deal with."
"The assault took place in Hermitage Wood?"
"Morrison did not say so; but then he does not know the name of the forest. What he said was in the forest, not far from here, and I assumed he must have meant Hermitage Wood."
"Somebody making use of the old Highwayman legend, presuming that anyone seeing a highwayman in Hermitage Wood would run for it?" Simon asked.
There was an old legend of a highwayman, who'd been hanged a century or so ago in Hermitage Wood, still haunting the area. Those who lived in the neighbourhood were well acquainted with the tale, and would try to put as much distance as they could between themselves and any highwayman that happened to make his appearance in the forest. Maybe it was just someone out to frighten the locals. However
"Pranksters do not use firearms," John said, and Simon nodded.
"You're right; they'd be content with frightening people. So we must assume that this highwayman has a more sinister purpose in mind."
"Have there been any other reports of highway robbery in the area, sir?" John asked his father. After all, if there had been, the Colby Green magistrate would be one of the first to know.
"None," his father replied. "Let us hope the man finds some other area to terrorise. He did not take anything?"
"I do not think he did, but we'll have to ask Morrison tomorrow. My foremost intention was to get him into his room and make him as comfortable as I could. But knowing Morrison as I do, I do not believe he parted with his possessions all that readily."
Sir Cecil nodded, decided that he'd talk to Captain Morrison himself the next morning to find out everything he could about the man who'd held him up, and then suggested they join the ladies.
"For you know, your sister will think we are keeping something from her if we don't come to the drawing room soon," he remarked.
John laughed. "Amanda knows we are keeping something from her anyway," he said. "And Miss Baines looks like a clever sort of girl, so I daresay she knows too. But you're right; we should not leave them to their conjectures for too long. Who knows what they might come up with?"
Luck would have it that Clara, as she retired to bed later that evening, came across a maid leaving what she supposed was Captain Morrison's room, carrying a tray.
"Evening, miss," the girl said and bobbed a curtsey.
"Good evening. Is this Captain Morrison's room?"
"It is, miss."
"How is the captain? I hope he has been able to have some dinner and that his wound does not give him too much pain."
"The captain seems well enough, miss, considering. Isn't it dreadful? A nasty highwayman in our Hermitage Wood shooting people! What is the world coming to?"
Clara had already suspected something of the sort, but still the confirmation of her suspicions startled her. She managed to hide her concern, however, and merely said, "Indeed! Such wickedness! I do hope you will not tell Miss Swinford or Miss Gilbert about the incident, though. It might upset them, and we would not want that, would we?"
The maidservant reddened, suddenly realising that she'd given in to an impulse of what the housekeeper referred to as "gossiping about one's betters", a subject on which that formidable lady held strong views.
Clara took pity on the girl who, by the look of it, had not been in service for long. "No harm done," she assured her. "I know how distressing the news must be to everyone here, so I promise I will keep quiet about the matter."
"Thank you, miss," the girl murmured and fled.
Clara went to her room and reflected on what she'd heard while getting ready for bed. She had been pretty certain that Captain Morrison had not contracted his injury in an accident, though she had been unable to think of a plausible explanation of what had happened.
There was a highwayman at large in the area. This was bad news indeed, for she could make an educated guess as to what consequences this fact would have for everyone living here and herself, as their guest. One could only hope that the criminal, in view of his rather unsuccessful attack on Captain Morrison, went away and found himself another haunt. But somehow, Clara thought, this was rather unlikely. They had not heard the last of the Hermitage Wood highway robber, she feared. Her visit in Shropshire was not going to be as pleasant as she'd hoped.
John was relieved when he visited his friend's room the next morning and found Morrison already up and getting dressed. He had believed Collins' assessment of Morrison's injury, but experience had taught him always to take bullet wounds seriously, trifling though they might look at first, and had been uneasy lest his friend might have developed some fever during the night. Morrison looked quite fresh and cheerful, though.
"How are you feeling?" John asked his friend.
"Fine. Don't look so worried, Gilbert. I've been through worse, as you know."
"That's as may be, but since it was my fault you've been hurt "
"Unless you were the one who fired that bullet it's not, so stop worrying." Morrison grinned. "You're worse than my mother sometimes."
John laughed. "I'm sorry. I won't take any interest in your wellbeing unless you want me to, then."
"That's better." Morrison put the finishing touches to his cravat, and then turned to his friend. "How do I look? Well enough for company?"
"Well," John began, eyeing his friend critically. "Not much can be done to improve that face of yours, I'm afraid "
Morrison laughed. "I'm serious. I will not come down for breakfast if looking at my complexion puts people off their food."
"It's not as bad as that," John conceded.
The breakfast was uneventful Morrison was introduced to John's family, and assured everyone present that his injury had been a trifling one and that he was indeed feeling much better. He did not explain the exact nature of the accident that had befallen him, though when the ladies had left the breakfast parlour to do whatever they had a fancy to do this morning, he readily agreed to a brief interview with Sir Cecil in order to tell him what had happened.
"I am glad to see that you have recovered so quickly," Sir Cecil said when the library door was closed behind them. "You were lucky, sir."
"Probably, though the man might not have fired at me if I hadn't given him the impression that I meant to shoot first," Morrison replied. "I reached for my pocket, and he must have presumed I was carrying a pistol. Rightly so, I must add."
"This was most unwise," Sir Cecil remarked. "He could have killed you."
"Possibly, but it is a habit with me, I am afraid," Morrison replied. "Whenever someone points a pistol at me, I tend to respond in kind."
Sir Cecil sat down at his desk and invited John and Morrison to take a seat as well.
"My son has informed you, hasn't he, that I am the local magistrate? This is why I have been hoping you could give me some information regarding yesterday's incident. I shall pass it on to the constable."
Morrison nodded. "Certainly, sir. I'll be happy to help."
"Can you tell me where exactly the assault took place?"
"Not exactly," Morrison replied. "I am not familiar with the terrain. It was on the stretch of road that leads through the forest over there. The fellow must have kept himself hidden in the copse until I'd passed him; he attacked me from behind not long after I'd entered the wood."
"Was he riding a horse or was he on foot?"
"He was on horseback. Not a remarkable animal, I am afraid not the kind I'd recognise easily if I saw it. It was the kind of nag one comes across in a farmyard; bred for hard farm work rather than show."
"In other words, the kind of horse a farmhand might get his hands on?"
"Yes, but I do not believe the man was a farmhand. His accent was too refined for that. He may simply have chosen that particular horse because he knew it would not be recognised easily."
"You believe he was a gentleman?" John asked.
Morrison laughed. "As far as you can call a fellow who will attack another from behind a gentleman."
"This makes matters more difficult," Sir Cecil mused.
"Why? There are certainly fewer gentlemen about than farmhands," John asked.
"What your father meant to say is that the local gentry are not going to cooperate with his enquiries," Morrison pointed out. "Am I right, sir?"
"Quite so," Sir Cecil replied, and sighed. "Do you believe you would recognise the man if you saw him again, under different circumstances?"
"I am afraid I would not. It was getting dark; and besides he was wearing a mask and kept his face hidden. The only thing I can tell you is that he appeared to be rather tall, but even that is only conjecture."
"I see." Sir Cecil sighed. "In view of that, I am afraid we will not be able to find the villain. Unless, of course, he remains in the area and perpetrates more crimes, which is not at all what I wish for."
"Nor do I, sir," Morrison said. "Let us hope he merely strayed into this district and has left it again."
"The man attacked you from behind, you said?"
"He hailed me from behind. I stopped and turned around, and saw him point his pistol at me, telling me to hand over my purse. I was not inclined to do him the favour, and was about to pull my own pistol out of my pocket when he must have become aware of what I was doing, and fired. Luckily I did not fall off my horse, though I almost did the poor thing was startled after all. I knew he'd hit me, and so I hurled my riding crop at him to distract him and keep him from firing again. I may have hit him - I don't know. Then I spurred my horse to get away before he could finish me off. He did not try, though; maybe he'd simply wanted to frighten me. I reached your house a few minutes later, and truly glad I was to be here."
"That's what comes of travelling on your own," John remarked. "You should have taken Collins with you instead of sending him ahead with the luggage."
"Should I? Even in Spain I have always felt perfectly safe without him as my escort," Morrison said. "I am well able to look after myself."
"I am very sorry that such a thing should have happened to you in my district," Sir Cecil said seriously. "I will do my best to discover the criminal; you may rest assured."
"Thank you, sir. If you need any help, be sure to mention it to me." Morrison smiled grimly. "I'd like to settle a score or two with the fellow."
"To think I was afraid I'd be bored while kicking my heels at home." John sighed.
"So, now that we have attended to business we can go and find the ladies wherever they are and allow them to entertain us," Morrison said as they left the library.
"Isn't it more likely that they will expect us to entertain them?" John retorted.
"They may expect it of you, certainly, but not of me. I'll be fussed over. Just wait and see."
"You don't look like someone who needs to be fussed over."
"Not yet." Morrison grinned, but John was not fooled. Morrison was not feeling as well as he might want him to believe, and his flippancy was nothing but an attempt to gloss over the matter.
"Hadn't you better try and get some rest?" he recommended.
"I'll get more than enough sleep when I'm dead," Morrison replied. "And I certainly didn't come here to spend my days all alone in my bedchamber, thank you all the same."
John knew that there was no use arguing with his friend when he was in that kind of mood; but he was well aware that for all the flippant tone he took Morrison would do the prudent thing if he really felt ill, as long as one allowed him to make his own decisions and did not press him.
The morning being a fine one, the ladies had gone out into the garden, where Lady Gilbert told them all about the tremendous work the garden caused her conveniently forgetting that she had a couple of gardeners at her beck and call, who performed the more tedious tasks for her. Miss Baines and Eleanor were politely listening to her lengthy talk, Eleanor nodding from time to time while Miss Baines, by inserting an intelligent question whenever she could get a word in edgewise, demonstrated enough interest to endear her to her hostess. Amanda was obviously bored; she looked about her and was the first to perceive her brother and Captain Morrison approaching them.
"John, save me!" she cried dramatically as she ran towards them.
"From what?" John asked, although he could make a guess. Amanda had never been partial to gardening talk.
"Mama is trying to improve us," Amanda said accusingly, her tone indicating a crime almost as serious as murder. "She is nearly as bad as Mrs Blackwell during our trips to Sydney Gardens."
"And we all know that none of the young ladies present stands in need of any improvement at all," Morrison said. Amanda gave him a doubtful look. Though she was not usually the most perceptive of girls, she must have caught the tone of mockery in his voice.
"I am not saying that we do not need any improvement at all," she said earnestly. "But does it have to be so much at once?"
"An excellent point, Miss Gilbert. There is only so much improvement that can be regarded as wholesome."
"Is your friend always like this?" Amanda asked her brother, frowning and trying to determine whether Captain Morrison was poking fun at her or not. She decided that he was not; any other conclusion would have been too mortifying to be seriously considered.
"Most of the time," John replied. "At this time of day, especially, you will find it hard to get some sense out of him."
"And this from my best friend," Morrison said, doing his best to look suitably hurt but failing.
Lady Gilbert, having shown off all the unusual plants in her garden and realising that a kitchen garden was not likely to fascinate her guests, suggested returning to the house and having tea in the conservatory.
"It is one of my favourite spots in the house," she told Miss Baines, "especially at this time of year, when the weather is fine for a walk in the garden but too cold to be sitting outside."
The conservatory was a lovely retreat, Clara thought, and was no longer surprised that their hostess had made the suggestion of taking tea there. The room was airy, and the plants gave it a cheerful and cosy aspect. Lady Gilbert had every reason to be proud of it.
"This is my favourite place to spend my mornings in spring and autumn," Lady Gilbert informed them. "In winter it is too cold, and in summer too hot, but in spring and autumn the conservatory is perfect and I can hardly bring myself to leave it."
There were a table and some chairs in a secluded corner, and this was where Lady Gilbert invited them to take their seats. Clara found herself sitting between Captain Morrison and Miss Swinford, and soon became aware of the glances Captain Morrison threw at Miss Swinford whenever he thought himself unobserved. Clara, though not a mind reader, could make a shrewd guess as to why he kept looking at his friend's cousin - he must admire Miss Swinford, Clara thought. She found his admiration of Miss Swinford's beauty quite natural and did not resent it. She might have, had he paid her less attention than was her due, but he did not give Clara a reason to think herself slighted. Although he did not allude to the previous evening's events, which was what she would have dearly liked to discuss with him, Captain Morrison talked to her with an ease that made her quite comfortable with him; what was more he did not treat her like a silly school girl, as his friend had done, which was a point in his favour. The Captain was acquainted with her uncle, Clara found out, or at least he had met him occasionally.
"You don't look the least bit like the General, Miss Baines," he said jokingly.
"No, I really don't," Clara agreed. "My uncle is a handsome man."
"The features of a handsome man do not necessarily make a beautiful woman," Captain Morrison countered. "And I am deeply hurt by your turning an innocent remark of mine into an insult, when you must know that this was not at all my intention. What I meant, Miss Baines, was that you are not the fair-haired type like the General."
"You are right there; I take after my mother's side of the family," Clara agreed. "My mother was Italian."
"Indeed! This is just what I would have thought she was either that or Spanish."
"Do you speak Italian, Miss Baines," Miss Swinford asked her.
"A little." Clara smiled. "Enough to write an occasional letter to my grandmother in Naples, though not enough to read the Italian classics, I am afraid. My mother spoke English with me most of the time, except when she was agitated. Italian is an excellent language for scolding, I have found out."
Captain Morrison laughed, and even Miss Swinford allowed herself to be amused. She had a charming smile, and Clara was sure Captain Morrison had taken due notice of it.
"I only know some Italian arias," Miss Swinford confessed. "The language sounds beautiful, but in nine cases out of ten I have no idea what it is that I am singing."
"I can translate them for you if you wish," Clara offered. "But keep in mind that most of them are love songs, and that it might well embarrass you to know what exactly you are singing."
Miss Swinford blushed, and agreed that it was probably so.
"Do you speak Spanish, Captain Morrison?" Clara asked.
Captain Morrison laughed. "Only what I have learned from our muleteers, and I am very much afraid that it is the kind of language one had better not employ in the presence of ladies."
"I can imagine," Clara said, smiling. "I will inquire no further although I suppose Spanish is a good language for scolding too." She took a sip of tea.
"Oh yes, it certainly is. - Are you a horsewoman, Miss Baines?" Captain Morrison asked her, after a short pause.
"Not a very accomplished one, I confess, but I can ride," Clara said. "What about you, Miss Swinford? Do you ride?"
"I do," Miss Swinford said. "Though like you, Miss Baines, I am afraid I am not very good at it. But I can stay in the saddle if required."
"We must go and explore the countryside on horseback then," Captain Morrison decided.
Miss Swinford looked at him, aghast. "Do you think it advisable, sir?" she asked.
"Why not, Miss Swinford?"
"I was merely thinking that considering your accident " She broke off.
"I believe what Miss Swinford meant to say was that you ought to be nursing your injury, Captain Morrison," Clara remarked. "Going on horseback while it is still fresh might do you considerable harm and we do not want you to suffer any ill consequences."
"I see." Captain Morrison said. He did not seem offended at the suggestion that he might not be capable of going on horseback yet. On the contrary, he looked almost flattered, probably because Miss Swinford cared enough for him to be concerned about his health. "Rest assured, Miss Swinford, when I suggested exploring the countryside on horseback I did not think that we were going to do so today; although I believe myself to be up to a short expedition even now."
The butler came in and announced visitors a Mr and Mrs Norman. Lady Gilbert, with an air of one resigned to her fate, told him to show them in.
During her journey to Colby Green, Clara had already heard a great deal about the Normans when Amanda and Mr Gilbert had told her about the neighbourhood. Mr Norman was one of the most prominent landowners in the village only Sir Cecil Gilbert and Lord Waldegrave possessed more land than he. Unobtrusively, Clara gave the visitors a look-over to see whether Amanda's assessment of them had been more to the point than her brother's flattering one. It was difficult to tell how old Mr Norman might be, for the effects of a dissipated life showed clearly in his face. Clara imagined him to be about Sir Cecil's age, but he could well have been ten years younger or older. She remembered, though, that Mr Norman had a son about Captain Gilbert's age, and so she presumed that Mr Norman could not be much younger than her host. Mr Norman was stout, and instead of dressing in a way becoming to both his years and his shape, he wore a showy waistcoat Clara would have expected to see on a much younger and slimmer man. But maybe, she reflected, his wife had a great deal to say when it came to the clothes he wore; she certainly appeared to favour the florid style of dress for herself.
Mrs Norman was some twenty years younger than her husband, and although she was past the first bloom of youth she was still a good-looking woman. She wore a fashionable gown, rather too low-cut for decency in Clara's opinion; especially for day wear, and again Clara felt that the dress would look much better on a younger person. It was as if Mrs Norman was holding on to the last shreds of her youth and refused to age gracefully. Clara took herself severely to task for having such thoughts about an older woman what did she, at twenty, know about growing older? Mr Gilbert had said that Mrs Norman was the one who ran Mr Norman's estate, her husband being unable to do so because of his delicate health a euphemism for his drinking problem, Clara supposed. One should pity his wife, rather than pass judgement. But it was not easy there was something predatory in Mrs Norman's manner towards Captain Gilbert, and the sharpness in her tone of voice did nothing to endear her to Clara.
"My dear Lady Gilbert," she said, "I am sorry to disturb you at such an hour, but I did not dare stay at home alone, after what happened to my husband last night!"
"You alarm me, Mrs Norman," Lady Gilbert said calmly. "Do take a seat! Would you like some tea? What about you, Mr Norman?"
Mr Norman declined the offer, telling Lady Gilbert that he had come to attend to some urgent business with her husband.
"Oh! I believe my husband is in the library. I will send for him presently." Lady Gilbert offered.
"I will go to him," Mr Norman said curtly.
"As you wish, Mr Norman," Lady Gilbert said, and rang the bell for the butler.
Once Mr Norman had left the conservatory and Mrs Norman had received a cup of tea from her hostess, Lady Gilbert said politely, "I have not seen you for a while, ma'am. Have you been in Town?"
"At this time of the year?" Mrs Norman looked disgusted with the mere suggestion. "Certainly not! We are planning to go to Town in a couple of weeks, however; once my husband has recovered."
"Is Mr Norman ill? I had no idea!" Lady Gilbert exclaimed dutifully.
"He is not ill; merely a little shaken. You see, he was robbed last night." Mrs Norman looked at the assembled company to see how her news affected them.
"Merciful heavens!" Lady Gilbert cried, almost dropping her teacup. "Poor Mr Norman! What a dreadful thing to happen to one! But where ?"
"Let me guess," Captain Gilbert said. "It was in Hermitage Wood."
"Why, so it was! But how do you know, Captain?"
"Mere conjecture," Captain Gilbert said coolly.
Amanda, her eyes sparkling with excitement, said, "Is this how Captain Morrison was hurt? Was he held up too?"
She flushed as her brother threw her a remonstrating glance. "Well, I am not stupid," she muttered, and then stared morosely at her own feet.
"No one thinks so, I am sure, Miss Gilbert," Captain Morrison intervened. "You are quite right, I am afraid. There is no point in trying to keep it a secret now that the news of a highwayman in Hermitage Wood is generally known. However, unlike Mr Norman I was not robbed but merely shot at."
Amanda's mouth fell open; she would never have expected such an adventure to happen in a place like Colby Green! That Captain Morrison should deal with the matter in such an offhand way too, as if it was nothing at all! He was a remarkable man, she was sure; one who deserved to be admired.
Captain Morrison had roused Mrs Norman's interest, Clara suspected. The lady certainly ogled him in the same unabashed manner Clara had often noticed in Bath, where the young wives of elderly and ailing husbands did their best to find their own entertainment while their spouses took the cure, and young men of a certain class were only too happy to oblige them. What was more, Clara was pretty certain that Captain Morrison was fully aware of being ogled and he did not look as if he had an objection.
"Indeed, sir! You could have been murdered!" Mrs Norman cried.
"It takes a better shot than that fellow to succeed, ma'am," Captain Morrison laughed. "But thank you for your concern. Not much harm was done, as you can see."
Mrs Norman's hungry gaze wandered from Captain Morrison to Captain Gilbert. "What can we do about this?" she asked, in a pleading tone.
"I believe my father will take the matter into his capable hands, ma'am," Captain Gilbert replied blankly. He did seem to object to Mrs Norman's scrutiny of his person, Clara noted. His dealings with Mrs Norman were none of her business, surely, but it pleased her nonetheless.
"I do not doubt Sir Cecil's capability for a moment," Mrs Norman said. "He is accustomed to dealing with poachers, and the occasional petty thief. But this is quite another matter highway robbery! We will be murdered in our beds next!"
Miss Swinford shuddered. "Do do you really think so, ma'am?" she asked in a tremulous voice.
"No such thing will happen, Eleanor," Walter Swinford replied and put a soothing hand on his sister's arm. "The criminal will be arrested soon, you will see."
"But what if he is not?" Mrs Norman insisted.
"I believe you will be perfectly safe, ma'am, as long as you take care to remain indoors after dark," Captain Gilbert said. Clara was not sure, but thought she had detected a touch of malice in his tone of voice.
It was not the kind of reply Mrs Norman had hoped for, Clara was certain. What the lady had hoped for she did not know, but she supposed she'd have expected either Captain Morrison or Captain Gilbert to offer her his protection whenever she was obliged to leave her home. None of them had done so if Mrs Norman wished for protection she would have to turn to her husband or her stepson. Not that Clara thought it was Captain Gilbert's protection Mrs Norman wanted. More likely it was something a lady did not ask for not a respectable one anyway.
The discussion of the highwayman and his possible identity went on for a while. There had been a highwayman in the area once, Lady Gilbert said vaguely, but he'd been hanged for his crimes ages ago, and Colby Green had been very peaceful and quiet ever since then.
"Except for the ghost of said highwayman haunting Hermitage Wood," Walter Swinford said laughingly.
"I wish you had not said that," his sister said, looking horrified. "You know how I dislike such tales now I shall be afraid of looking out of my window for weeks!"
"You believe in ghosts, Miss Swinford?" Clara asked, surprised.
"I am not sure," Miss Swinford confessed. "But I certainly would hate seeing one!"
"I do not believe in them," Clara said. "At any rate, the highwayman who robbed Mr Norman and shot Captain Morrison cannot be a ghost, and is all the more dangerous for that."
"Right you are, Miss Baines," Captain Morrison said. "That bullet was by far too real to have come from a ghostly pistol; and one would hardly expect an apparition to go so far as to steal Mr Norman's belongings. Besides I believe I hit the man's face when I threw my riding crop at him, and he did not sound all that pleased. A ghost would not have minded I am sure."
"Do you think you left your mark on him then?" Captain Gilbert asked.
"Who knows? It was dark; I did not see him clearly, and I did not wait to see what damage I'd done. It's possible, though not probable. Still, from the language he used I guess he did not enjoy the encounter."
"It's worth keeping our eyes open, then," Captain Gilbert said.
"You will do something about this villain!" Mrs Norman cried, touching Captain Gilbert's arm in a gesture of appeal. "Oh, how glad I am! Now I am sure we will soon be safe again!"
Morrison having expressed his wish to go and see how his horse was doing, John took his friend to the stables after luncheon. The mare had suffered no injury, and greeted her master with her customary good humour, even more so because she knew that there was a treat in store for her. Nor was she wrong Morrison gave her a lump of sugar, and then allowed Sir Cecil's head groom to show him around the stables, thus establishing him firmly in that man's good will for he was as proud of those stables and their inhabitants as if they were his own.
On their way back to the house, Morrison said, "It looks as if we're going to have a busy time of it after all."
"We?" John asked, smiling.
"You don't think I won't join the fun? Don't forget that I still have a score to settle with the fellow who held me up. I want to be there when he is caught. And don't tell me that you won't meddle. I know that you will."
"My father can certainly do with some assistance," John admitted. "Our village constable is not the most capable of men, to put it kindly. Nor is he used to dealing with such matters as this."
"Who is?" Frank retorted. "So, what shall we do?"
"Find out all about possible suspects at first," John replied.
"The man has got nerve," Frank reflected. "Two hold-ups in one night, and in more or less the same place. For all he knew they might already have been searching the area for him; still he stayed where he was and made another attempt."
"Which means that he is either stupid, foolhardy, or he knows that nothing is likely to happen to him even if he is caught," John said.
"We did say right from the start that it must have been a gentleman," Frank said.
"A gentleman whose family has enough influence to be able to hush the matter up should he ever get caught," John added. "Someone brazen enough to pull it off, too."
"Any candidates?"
"Only one so far," John said grimly. "Ernest Norman."
"Old Mr Norman's son? You don't think he'd rob his own father!"
"I would not put it past him."
"Must be an ugly customer," Frank said.
"You have no idea," John said. "He's always been a liar and a cheat, and things used to disappear around him when he was a boy; which is why I do not like him, nor do I trust him. Besides he is forever desperately short of money. As long as no one is likely to find out what he has been up to I am almost certain he wouldn't mind taking to highway robbery as a means to recover his losses."
"But wouldn't Norman recognise his son? Even if he wore a mask?"
"Only a few moments ago we agreed that the highwayman must be a brazen character," John pointed out. "You cannot get any more brazen than that. Ten to one Norman was in his cups, anyway. He usually is, at that time of the evening. Besides, you heard Mrs Norman. Her son has taken to his bed a sudden attack of the influenza, she said, but what if he's merely nursing a black eye after his close encounter with your riding whip?"
"It is not impossible," Frank agreed. "If I did hit him. But how do you propose to find out?"
"I'll have to go and visit old Norman on a pretext tomorrow," John said, his dour expression indicating that the call was not something he was particularly looking forward to.
Frank chuckled. "You could try and find out from Mrs Norman," he suggested. "You will not find it difficult to ingratiate yourself with that lady."
"I probably would not, but there are limits to the things I am prepared to do, even for a good cause," John retorted. "However, I give you leave to try your luck with her if you like the lady is not over-particular as to who gets caught in her lures, I assure you. If she were she wouldn't have married old Norman in the first place."
Even though news of the highwayman must have spread in the village by now, not many of the guests Lady Gilbert had invited to dine at Antigua Lodge made their excuses. Clara suspected that they were much too eager to find out more about the incidents to seriously consider staying at home. Only Mrs Norman had declined the invitation in view of recent events, and Lady Gilbert did not blame her. She was probably even more forgiving because she appeared to be none too fond of this particular neighbour of hers.
Simon Gilbert, who no longer lived in his parents' home but in the vicarage, was one of the first guests to arrive and, once his mother had adjured him to stay the night and not put himself into danger by travelling back into the village after dark, allayed her anxiety by promising to do so.
The Overtons, who lived close by, had come and brought their sons and daughters with them; all of them pleasant young people, though Clara did not get much opportunity to further her acquaintance with them that evening.
"Somebody supports the idea that there is safety in numbers," Captain Morrison said sotto voce as the family were ushered into Lady Gilbert's drawing room and introductions were made where necessary.
"Isn't there?" Clara asked him, having overheard his remark.
"Quite the contrary. One is much more likely to pass unnoticed if one is by oneself."
"On the other hand, a highwayman would be foolhardy to hold up a family party that included several young men," Clara remarked. "They'd be easily able to overpower him."
"Not at all. If he applied the proper tactics he would not find it at all difficult to get exactly what he wants, Miss Baines. The family party also includes several ladies."
Clara considered this for a few moments, and then nodded. "I am afraid you are right," she said. "Although the notion is an unpleasant one."
"Crime is always unpleasant, Miss Baines; and one cannot expect a criminal to act according to honourable principles. If he did, he would not have turned to crime."
Lord and Lady Waldegrave, their son Mr Colby, and Lady Waldegrave's nephew, a Mr Summers, were the last to arrive. Lady Waldegrave had probably taken good care that it should be so she looked like the kind of woman who wanted to be noticed upon her entrance, and therefore planned her timing well. The Viscountess was a fashionable lady, and Clara thought after an acquaintance of a mere five minutes probably had no thought but about fashion and the picture society had of her. Lord Waldegrave was quite unnoticeable in comparison; he allowed his wife to shine and was content to remain in the background. Mr Colby, the Viscount's son and heir, appeared to have inherited his mother's predilection for finery; he was dressed in the latest mode, but unlike his parent he took interest in other things besides his dress and was, Clara thought, an amiable and well-mannered young man; one whom she hoped to meet more often while she was here.
His cousin, Mr Summers, was also a pleasant companion. Clara had ample opportunity to form an opinion of Lady Waldegrave's nephew, for he sat next to her at the dinner table. His manners were open and unaffected, and he was able to keep up an amusing conversation with well-bred ease.
Naturally, the Hermitage Wood highwayman was a subject never far from everyone's minds. Lady Waldegrave was shocked that such an evil person could inhabit this beautiful area, and strongly wished Sir Cecil would soon find the man responsible for the crimes. Sir Cecil assured the lady that he would do everything in his power to apprehend the criminal, and Lady Waldegrave expressed her hope that he would do so soon. The Misses Overton agreed with Lady Gilbert and Lady Waldegrave that they could never feel safe again, while the young gentlemen, especially Mr Swinford and Mr James Overton, felt that it would be famous sport to try and hunt the man down.
Clara shuddered at this expression, and Mr Summers was quick to notice it. "Are you afraid, Miss Baines?" he asked.
"I am not," Clara replied. "But I do not think it appropriate to speak of a human being, no matter what his crimes may be, as if he were vermin."
"Maybe you would think differently if you had been one of his victims," Mr Summers reasoned.
"Oh, I agree with everyone here that the man must be found," Clara assured him. "But I do not think anyone should try and find the man for sport. This is a serious matter and should be treated as such."
"What would you suggest then, Miss Baines? Calling in the Bow Street Runners?"
"Why not? At least they know what they are about."
Mr Summers laughed. "This shows that you have in all likelihood never met a Runner in your life," he said.
"I am happy to say that I have not," Clara said earnestly. "I have no desire to meet one either; but I do believe those people are the most suitable for the task."
"I am sorry, Miss Baines, but I disagree," Mr Summers said. "The Runners would be too conspicuous; anyone would know them for what they are about almost at once. A local man, on the other hand, can make discreet inquiries, and is well acquainted with Colby Green and its surroundings. So he is more likely to discover the highwayman's hiding place, and in consequence the man himself."
"You must agree, though, that it is a fatal mistake to underestimate the highwayman," Clara argued. "To think that the search for a criminal is no more dangerous than a a scavenger hunt in an attic is foolhardy, and I do not hold with foolhardiness."
"You are a wise lady, Miss Baines, and I quite agree with you."
No more was said about the highwayman that evening; once the party assembled in the drawing room after dinner the young ladies were asked to show off their musical skill, and the conversation took a more pleasant direction.
"Doesn't Clara play wonderfully?" Amanda asked John during Miss Baines' performance. "She has been such a help when Mrs Blackwell demanded I play a musical instrument! She practised for hours with me, until Mrs Blackwell was satisfied. If it hadn't been for her I do think I might have run away."
"Then I am sure Mrs Blackwell has as much reason for gratitude as you," John said, smiling. "And yes, I am willing to admit that Miss Baines plays very well, even though I am not much of a judge in these matters. But I am afraid you will make her rather angry with you if you do not stop talking and listen to her instead."
Abashed, Amanda remained silent until Miss Baines' performance was at an end. Not too long ago, John reflected, she would not have accepted a rebuff so readily. Perhaps school and her friendship with Miss Baines - had done her good after all.
What was more, Miss Baines appeared to be truly fond of Amanda. When his mother had told him that Amanda was going to bring a school friend home with her, he'd been sceptic. He'd expected a giddy school girl, one of the same kind Amanda had been; or a girl who wanted to insinuate herself into his family. His opinion of women in general was not favourable; not after Sally Yates leaving him in the lurch the way she had done. But John was willing to admit his mistake. Miss Baines was a respectable young woman; a clever one too, he suspected, and he could discover no ulterior motives for her friendship with his sister.
Amanda rounded the musical performance off by taking her place at the pianoforte and accompanying herself as she sung a charming tune. Having witnessed the arguments regarding her musical studies more than once, John was truly amazed with the progress she'd made during those six months in Mrs Blackwell's care.
He got up and went over to the pianoforte, where Miss Baines was busy sorting the music sheets and putting them away.
"Has anyone yet thanked you for what you have done for my sister, Miss Baines?" he asked. "For someone ought to."
Miss Baines looked at him with a smile. "For my exertions, do you mean?"
John remembered their first encounter the previous evening and what he'd said on that occasion, and blushed. "I am very sorry if my remark last night offended you this was not my intention. Amanda has told me that, if it had not been for you, her life in school would have been unbearable. For this you deserve all the thanks in the world."
It was Miss Baines' turn to blush now. "She was unhappy, and I did my best to cheer her up," she said. "There is nothing special about that."
"There is, I believe, in discovering the reason behind my sister's misconduct for I will not believe that she behaved as she ought to have."
Miss Baines laughed. "No, she did not not always, at any rate."
"You see? You deserve our eternal gratitude, Miss Baines."
Once the guests had left and the ladies had retired to bed, the gentlemen had a nightcap in Sir Cecil's library. John made use of this occasion to discover more about the highwayman had Mr Norman been able to give them a clue that would help them to identify the criminal?
But Sir Cecil was unable to supply them with useful information. Mr Norman had been on his way home after a convivial evening, and, as usual, had been so drunk he'd have been hard put to recognise his own reflection in a mirror.
"In fact, he didn't remember all that much about the incident, and had it not been for Mrs Norman, and the coachman, he would not have thought it had really happened," Sir Cecil said.
"What about the coachman then?" Simon asked. "Did he see anything?"
"Not enough for us to identify the man," Sir Cecil replied. "But like Captain Morrison he is prepared to swear that the attacker was a tall, brawny fellow."
"That rules out young Colby," John said. Sir Cecil nodded. The Honourable Timothy Colby was generally thought to be an excellent shot and a neck-or-nothing rider, but he was a wispy young gentleman. Even in the blackest of nights no one would mistake him for a burly fellow.
Ernest Norman, however, fit that description perfectly; but when John uttered his suspicion his brother had some serious objections to the theory.
"I do not think Mr Norman would report the attack if he had the slightest reason to suppose that his son was in any way involved with it," he pointed out.
"You heard my father," John replied. "Norman was so drunk he could hardly remember what had happened. In such a state as that, do you think he'd have recognised his son?"
"That's as may be, but what about the coachman? You cannot think that he was drunk too! Wouldn't he have known him?"
"The Normans have a new coachman," John replied. "And young Norman spends most of his time in Town."
"You disagree with your brother then?" Morrison asked Simon.
"I don't know what to think," Simon said cautiously. "I must admit Ernest Norman is an unpleasant character at times, but I do not think he would take to the High Toby."
"There is this suspicious influenza of his," John pointed out. "No one in the area is suffering from it, apart from Norman, and he has taken to his bed the day after the first two attacks."
"You cannot prove it is not influenza, John," Simon argued. "Besides he may have caught it in London, before he got here."
"I take it you are agreed on letting him get away with it," John said sourly.
"By no means, if it truly was Ernest Norman who did it," Simon protested. "But unlike you we do not allow our dislike of the man to cloud our judgement. Think, John. We tend to believe people we do not like to be capable of the worst, but are they really? What would an impartial judge say?"
"When presented with the facts, I am sure he'd agree with me," John said stubbornly. "I'd say he is our prime suspect."
"You are entitled to your own opinion, John." Simon shrugged. "But if you want a judge to convict Ernest Norman you will need to come up with substantial evidence. Keep in mind that the most obvious suspects often enough turn out to be entirely innocent."
Although she deplored the notion of looking for the highwayman "for sport", the affair intrigued Clara, and she could not put the matter out of her mind. From the conversation at the dinner table she had been able to glean enough information to come up with theories and ideas of her own, and would have dearly liked to discuss them with somebody somebody in possession of more knowledge than she had; someone who could tell her whether her conjectures made sense. The thought of assisting in the capture of a dangerous criminal appealed to her, even though she knew that no one was going to ask her for her opinions, let alone accept her help. No gentleman would assume that a woman could take a lively interest in such matters; that she might even want to make a contribution of her own! No one expected a lady to meddle in sordid affairs such as this.
But Clara could make use of the village gossips to get at the information she needed she was sure, and it would be easy to get hold of those. She was going to ask Amanda whether there was a haberdashery shop in Colby Green and would try to discover as much as she could on her shopping trip. Shopkeepers were usually those people who knew everything worth knowing about every inhabitant of the village, and did not need much in the way of encouragement to pour their knowledge into people's ears. If she was lucky, their customers would follow suit too. Who knew, she might even come across some truly important clues, and so be able to contribute to the solution to the mystery. Sir Cecil and Captain Gilbert might even be glad to have her assistance.
Captain Gilbert had pleasantly surprised her that evening. She had greatly resented the way he'd treated her at their first meeting, and had not expected him to improve upon closer acquaintance. But he had, even though he had not talked to her much. The things he had said to her had been quite gratifying, and what she'd overheard him say during the discussions regarding the highwayman had certainly made sense. He appeared to be a loyal son, brother and friend he hadn't relished Mrs Norman's suggestion that his father might be incapable of apprehending the criminal, and while he was well aware of Amanda's faults he still would have been offended by anything said against her, Clara felt not that she was likely to say anything against her, so in that respect at least they were not going to fall out.
Like Clara he disliked Mrs Norman, which in her opinion was an indication of good sense. So although they were probably never going to be the best of friends, Clara thought, she was rather confident that they were going to get along pretty well while she stayed in Colby Green. He might even begin to take her seriously, once he got to know her better. Stranger things had happened.
John was getting dressed the next morning when Morrison's man came to him with a message. The Captain had developed a fever during the night and was obliged to spend this day in bed. Knowing Morrison as he did, John knew that he must be feeling truly ill or he would not consider remaining in bed, and this worried him. Morrison, with his dislike of physicians, would not find it necessary to summon a doctor to his bedside, but John decided that he was going to do so in spite of Morrison's wishes. There were moments when one had better disregard one's friends' notions for their own good.
"Does the Captain need a doctor?" he therefore asked Collins.
"We haven't yet come to the stage where the Captain wants a doctor," Collins replied cautiously. "The wound looked fine when I changed his bandage just now. Maybe it's just because he's been up and about all day yesterday. He shouldn't have done so, but he's not one to take a man's advice, the Captain is."
John had to agree. There were few men as obstinate as Morrison.
"Well, he'll have the doctor give him a look-over or I'll send him packing," he said. "No friend of mine will die of stubbornness while he's staying under my roof. Tell him so but not until the doctor's in the room or he won't let him in."
With a conspiratorial grin, Collins left John's room. John had his work cut out for him. He was well aware of his friend's aversion to medical men of all kinds. It was Morrison's opinion formed after many years of service in the military and having met enough military surgeons to uphold that theory - that in nine cases out of ten, the doctor's treatment of an illness only made it worse, and where was the point in that? The best thing to do was never to let a doctor come near enough to do him any harm. John had often heard him say so. Convincing Morrison of the necessity of seeing one now was going to be a difficult task.
The doctor came shortly after breakfast, and John was quite busy persuading his friend to not only treat the man with becoming civility but to actually let him do his work. The doctor commended Collins' work with the wound, saying that he could hardly have done a better job in treating it, and then reassured John. The fever was a natural consequence of overexertion, he said, and Captain Morrison would be fine again in a day or two, provided he took care to get plenty of rest, which was what he ought to have done right from the start.
"I told you there was nothing wrong with me," Morrison said grumpily. "Now if you could just leave me so I can have a nap? Doctor's orders, you know."
It would take a while until his friend would forgive him for his interference, John thought with a grin. But it had been worth it he'd never have stopped blaming himself if Morrison had suffered a permanent injury simply because his wound had not received the proper treatment.
As he came downstairs again, John found his sister, his cousin and Miss Baines dressed for going out.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Shopping in the village," Amanda explained. "Do you want to come along?"
John could think of better pastimes than going shopping with his sister and listening to her complaints that the local shops did not have any of the things she urgently wanted, but he felt that the ladies could do with some escort.
"Simon and Walter are coming with us, too," Amanda continued. "Simon needs to go back to the vicarage anyway, and Eleanor wouldn't go without a gentleman to accompany us on our way home, so Walter was obliged to come as well."
"I take it Walter stands in need of some moral support," John said, grinning. "Very well I'll just get my coat and hat. Are we going to walk?"
It was not Amanda who answered this question, but Miss Baines. "We were planning to," she said. "It is such a fine morning, and your sister has told me that it is no more than a mile, or even less if we take a shortcut across the meadow. An easy walking distance, I understand."
"So it is," John agreed. "A very pleasant walk it is, too."
He hurried upstairs to his room and got dressed for going out. In a way the walk to the village suited him very well maybe some of the villagers had seen a suspicious person likely to be the highwayman, and could give him a description of his clothes or the horse he'd been riding. They'd also know about strangers who might have passed through the village even though John was almost convinced that Ernest Norman was the culprit, he was willing to investigate in every direction, if only to prove to himself and others that he did not permit his loathing of the man to cloud his judgement.
The party was already waiting outside when John came downstairs. Simon was with Amanda and Miss Baines, talking to Miss Baines about the church of Colby Green and promising to show her the building if she wished to see it.
"I'd love to," Miss Baines replied. One had to hand it to her, John thought. She had excellent manners he did not think she was quite as enthusiastic about the church visit as she looked, but appeared to be willing to humour Simon, who could not have taken more pride in the church of Colby Green if it had been his own property. Amanda was quite another matter, of course.
"I thought you wanted to go shopping?" she protested, clearly not wishing for further instruction on the subject of local history.
"I will go shopping, but I'd also like to see the church," Miss Baines said. "If you dislike it very much, Amanda, you need not come with us when your brother shows me around."
"But you are my guest," Amanda said, with a strong sense of ill-usage. "Naturally I must go with you."
"Every hostess needs a holiday sometimes," John intervened. "You will allow your guest to seek entertainment in such a manner as she sees fit, and in the meantime I'll take you to the pastry cook's for chocolate and scones. How would you like that?"
Amanda's face brightened she was still very much like a little girl sometimes, John thought; or at least in her manner she was, though her looks suggested otherwise. "If Clara does not object," she said.
Miss Baines laughed. "I do not," she assured her friend. "So we will meet you at the pastry cook's after our visit to the church. I am sure Mr Gilbert will take me there."
Amanda hurried off towards her cousins to tell them that John had come up with an alternative to Simon's educational scheme, her relief apparent to them all.
"I am glad to see that some things will never change," John said to Miss Baines. "If she'd submitted to being lectured about history without protest I'd have been seriously worried."
"Oh, your sister might change yet," Miss Baines said. "Not in essentials; she will remain exactly what she is in those. But she will learn that sometimes it is more prudent to keep up appearances. I like her the better for not always doing so, however. One knows where one stands with her, which is a good thing even though it may not always be flattering."
"True; Amanda's inability or unwillingness to deceive people is the most endearing of her qualities," John said, as they walked towards the gate which gave access to the road.
"How is Captain Morrison?" Miss Baines asked him. "Is he feeling very ill?"
"The doctor says he will feel better in a day or two, provided he stays in bed and gets some rest," John said. "The difficult bit will be to make him do so."
"I did think the Captain overtaxed his strength a bit yesterday," Miss Baines remarked. "Naturally I did not say so to him; I am in no position to advise him in such matters, but he ought to have remained in his room."
John laughed. "Not even his own mother is in a position to advise him in such matters," he said. "Morrison is one of those men who will never admit to a weakness, unless they are forced to. His resilience has often stood him in good stead, though."
"A man could hardly have survived the retreat to Corunna without possessing a great deal of strength, both physical and mental," Miss Baines remarked.
This remark surprised John he'd had no idea Miss Baines took an interest in military affairs; though coming to think of it he ought to have expected it, considering who her uncle was even more so since her uncle was the only available relative she had.
"What do you know about the retreat, Miss Baines?" he asked.
"Not as much as you do, I'm sure," she replied. "But enough to have an inkling of what it must have been like I did not share my knowledge with your sister, by the way. I felt she might not be able to handle it. She was upset enough as it was."
"Thank you; I'd rather she did not know. She does not look it, but she is rather squeamish at times. But how did you come by your information, Miss Baines? Did your uncle tell you about it?"
"Oh no, he'd never do that! I read the newspapers in Duffield's Library," she admitted, blushing slightly. "But please do not betray me to Mrs Blackwell she thinks that reading papers is a highly inappropriate pastime for a lady; though she does approve of the Ladies' Monthly Museum and the like."
"My mother reads that one occasionally," John observed. "She finds it highly entertaining, I believe."
"So do I, but it is not much use if one wants to know what is really going on in the world," Miss Baines said. "And I do want to know. My uncle does not share his information quite as readily as I could wish, and so I must seek information where I can find it."
"There is a saying about ignorance being bliss," John pointed out.
"I am not saying that it is not so occasionally," Miss Baines replied. "But sometimes ignorance is simply dangerous. Just look at recent events in Colby Green. One could try and hush the matter up, and keep people ignorant of what is going on, but this would put people at grave risk because they do not know that it is dangerous to pass through Hermitage Wood after dark. So you will agree with me that the best way of dealing with the affair is telling people what is going on. Forewarned is forearmed."
"But in order to solve the mystery one had better keep the outcome of one's investigations to oneself," John replied, who had a suspicion of which direction this conversation was going to take. "We do not want the highwayman to discover what we already know."
"You could still tell me what it is that you want to know and I could help you with your inquiries," Miss Baines said bluntly. "Unless, of course, you think I am working hand in glove with the criminal?"
John laughed. "No such thing, Miss Baines. But I must not allow you to put yourself into danger."
"By making discreet inquiries in the village and gossiping with shopkeepers? I had no idea Shropshire was such a dangerous place."
"Is this why you wanted to go shopping today?" John had to admit that the plan was a good one it was similar to the one he'd had. Miss Baines was cleverer than he'd originally thought her.
"Oh yes. I am a nosy sort of person; you do not expect me to act contrary to my nature, do you, Captain Gilbert?"
"I wish you would in this case," John replied. "I am not saying that I would not be grateful for a hint or two, but keep in mind that the highwayman is a desperate character, and I shudder to think of what could happen to you if he found out that you are making inquiries. There is no knowing what he will do if he feels threatened. So I wish you will leave him alone, Miss Baines. Leave the investigations to those who are used to taking risks."
Miss Baines reddened and the sharp tone of her voice betrayed her irritation. "Such as yourself, Captain Gilbert?"
"Quite so," John said, using the tone he was used to take with his subordinates. Miss Baines had better realise at once that he was serious. Her indignant gasp told him that the message had come across but was not particularly welcome.
Clara fumed. She immediately revised her good opinion of Captain Gilbert. Clearly she had been mistaken when she had assumed, after last night, that he had some good qualities in spite of the unfavourable impression she'd had of him at first. There were none. He was an arrogant man, one of the sort who did not credit a woman with having sense, or with being able to make inquiries in an affair where a delicate touch was needed. He just thought of her as a useless, nosy schoolgirl. Coming to think of it, he did not deserve her assistance at all let him try and find things out by himself, and see how far he'd get! But she was not going to give up her notion of trying to solve the highwayman mystery quite the opposite; she was going to make Captain Gilbert eat his words. Nothing else would do for her. She was going to discover who the highwayman was, even if it was the last thing she'd ever do. It would serve the Captain right for having underestimated her.
She made no effort to hide her resentment from him; on the contrary, she reverted to silence and only gave monosyllabic answers to his remarks. Captain Gilbert, though aware of her irritation if his sidelong questioning glances were anything to go by, did nothing to mollify her. He talked of indifferent subjects, and did not wait for her to make a contribution to their discourse. Probably he didn't even want her to say anything; he certainly gave her the impression of a man who thought women should be seen but not heard. If this was so, Clara was well aware that she was behaving just as she ought in his opinion, but even the realisation that she'd annoy him more by taking part in the conversation was not enough to make her consider it; she could not bring herself to speak to him. They soon reached the village, and Clara was glad to be able to leave the intolerable fellow behind and follow Amanda into the shop that usually enjoyed her patronage.
As for merchandise, the little shop on the village green opposite the church could not compare to the elegant shops in Milsom Street that Clara usually frequented. Since she had not come here to obtain anything but local gossip, however, this did not matter to her. She pretended to be in raptures over the things that were on offer she bought several yards of ribbon, which could never be said to be wasted for if all else failed she could still give it away and even went so far as to praise the muslin that had taken Amanda and Miss Swinford's fancy. It was as fine as anything she had ever seen in Bath, she ventured to say, a compliment that drew out the shop owner and made her as talkative as Clara could possibly have wished. The other customers of the shop, farmers' wives by the look of them, were eager to join in, and it did not take long until the shop owner, without any prompting on Clara's part, started on the topic closest to everyone's hearts.
The shopkeeper, a stout woman by the name of Wilson, first asked Clara for the latest fashions worn in Bath, which Clara described to her all the more willingly because she did not want to convey the impression of an arrogant town miss; and finally Mrs Wilson assured Clara that Colby Green was a respectable place, contrary to what it must appear to be at the moment, and that she hoped the incidents in Hermitage Wood had not given Clara a disgust of it. A better introduction to the subject Clara could not have hoped for, and she readily entered into the discussion with the shopkeeper and her customers, in the safe knowledge that it had not been she who'd started it. Captain Gilbert would not be able to blame her, though why his opinion should matter to her she did not know.
"I hear one of Captain Gilbert's friends was hurt, even," a Mrs Chapman said. It was clear that she wanted a confirmation, and Clara saw no reason why she should not offer it.
"So he was," she agreed. "Luckily his injury is not of a serious nature. To think that he survived that dreadful Spanish campaign unscathed, only to get shot in England when all he wanted to do was visit his friend!"
Miss Swinford shuddered.
"It can't have been any of the people living here," Mrs Wilson said firmly, quickly flying to the defence of her village. "None of us would do anything so wicked!"
"Oh no I am sure all the people in Colby Green are perfectly respectable," Clara replied. "The village cannot be blamed for whatever kind of ruffians pass through on their way elsewhere. It is my conviction that it must have been a foreigner otherwise Mr Norman must have recognised the man, even if Captain Morrison did not."
Mrs Wilson snorted. "I am not one to speak ill of others," she said, and went on to prove the opposite. "But Mr Norman was not likely to recognise anyone at that time of night." She lowered her voice, to indicate that she was sharing a secret that was probably none, Clara thought. "He is rather too fond of strong drink, I am sorry to say."
Clara was suitably shocked. "Indeed! I did not know he was in the habit of drinking too much. Poor Mrs Norman!"
Mrs Chapman giggled. "Oh, I am sure she doesn't mind," she said maliciously. "That way she can rule the roost and do whatever she pleases without her husband taking notice."
This did not come as a big surprise to Clara, who'd suspected something of the kind, but she was glad to have her opinion of the lady confirmed.
"Maybe Mr Norman's coachman saw enough to identify the attacker," she mused. "Sir Cecil will want to talk to him, surely."
"He already has," Mrs Wilson told her. "I saw him drive over to Risborough House yesterday afternoon; he must have gone there to speak to Mr Norman and his coachman. But my husband says the coachman knows nothing; he didn't recognise the highwayman, or so he said yesterday evening at the Green Man."
Then probably the whole village knew by now, Clara supposed. Fine; that would make it easier for them to investigate if the highwayman was a local, he might well feel quite safe in the knowledge that everyone believed him to be a foreigner. She was willing to adopt that idea, at least outwardly. It gratified her informants, and set the guilty party at ease. Unless he was a foreigner, but Clara doubted that. Only someone well acquainted with the area would dare to commit two robberies in the same place in one night someone who knew where to disappear if hard pressed.
"It really must be a stranger to the area then," Clara said, contradicting her private opinion. "Even if the coachman did not recognise the man, he would have recognised the horse if it belonged to someone in the village. Men of his profession take an interest in these things, don't they? I remember my father's coachman knew every horse some twenty miles around, at least this was the impression I had of him at the time."
She threw a challenging glance at Captain Gilbert, who had at that moment entered the shop to inform them that his brother was willing to show them the church if they were ready to see it, and who had overheard her last remark. There was also a hint of annoyance in his expression, Clara was pleased to note, and favoured the Captain with a brilliant smile to annoy him further.
"Well, I do hope Sir Cecil will solve the mystery soon. He certainly is capable of doing so and the respectable people of Colby Green need not live in fear for much longer, I am almost certain," she said to Mrs Wilson.
She took her parcel and said goodbye to the shopkeeper and her customers, almost certain that those ladies would be only too happy to tell her everything they knew or thought they knew about the highwayman, if only to assure her that he was not one of the local people. While their information might turn out to be useful, she would have to treat it with circumspection, for she was certain it would mainly support the theory favoured by them. But that was no reason to disregard it completely. For all she knew they might be right in their assumptions.
She'd have been better pleased if Captain Gilbert had reacted to her silent challenge, but he did not. While he'd looked surprised when she had mentioned the possibility of the coachman recognising the horse as if he hadn't thought her capable of coming to such a conclusion - , he did not favour her with his opinion but merely took charge of her parcel, and left her to his brother Simon's care while he took Amanda and Miss Swinford to a small bakery which also offered pastries and tea. He was a most provoking man. His brother was certainly the more amiable of the two, Clara decided once again. Mr Gilbert took her and his cousin Mr Swinford all over the church, and gave them a most entertaining lecture on its architecture and history. Once he'd shown them the church itself, he led them into the Lady Chapel, where the members of the Colby family had their final resting place. They had a look at the more remarkable of the effigies to be found there; remarkable either because of the delicate artwork or more often because the Colby in question had led a particularly exciting and interesting life.
They were about to finish their inspection of the church when the door opened and a voice said, "We're in luck, George. I'm sure Gilbert can tell you anything you could possibly wish to know about the church. He's as much of an art enthusiast as you are."
Clara turned towards the entrance, and found Mr Colby and Mr Summers walking towards them. It was Mr Colby who'd uttered the previous statement, and he added, with an apologetic smile, "That is, if you don't mind, Gilbert. You see, my cousin wants to see the church because he takes much interest in Gothic architecture, and I'm the first to admit that I know next to nothing about it. Will you take pity on him?"
"Why, certainly," Mr Gilbert assured him. "I have just finished showing the church to Miss Baines, but if she does not mind waiting for five minutes unless you will accompany her to the pastry cook's, Walter? I will join you later."
Mr Swinford readily assented, but Clara did not want to meet Amanda and Captain Gilbert at the pastry cook's yet not when she had such an excellent opportunity of talking to Mr Colby without fearing interruption. She did not expect him to know anything about the highwayman, and she wasn't going to ask him any direct questions, but if he happened to mention the matter, as everyone seemed to be doing these days
He did not, of course. It was an annoying habit men must have picked up at school, Clara surmised - never to allude to a possibly upsetting topic when talking to a lady. So, in spite of her careful probing, he talked to her about the weather first and, once this subject had been sufficiently dealt with, continued to talk about London.
"Have you ever been to Town, Miss Baines?" he asked.
"I used to live there when I was a child," Clara said. "A London residence was essential for my father, who was in the diplomatic service."
"Indeed! Then you are acquainted with Town life!"
"Not at all, I am afraid. I did not get to see much outside my nursery. When my father passed away we moved to the country; my mother not being very fond of London and the Fashionable World."
Mr Colby looked at her as if he could not believe the testimony of his own ears. "You do not say so," he said weakly.
"She took part in it only to please my father," Clara continued. "As for myself, while I imagine that it must be delightful for a Season or two, I do not think I am made for the fashionable life either."
"You prefer the country then?"
"Maybe the country too would pall after a while; I do not know," Clara admitted. "I believe I'd be best suited with a smaller town, such as Bath."
"Which is where you live, I remember," Mr Colby said.
"I am well pleased with it," Clara told him. "It offers everything London has, I believe, though on a smaller scale."
Mr Colby smiled. "To me, Bath always seemed to be a dull place filled to the brink with the old and infirm, and with nothing to tempt me to come near it," he confessed. "Apparently it must possess some charm after all, since you appear to be so fond of it. Maybe I should visit the place after all."
Clara laughed. "To someone accustomed to London life it must seem rather flat, I am afraid. But it does well enough for me, to be sure, and you would not find Bath as dull as you may think if only you gave it a chance."
"Depend on it, I will, Miss Baines."
"Ah, cousin! Have you been boring Miss Baines?" Mr Summers and Mr Gilbert had finished their tour of the church, and Mr Summers was coming towards them.
"How unkind of you to say such a thing, sir," Clara protested. "Your cousin took pity on me when you stole my escort! If anything, I have been boring him, and he endured his fate like the true gentleman that he is. Please take no notice of your cousin, Mr Colby."
"No; please ignore me," Mr Summers said laughingly. "My most humble apologies for stealing your escort, Miss Baines. I am afraid I have nothing to say in my defence, so I will not offend your intelligence by trying to make excuses. But I do hope you will forgive me nevertheless."
"I will," Clara replied. "I am blessed with a most forgiving nature."
"This is a blessing indeed, Miss Baines," Mr Summers said and then he and his cousin took their leave of them, returning to Colby Hall while Clara, Mr Swinford and Mr Gilbert went to the pastry cook's to meet the rest of their party.
Back home, John first went to see how Morrison was doing and, once he'd ascertained that his friend was feeling rather better though heartily bored, he spent about an hour playing chess with him. Even in his weakened state, Morrison said after having won twice, he was not incapacitated enough to be unable to beat him soundly whenever he chose. John did not have the heart to tell him that he'd taken great pains to let him win. Later, John went to his room to dress for dinner. He was just putting the finishing touches to his cravat when there was a knock at the door. It was his sister.
"Can I come in and talk to you for a moment?" she asked as he opened the door for her. She did not wait for his reply, however, but went into his room and sat down in the easy chair by the fire. John could not help but notice that she looked almost like a grown woman now. In her manner she was still a girl, but in looks she had grown up. A couple of months had made all the difference she was no longer the awkward young girl he'd known, but almost a young lady. He'd be fighting off suitors next. The prospect did not exactly please him.
"That's a fetching gown you're wearing," he said. Since her stay in Bath her dress sense had improved she no longer favoured the flamboyant style she had worn before.
"Thank you. I had it made in Bath Clara helped me choose the fabric. She has such an excellent eye for colour! Everyone at Mrs Blackwell's asks her for her opinion when they buy new clothes; she's always so elegant, don't you think?"
So Miss Baines' influence had been at work there too, John thought. He could not deny that his sister appeared to benefit a great deal by the friendship.
Aloud, he said, "I suppose so. I don't know much about these things, Amanda, so I cannot be a judge, but the gown does become you very well. What's so important that you could not wait till dinnertime to tell me?"
"I wanted to ask a favour of you. You will do me a favour, won't you?"
"That depends on what you want," John said cautiously. He knew his sister; she could come up with the silliest ideas. "I don't hold with making rash promises."
"Will you find the highwayman?"
John laughed. "Why, if that's all that it is," he said. "I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning! Anything else you would like me to do while I'm about it?"
"Don't you dare laugh at me!" Amanda cried indignantly. "I am serious!"
"So am I! Amanda, do you think it is going to be that easy? You make it sound as if all I needed to do was ride into the village and arrest the first fellow I see!"
"But you do not understand! It is most important that you catch the man before Tuesday! Papa says he cannot promise he'll do it, but I know you can! You must!"
While this display of confidence in his abilities was rather flattering, John failed to understand the urgency of Amanda's demand.
"Why, in the name of all that's wonderful?" he therefore demanded, not knowing whether he should simply laugh or try to shake some sense into his sister.
"There's a ball in Colby Hall on Tuesday," Amanda explained. "Lady Waldegrave sent us an invitation. But Mama said we will not go there if there's a highwayman at large in Colby Green! She is afraid he'll hold us up and steal her jewels, and kill you and Papa!"
"Oh, I knew there had to be an important reason such as that," John said sarcastically.
"It may not be important to you, but it certainly is to me," Amanda said. "Please, John! Tell me you will find him!"
"I'll certainly do my best," John promised. "But I'm afraid I cannot guarantee that we will have caught him by Tuesday."
"You will catch him, if you let people help you. How about asking Clara for help?"
"What?"
"She's clever, John, and people tell her things, and if you ask her nicely I'm sure she'll do what she can to help you! Only this morning, Mrs Wilson and Mrs Chapman told her all kinds of things and she did not even ask them!"
"Amanda, did Miss Baines send you here?" John asked, his gracious thoughts about that lady evaporating. He would not put it past that meddlesome female to send his sister on such an errand, just so she could interfere with what was no concern of hers.
"Clara?" Amanda laughed. "Don't be ridiculous! She'd never do that. She doesn't particularly like you, I'm afraid, and it will be quite a task persuading her to assist you."
Even though John had suspected something along these lines, it was not exactly pleasant to have his suspicions confirmed by someone on a more intimate footing with Miss Baines than he was. So Miss Baines disliked him, did she? It was not surprising, perhaps, yet it did sting his pride.
"She doesn't know me," he said evasively.
"Well no, she doesn't. But she does not treat you as if she liked you."
"Maybe it is because she is not used to being in company with gentlemen," John surmised. "She might be shy." Even to him the statement sounded weak, and it appeared to amuse his sister to no end, if her laughter was anything to go by.
"Clara? If she had not come here I'm sure she would be engaged by now. She says she will not have Mr Harding, but I'm sure she will when he finally asks her. And if he doesn't there will be others. Clara is quite a favourite in Bath. "
"Amanda, Miss Baines' private matters are none of my business. You should not discuss them with me! Nor should you go around announcing my private affairs to all and sundry, as you have no doubt done at school! It was an annoying habit when you were a child, but you no longer are, and should know better!" John scolded her.
"Is this why you were so unkind to Clara when she arrived?" Amanda asked.
Although she was often silly, Amanda was disconcertingly perceptive at times, John thought; usually when no one wanted her to be.
"I was not unkind!" he protested.
"You were! It was not exactly what you said, maybe, but how you said it! I was ashamed of you, John."
John reddened. "Do you expect me to be pleased with finding out that you've been spreading my tale all over Bath? What else was I supposed to think of Miss Baines when the only thing I knew about her was that she'd done so much for our family when I disappeared?"
"You thought she she was meddling? She wasn't; it was me who begged her to try and discover your whereabouts from her uncle! And her uncle wasn't very helpful anyway, so she exerted herself all for nothing; except maybe for having her efforts thrown back into her face when she finally met you. I am not the best-behaved girl in the world, but even I realised that was very wrong of you. I was ashamed of you, John."
Having his little sister who'd always looked up at him tell him off was a novel experience, and one that he did not enjoy overly much. It irritated him even more to know that Amanda was right, and he tried to defend himself.
"Maybe," he said, "it will interest you that I have apologised to Miss Baines. She knows I did not mean to insult her. But while I am very sorry to have offended her, I will not allow her to take part in the hunt for the highwayman."
"Why not? John, she could be really useful! When things kept disappearing from our rooms at Mrs Blackwell's it was Clara who found out whose fault it was! If it hadn't been for her, one of the housemaids would have been dismissed, but it really was I'm not allowed to tell you because I promised Clara I wouldn't tell anyone, but it was one of the girls staying there. Anyway, Clara's meddling, as you call it, cleared a poor housemaid's name, and you cannot say that wasn't good."
It was, John had to admit, and it was easy to see why Amanda thought her friend to be the suitable person to deal with such matters. It would be difficult to make her understand his point of view, but he had to try.
"But this is quite another matter! It's a dangerous venture, Amanda. Do you want your friend to be hurt, or worse? Use your brain! This is not a schoolgirl pinching small change from her schoolfellows' rooms! The man shot Morrison without a moment's hesitation; there is no doubt that he would have killed him if he could! Such a man would not stop at doing your friend serious harm if he thought her a nuisance! Miss Baines is our guest, and we must keep her safe!"
"Of course you would not mind if she was a man, would you?" Amanda said angrily. "She'd be most welcome to help you then. Clara has enough sense not to put herself into danger; she knows what she can do and what she can't."
"I did not say she'd do so knowingly."
"The fact of the matter is that it would hurt your pride to accept help from a female, John. I know you."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Is it? Since you don't cooperate, I'll try what I can find out for myself, John; see if you can stop me! And I will attend Lady Waldegrave's ball, whether we've caught the highwayman or not! I don't care if we get held up on our way home; I want to dance!"
Having made this announcement, she flounced out of his room and slammed the door shut behind her.
The moment Clara entered the drawing room before dinner, she noticed something was wrong. Amanda and Captain Gilbert were sitting in opposite corners of the room, and if the expression on Amanda's face was anything to go by one of her temper tantrums was imminent. She kept throwing darkling glances at her brother; which gave Clara a hint as to who had caused her ill temper. Acting as if nothing had happened, Clara sat down next to Amanda, and complimented her on her dress. She had often employed that ruse to turn Amanda's thoughts away from whatever imaginary wrongs she was dwelling on, and hoped to succeed in doing so that evening.
But this time it did not work. "What use are pretty dresses if no one can see them?" Amanda demanded.
"I can see it perfectly," Clara said, smiling. "I am not no one, I hope."
"But we're going to be locked up in this house for ages, and John won't do anything about it!" Amanda complained.
"Is there anything your brother can do about it?" Clara asked.
"He can, but he won't. He said he won't catch the highwayman."
Clara's eyes met Captain Gilbert's across the room. He was not as ill-mannered as to start an argument with his sister while they were supposed to be entertaining their guests, it seemed, but he looked amused rather than offended anyway.
"This was certainly very bad of him," Clara said. "But I am certain he will make an effort, in spite of what he said."
"That was what I said to my sister, in fact," Captain Gilbert remarked. "She appears to think it essential that I arrest the fellow before Tuesday."
"Oh!" Clara turned to her friend again. "Are you afraid Lady Waldegrave will postpone the ball?"
"I don't care if she does, for we will not be going!" Amanda cried, her eyes filling with tears of indignation. "Not if that highwayman is still at large! Mama said so!"
"Staying at home after dark does seem the prudent thing to do," Clara said. "I strongly believe that Lady Waldegrave will be obliged to postpone the dance - she won't have many guests if she does not. There are few people in the district keen on being robbed, I am certain."
Amanda looked at her, doubtingly. "You think the ball won't be on Tuesday?"
"Lady Waldegrave does not strike me as the silly kind of female," Clara soothed her. "What is more, you told me that she has a reputation as a genial hostess. She will not go through the preparations for a ball if there is the slightest danger of her ending up without guests and having her reputation in that respect tarnished."
"Good!" Amanda brightened. Evidently, the idea of no one attending the ball pleased her. If she was to stay away from the dance on Tuesday, so was everyone else. She could live with the idea of no ball taking place, but greatly resented the notion of having to stay at home while everyone else was having fun at Colby Hall.
At the dinner table Clara was sitting between Sir Cecil and Captain Gilbert again, and although she was valiantly trying to ignore the Captain, he did not allow her to do so.
"You appear to be quite good at handling my sister's moods," he remarked quietly as Amanda was busy talking to her cousin Walter and unlikely to overhear their conversation.
"I do not like arguments," Clara replied. "Even at an early age I used to try and make peace between people. My uncle says it is a pity I am a girl if I'd been a boy I must have followed my father's example and joined the diplomatic service."
Captain Gilbert smiled. "You could still marry a diplomat, Miss Baines, and assist him in the execution of his duties," he suggested.
"So I could, I suppose, though I do not think this is the kind of life I'd enjoy," Clara said. "If I think of my future at all I do not picture myself as the great political hostess."
"What picture do you have of your future then?"
"Not a very clear one," Clara admitted. "I'd like to have a large family and a nice, quiet home. This is as far as my ambition goes."
"Your home is not likely to remain quiet for long if the family is large enough," Captain Gilbert pointed out a fault in her reasoning. "We used to be a noisy crowd, and there were only four of us."
Clara laughed. "It must have been delightful," she said wistfully. "I often wish I had a dozen brothers and sisters."
"A dozen? I must admit I never wished for any more than those I had," Captain Gilbert said.
"Yes, but you never were alone," Clara replied. "It all comes down to people always wanting what they cannot have, I suppose."
There was a short pause, during which Clara became aware of some sidelong glances from the Captain. She hoped he did not pity her she did not want to be pitied. She had everything she needed; she'd had loving parents while they'd lived, and they had left her well provided for. Her uncle, while he did not take much interest in what she did, seemed to be rather fond of her in his own way. Among the girls in Mrs Blackwell's school she was very popular; she had many friends in Bath and was by no means lonely. Still she sometimes wished she had a real confidant; a brother or sister with whom she could share her daily concerns. Since she hadn't, she had developed the habit of dealing with her problems on her own, and had turned out rather good at doing so. She really did not need Captain Gilbert's sympathy or anyone else's for that matter.
If he did pity her, he was at least clever or tactful enough to keep this feeling to himself. Instead he agreed with her on the contrariness of human nature, and hoped she would achieve her life's ambition.
Clara turned her attention back to her dinner then, thinking of Mr Harding, who could offer her everything she wanted in her life except the one thing she felt she needed for perfect happiness, a husband she could love. Maybe she should make more of an effort in that direction, she told herself. It was not that Mr Harding wasn't likeable. In all probability the fault lay with her.
John looked in on Morrison before joining the ladies in the drawing room. The fever had more or less subsided, and Morrison told him in no uncertain terms that he was not planning on staying bedridden for much longer.
"We'll see what the doctor says when he comes to see you tomorrow," John said, and left the room before Morrison had got hold of something that really hurt when thrown at his head.
"How is Captain Morrison?" his cousin Eleanor asked him as he came into the drawing room. She was sitting with Miss Baines and Amanda, decorating a straw bonnet she'd bought in the village shop this morning. Miss Baines was making roses out of ribbon, and Amanda was advising her on where to put them.
"He is feeling much better," John replied, pulling a chair towards them and sitting down. Clearly it behoved him to entertain the ladies, since his mother had dropped off on the sofa and his father was playing chess with Cousin Walter.
"Then he can help you catch the highwayman," Amanda said, brightening. "So you don't need Clara's help after all!"
Miss Baines looked up from the rose she was making, and raised her eyebrows in a questioning manner.
"My sister suggested you could help me find the highwayman," John explained.
"So I could, but I doubt you will let me, sir," Miss Baines said dryly.
"I should not," John said defensively. "I told you why when we walked into the village this morning, didn't I? I also told Amanda, but seemingly I have not been very successful in getting my point across."
"When I said I could help I was not thinking of lying in ambush in Hermitage Wood," Miss Baines pointed out. "I'd leave the actual catching to more able hands than mine. What I was thinking of was getting hold of information, and trying to identify the man by deduction. I am not considered deficient in the thinking department, you must know, and I know my abilities have their limits."
"You see? Clara could really help you if you asked her nicely," Amanda said. "Couldn't you, Clara?"
"I think Captain Gilbert has made it very clear that he does not want me to, Amanda," Miss Baines said. "We should leave it at that, don't you think?"
For once, John was inclined to agree with Miss Baines, but he knew his sister. He was not going to have any peace in the house if she did not have her way. He knew her well enough to know that she had not uttered an empty threat before when she'd said she would go looking for the highwayman herself, and he shuddered to think of the trouble that might ensue if she did. John knew when accepting defeat was the better option than to go down fighting.
"If you limit your cooperation to what you suggested, Miss Baines," he said, "and promise to do nothing without telling one of us my father, Captain Morrison or myself - first, I shall be glad of your assistance."
Miss Baines had a pretty smile he noticed as she looked up at him and nodded. "Tomorrow morning after breakfast then," she said. "You'll tell me what you know, and we can work on our strategy."
"Our strategy, Miss Baines?" John asked, smiling.
"Why yes; this venture will need careful planning, don't you agree?"
"I do, Miss Baines. I just wonder whether you should take part in the planning."
"Don't worry, Captain," Miss Baines replied. "I'll just sit there, look as ornamental as I can, keep my mouth shut and do exactly what I'm told. I know a woman's place in this world."
The tone of sarcasm was unmistakeable, but John refused to rise to her bait. "Excellent, Miss Baines," he simply said. "It looks as if we will get along famously then."
Captain Morrison left his room the next morning, in spite of the doctor's advice. His fever was gone, he said, and he saw no reason why he should remain in bed any more. Giving in to the Captain's stubborn character, the doctor then asked him to stay in the house and not to overtax his strength again since that would bring on a relapse; a promise which Morrison gave unwillingly and only because his friend gave his word that he'd make sure Morrison did exactly what the doctor had told him, by force if necessary.
At the breakfast table, Captain Morrison sat next to Miss Swinford and proved himself perfectly able to put her mind at rest. She'd been worried about him, she confessed, and was glad that he was feeling better. Morrison assured her that there was no need for her to worry about him; the doctor had allowed him to leave his room, he said, and he was planning to stay indoors today in keeping with the doctor's orders. Miss Swinford immediately recruited her brother's cooperation in entertaining the Captain, and Lady Gilbert entered into the scheme, promising to give them a tour of the house. While it was probably not the kind of entertainment Captain Morrison had had in mind, he readily assented, and even informed his hostess that he was looking forward to the treat. Before they could embark on that tour, however, he was present at Clara's conference with his friend it was likely that Captain Gilbert had asked him for moral support, Clara suspected, but unlike his friend he did not behave as if it were against a woman's nature to take an interest in crime. He gave her a report of his encounter with the highwayman, and answered her questions readily and with great good-nature.
"I wish I could find out what Mr Norman saw," Clara said when she had heard Captain Morrison's report. "But he probably won't tell me. You know, it is a pity that there will probably be no ball on Tuesday. Nothing is more useful than being able to mingle with people at a social function if one wishes to discover something. They tell one much more about themselves than they think they do, I have often found."
"I have frequently observed the same thing, Miss Baines," Captain Morrison agreed. "It is a pity indeed."
"We'll have to stick to other methods then," Clara observed. "How about questioning the people who live near Hermitage Wood or somewhere between the village and the forest? They might have seen something. It wouldn't hurt to pay the scene of the crime a visit or two to hunt for clues but not until you are feeling better, Captain Morrison, for we will need your assistance there."
"I do not believe that a walk to the forest will do me much harm, Miss Baines," Captain Morrison replied. "But to spare the doctor's sensibilities and those of Miss Swinford we had better wait until the doctor thinks I am fit for the expedition. Which will not take long, I promise you."
"I could walk there by myself if you told me where exactly it happened," Clara said reflectively. "The longer we wait the more difficult it will become to "
"You will not walk into the forest by yourself, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert interrupted her. "I thought we'd agreed that you will not put yourself into danger?"
"I did not think taking a stroll in Hermitage Wood in broad daylight was dangerous, but I will bow to your superior judgement," Clara replied heatedly. That man always did something to make her forget her manners, she thought ruefully.
"Thank you Miss Baines. I had rather not report to your uncle how I allowed you to get yourself killed and did nothing to stop you."
"Oh, he'd surely have you court-martialled if I did get killed," Clara said sweetly. "For a moment I wondered whether you were concerned about my safety, sir, but I appear to have been mistaken. We should make a push, maybe, to find the horse the highwayman has been using. I have two theories regarding that animal would you care to hear them?"
Captain Morrison expressed his eagerness to hear more, and while Captain Gilbert did not go to that length at least he made no objection but indicated with a nod that he was not averse to hearing them.
"The highwayman is not necessarily from Colby Green itself, though he must be familiar with the area. He could well live in one of the villages around here; it would be foolish to restrict our search to the men living in this parish, or so I think. Are there any farmers around here who keep their horses in the paddock at night, or who do not usually lock their stables? You see, my idea was the following. It seems strange that a criminal whose success depends on a fast horse should be riding a plodding farm horse unless he had to. Why should he do that?"
"His own horse would be too recognisable?" Captain Morrison suggested. Clara nodded.
"That suggests that both he and his horse must be known hereabouts, and that proves that he must be a local," she continued. "Now, my thought was the following. The farm horse was not necessarily the highwayman's. He came here from wherever it is that he has come on his own horse, kept it somewhere safe, somewhere where it would not be found easily unless one knew where to look and borrowed someone else's workhorse for the actual assault. Having robbed Mr Norman, he rode back to where he'd kept his own mount, released the farm horse so it could find its way back home, and then rode his own horse back to where he'd come from. If anyone met him on the road they would not think of him as the highwayman simply because his horse would not fit the description."
"There's one flaw in that theory," Captain Gilbert pointed out. "Though it shows some nice thinking on your part." The arrogance in his tone of voice was evident. Clara wished she could slap him.
"Would you care to explain?" she asked coldly.
Captain Gilbert smiled. "There is no reason for you to take offence, Miss Baines, merely because I drew your attention to a fault in your reasoning."
"I do not take offence at your pointing out a mistake, sir. I know I have not yet worked out every possibility, and if you have an objection or contribution to make do so by all means. What I did not like was your way of telling me. Please rid yourself of the notion that I am a silly child who delights in being patronised."
Captain Morrison grinned appreciatively, which made Clara suppose that he was on her side. She liked Captain Morrison.
"This was not the impression I meant to give, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert defended himself.
"But your argument is not sound. Consider one thing where does the man keep the gear for that second horse? If he caught it in the paddock, where would he get a saddle? If he really does not wish to be recognised, what about his clothes? Surely he'd have to get rid of those as well?"
"There is that," Clara admitted, silently cursing herself for mentioning her theory before having found a way around these problems. "I have not yet thought of that."
"It's an easy mistake to make," Captain Morrison soothed her. "You are not in the habit of taking care of your own horses, are you? So how were you to know?"
He smiled at her disarmingly as she frowned at him. "And no, I am not patronising you," he added. "The theory has its merit; it might be worth looking into."
Reluctantly, Clara laughed. "Well, I still think that the highwayman somehow used two different horses," she said. "I am sure I will find out how he dealt with the saddle problem if I put my mind to it."
"Do so, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert said encouragingly. "I am looking forward to hearing your solution to the problem. I will engage to find out how many farmers keep their stables unlocked, and whether any horses have mysteriously escaped from their stalls and turned out outside the stables the morning after the assaults."
He was still not taking her idea seriously Clara realised, but refrained from starting an argument with him, much though she felt like having one.
"Excellent," she merely said, exactly copying his own patronising tone of voice. "I wish you success in the endeavour, sir. Now shall we go to Lady Gilbert? I am certain she is already waiting to show us the house."
"We'll join you in a moment, Miss Baines, but first there are a couple of things I must say to Gilbert here," Captain Morrison said to her. "Please beg Lady Gilbert to excuse us for another five minutes. It will not take us long."
"Certainly," Clara said, and left them to whatever business they wished to discuss. Captain Morrison not being as averse to her taking part in the enquiries as his friend, she thought, it was unlikely that their discussion had anything to do with the highwayman or he would not ask her to go away.
Morrison waited until Miss Baines was not only out of the room but also out of earshot. Then he turned to John.
"I'll be damned if I ever meet another fellow as churlish as you are," he said. "What makes you treat Miss Baines the way you do, I wonder?"
John sighed. "She does bring out the worst in me, doesn't she? I don't know why but she annoys me to no end."
"The feeling is mutual, I suspect," Morrison said. "I must commend her for not making a scene, however. A lesser woman would have had a screaming fit considering how you behaved just now. If this is your way of dealing with the ladies it's no wonder you're lacking success in that department."
John flinched. While he usually acted as if he no longer cared, his recent disappointment still rankled and he did not like anyone alluding to the matter. Morrison knew that well, and had refrained from mentioning it so far.
Morrison had noticed his reaction to his remark. "I'm sorry if you don't like hearing this, but I'd be failing in my duty as your friend if I did not tell you what I think of your conduct with Miss Baines," he said. "Yes, she is a young lady, and she may be more curious about that case than you would like her to be, but is that reason enough to behave as you did? I do not think so."
John snorted. "Miss Baines is a meddling busybody," he said, not mincing matters. "She sticks her nose in business that does not concern her at all; starting with trying to discover my whereabouts when I was in Spain and ending with her getting shot because she couldn't resist hunting for a dangerous criminal. You don't expect me to encourage her, do you?"
"No, but I'd expect you to be civil, and you're anything but that. As for her asking her uncle about you, did she do this of her own accord or did your sister ask her to intervene on your behalf?"
"I believe Amanda did ask her to," John admitted grudgingly.
"You cannot blame her for doing so, then. She was doing her friend a favour, and it would be highly unjust to say that she'd been meddling. Did she ask you to let her cooperate with our search?"
"Not as such," John said reluctantly.
"Then on what grounds do you call her a meddling busybody?"
Unable to come up with a satisfactory explanation, John remained silent.
"And why did you ask her to help us with our inquiries when you don't want her to?" Morrison pressed on.
"I only allowed myself to be persuaded to let her have her say in the affair because Amanda more or less put a pistol to my head. I don't want her to get herself into trouble, and I know she would! By promising that Miss Baines could help us with the investigation I got Amanda to leave the matter alone. I'll grant Miss Baines one thing; she's got more sense than my dear sister, and will be easier to deal with."
"Did it occur to you that Miss Baines might have consented to the scheme for very much the same reason as you did? I don't know her well enough to be a judge, but it does seem to me as if she's genuinely fond of Miss Gilbert."
"I must admit that thought has not entered my head so far. You may be right, of course."
"Good. So I suppose that's settled then. I recommend you to keep a civil tongue in your head while she's around. She is your sister's friend and a guest in your home, and so she deserves to be treated with respect. If that is not reason enough in your opinion, though it should be, keep in mind who her uncle is. General Baines could make life very difficult for you if he chose, and I don't think he'd be pleased if he knew how you've been treating his niece."
John flared up. "You don't think I'm the sort of man who'd let this kind of consideration to weigh with him?"
"No, you can't be, can you?" Morrison retorted with a grin. "Otherwise you'd have behaved differently right from the start. I just thought I had better remind you. Think of it as an additional inducement."
Just as the Captains Morrison and Gilbert joined the party in the drawing room and Lady Gilbert was about to start the promised tour of the house, the butler admitted two visitors Lady Waldegrave and Mr Colby. The purpose of their visit soon became clear. Lady Waldegrave had received Lady Gilbert's polite note excusing herself from attending the ball on Tuesday, and her ladyship had come to Antigua Lodge to try whether she could change her neighbour's mind.
She fully sympathised with Lady Gilbert's fear that something might happen on the way to or from the dance at Colby Hall, she said; she had had several refusals from prospective guests already, but unfortunately the preparations for the event had gone so far by now that it was virtually impossible for her to cancel it.
"I need not tell you, ma'am, how difficult it would be to call everything off," she said. "It is a nightmare come true! So I have come to ask you to reconsider your decision."
"I dare not attend, much though I am in sympathy with you," Lady Gilbert replied. "As long as the villain who held up Captain Morrison and Mr Norman is not caught, I cannot feel safe travelling around at night."
"This is what I expected," Lady Waldegrave said. "However, my son has a suggestion to make that will, I am sure, be acceptable to you."
Mr Colby, who had not spoken so far, cleared his throat when he found everyone looking at him. "I have been thinking," he began, "that Colby Hall is large enough to house those people who are wary of going home at night. So I suggested to my mother that we invite those of our neighbours who feel uneasy about travelling home after the dance to remain at Colby Hall and go home in the morning. It is unlikely that the highwayman will venture an attack in broad daylight."
"What an excellent idea, Mr Colby!" Amanda cried, taking to the idea at once. "That way we can attend the ball and you need not be afraid of being held up, Mama!"
"I am not certain that we ought to put Lady Waldegrave to so much trouble," Lady Gilbert said.
"Believe me, ma'am, that it would be much more troublesome to cancel the ball altogether," Lady Waldegrave replied. "In fact you would be doing me a favour!"
"It looks as if you are going to get your chance to mingle and make inquiries after all, Miss Baines," Captain Gilbert said to Clara under his breath.
She eyed him suspiciously. He seemed amiable enough, but she had been mistaken in him before and was not going to accept his sudden friendliness at face value.
"Only if Lady Gilbert consents to the scheme," she whispered.
After a few moments of silence, during which almost everyone was watching her with bated breath, Lady Gilbert came to a conclusion. "Very well," she said. "It would be heartless of me to let my neighbour down in a situation like this, and to deprive this young set here of so excellent an entertainment. We will come."
Amanda gave a shriek of delight and hugged her mother. "Thank you, Mama!" she cried. "Thank you! And thank you Mr Colby for coming up with this delightful scheme!"
Mr Colby accepted her thanks with a smile and some very proper words, and Amanda immediately came to Clara and demanded to know what she was going to wear. One had to get one's priorities right.
© 2009 Copyright held by the author.