Part 9 (1/2)
”M'sister,” he mumbled, freeing an arm to strike James anew. Brown jumped in to pin him down.
”Who is your sister?” demanded James.
”Betty. You smashed her jaw so she can't eat good.”
”No.”
”What is he talking about?” she asked Brown.
He shrugged. ”He's one of Farmer's lads,” he said, naming one of Sir Richard's tenants. ”Whole family's a bit simple- though the boys make good enough stable hands-but the girl can't do nothin' for herself.”
”When was Betty hurt?” James asked, gentling his voice.
”Couple of years ago.”
”Did she claim I did it?”
”I doubt she'd recognize her own father,” muttered Brown.
”One o' the twins,” Will quoted.
”John, then. I've not been here in years.”
Will glared suspiciously.
”It's true, Will,” Mary said. ”This is James, the new earl. The man who was here two years ago was his twin brother John. I know, because he traveled from London with my husband, Lord Northrup.”
Will's sullen face flushed.
Mary turned to Brown. ”I will leave him in your charge for now. You will make him understand that the twins are two different men and that neither is responsible for the deeds of the other. Northrup will discuss the situation when he returns.”
Brown jerked Will toward the stable. She was confident that the boy would a.s.sault no one again.
”My profound apologies, my lord,” she said, leading the way to the house. She knew why he had called alone, though she had not expected him for another day or two. He would have questions about the accident, and this incident would not make answering them any easier.
”It wasn't your fault.” He gingerly fingered his bandage. His coat sleeve had a new hole where Will had caught him with a tine. ”It would seem that John was even less popular than I thought. Why would he attack the Farmer girl?”
”I am only guessing, but he probably ordered her out of his way. When she responded slower than he liked, he struck her down. Do you wish to speak with Northrup about this?”
”No. I doubt an officer needs help disciplining his staff. But I have several questions for you.”
”I will answer what I can, but first, you need to clean up.” Summoning Justin's valet, she sent him upstairs. After apprising Trimble of the scuffle, she left him to deal with the errant footmen, then paced the study while she reviewed recent events.
James's arrival was disrupting the neighborhood. She had been right to fear his appearance. It was opening old wounds, reviving old grievances-and doing it with a suddenness that bypa.s.sed the usual curbs on behavior. Two attacks, by two different people, put a new twist on the incident at the quarry.
”Lord Ridgeway, my lady,” announced Trimble from the doorway.
A fresh bandage wrapped his forehead. Pickins had brushed his blue jacket and mended the tear, but mud still streaked the dove gray pantaloons, and blood stained his s.h.i.+rt. She bit back a groan when she spotted the scratch on his top boots. Gentlemen hated it when anything damaged their boots.
”Sit down, my lord.” She motioned to the chair in front of the desk. He looked pale, but she was determined to keep the meeting businesslike. Her serenity would disappear if she did not maintain her distance.
”No more apologies,” he begged, forestalling further comment.
”Very well.” She handed him a gla.s.s of wine before seating herself behind the desk.
”Harry claims you brought me home yesterday.”
She nodded. ”What was the diagnosis? I am surprised to see you up so soon.”
He grunted. ”Concussion, but I hate being confined to bed.”
”Yet if you were not still weak from blood loss, Will would have been less successful.” Or if his clothes had been less fas.h.i.+onable. Even though his were looser than some-Mr. Crenshaw's, for example-they constrained his movements. His last lunge to tackle Will had torn the shoulder seam of his coat.
”Hmph.” He sipped wine. ”According to Harry, you found me unconscious near the quarry, loaded me into my phaeton, then drove me home.”
She said nothing.
”Arrant nonsense. You could not possibly lift me.”
”I never claimed to have done so. You were in your phaeton when I found you.”
”Still arrant nonsense.”
”Are you calling me a liar? I did find you near the quarry, and I did drive you home.”
”Perhaps, but that is far from the whole story. What really happened?”
”Do you not recall?” Even before the incident in the stable yard, she had questioned her original conclusions.
He paced the room, tossing back the wine and helping himself to more. ”I had spent the morning in town. People no longer recoil in shock at my appearance, but they remain aloof, even those who used to be friendly.”
”That should come as no surprise, my lord. You have been absent a long time. People no longer remember you clearly and have to wonder if you resemble your brother in more than looks.”
”It is more than that,” he insisted. ”I've done enough since returning to ease most fears.”
”You have rolled back the rents and postponed turning off any servants, but that could be a prelude to harsher measures- something John often did. You cannot regain trust in a fortnight that took ten years of deliberate cruelty to destroy. And you cannot expect people to willingly abandon years of prudence to discuss the unmentionable subject of your brother.”
”Always, we come back to John,” he murmured.
”You cannot ignore him,” she agreed. ”And whatever your reasons, the fact that you are searching for his killer counts against you.”
”Are you suggesting that I stop?”
She frowned. ”At first, I thought it a futile attempt and an unnecessary one, but I am no longer certain. I had not looked beyond the fact that John's death benefited many deserving people. But what of the killer? Can I feel secure knowing that one of my neighbors is capable of brutally dispatching an enemy?”
”A valid concern. Where does he draw the line between friend and foe?”
”And what const.i.tutes justice?” she finished for him, then felt her cheeks warm at her temerity. s.h.i.+vers rose at this apparent bit of mind-reading.
”Exactly, but we have moved far afield. Tell me about this accident. If I was still in my phaeton, why do I have a knot on my head?”