“They stand watch because other horses have disappeared.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice, “And what is just as puzzling, Pris, is that horses have been appearing in the stables, too. Horses that do not belong at Rossington Hall.”
“Does Lord Rossington know about this?”
“No, because if they told him about the extra horses, they would have to own up to the missing ones as well. That could mean their positions.”
“So some horses have been found and others lost.”
He shook his head. “No, the same ones that have been found have also been the ones lost.”
She started to reply, then halted as a faint memory exploded through her mind. “Mr. Cross said farmers had found horses that didn’t belong to them in their barns. Horses that matched ones ridden by dead highwaymen.”
He blew a low, sharp whistle. “Dash it, Pris, you are brilliant! That fact had slipped from my mind, but I remember now. He said the Order at first believed the farmers had a hand in the murders, but then decided they had not because the farmers would have boasted about slaying the highwaymen rather than talking about new horses.”
“If some of those horses had been brought to the stables here, they would have been safe until whoever brought them was ready to move them somewhere else.”
“But the only person who could do that would be someone familiar to the stablemen.”
“You need to ask them straightaway if they have seen anyone there more often than usual.” She stood. “And I will speak with the person who cares as much about the horses as the grooms do.”
“Miss Verlyn?”
“Yes.”
“I hope she has some explanation.”
Hearing the disquiet in his voice, she fought back a shiver. Neville seldom showed uncertainty, but each time he did, it meant that something was unfolding that was even more horrific than he wanted to imagine. And that was very horrific indeed.
Chapter Sixteen
PRISCILLA’S HOPES were dashed when Miss Verlyn’s maid refused to let her enter. Even explaining that the matter was urgent gained her nothing. The maid was polite, but insistent. Miss Verlyn must not be disturbed. She needed her rest to recover.
Swallowing her frustration, Priscilla retreated, after asking the maid to tell Miss Verlyn that she had called. She considered seeking out Lord Rossington, but recalled Lady Rossington’s words that the couple’s daughters were her obligation. And the lady herself would be in no state to hear the questions Priscilla needed to ask.
Supper that night was served only to her and Aunt Cordelia and Daphne. None of their host’s family appeared. Nor did Neville. Aunt Cordelia kept the table from being silent, but Daphne was as unforthcoming with answers as Priscilla was. She guessed her daughter was exhausted by all the attention from the Rossington daughters. Bidding them both a good night’s rest as soon as they finished the rich sponge, Priscilla took her leave.
The house creaked while it settled into the slow-growing summer darkness. A splatter of rain had sung against the windows during supper, but now the moon shone through the glass overlooking the staircase.
She paused at the top of the stairs when she heard Neville’s footfalls. Assertive, yet not arrogant, their pace seemed to increase her heart’s beat. When he took the risers two at a time, she waited for him to notice her in the shadows.
He did only when he almost bumped into her. “Pris, why are you lurking in the hall?” He grasped her by the shoulders. “Sweetheart, you should not be alone. Who knows when that murderer will choose his next victim?”
“I am not a highwayman.”
“Neither is Miss Verlyn, but that seemed to make no difference.”
She shuddered beneath his broad hands. “Mayhap he believed she was because she was out in the wood.”
“That would be solacing to believe.”
“But you don’t think that was why she was shot.”
“No.” His hand rose to stroke her cheek. “You don’t either.”
“I would like to.”
A phantom of a smile drifted across his sensuous lips. “Don’t forget that answer when I ask you to join me in our marital bed.”
She tasted the sweet temptation of his mouth, then whispered, “You can be certain of that.”
With his arm around her shoulders and hers at his waist, they walked along the hallway. She sensed his tension and understood it came from frustration when he explained that the stablemen had answered none of his questions.
“It was as if,” he said, “some time between when I spoke to them earlier and now, they were ordered to silence. I know they have information they are not sharing. Guilty looks said it all.”
“Except the specifics you sought.”
“Too true.” He sighed, then reached past her to open the door to their rooms.
She saw a motion within, but nothing more. Neville’s arm blocked her from stepping inside the room. When he reached under his coat with his other hand, she drew in a sharp breath. She held it as he pulled out a gun. He kicked the door aside and raised it with a shout.
“No!” cried Priscilla at the same moment Daphne whirled to face them.
“Dash it!” He lowered the gun. “This whole situation has curled my liver.”
Daphne giggled.
Priscilla released the breath she had been holding. Walking to her daughter, she asked, “How did you get here so quickly? I left you at the table in the dining room.”
“Isaac showed me another route earlier.”
Priscilla smiled. “Your brother, with the help of the other boys, must have reconnoitered the whole house by now.” She patted Neville’s arm as he came to join them. “We need to take a deep breath and regain our composure.”
“An excellent idea.” He winked at Daphne. “Unlike your idea of sneaking in here.”
“I did not sneak. I walked right in.” As he laughed, she turned to Priscilla. “Mama, thank you for not chiding me for failing to be conversational at the table tonight.”
“We are exhausted and on edge.” She draped her arm over her daughter’s shoulders. “To pretend otherwise when we are en famille would be want-witted.”
“I was not sure Aunt Cordelia felt that way.”
Priscilla allowed herself another smile. “I thought your great-aunt might ring you a great scold, but she is tired from the journey, too.”
“If she had tried to make my ears ring, I doubt I would have heard her.” She sat on a chair by the balcony doors. “My ears are already ringing from all the bibble-babble tossed at them this afternoon.”
“The Rossington daughters are excited to have you amongst them, and they believe you have information that will make their entry into the Polite World easier.”
“I understand that, Mama, and they are very nice and willing to listen to me, save for one.” She rolled her eyes. “Mama, I never thought doing a good deed would end up with me being punished.”
Neville tried to hide a grin at Daphne’s emoting, and Priscilla was abruptly pleased with her daughter’s interruption of their conversation. Neville needed to smile. His frustration at dead ends on their search for a killer grew with each passing hour, and he had made a mistake at the door. Neville did not make many errors. She guessed he would not soon be betrayed by his own emotions again.
“Good deed?” she prompted her daughter.
“After she was calmed down in the wake of her crise de nerfs during tea,” Daphne said, “Lady Rossington asked me to look in on Miss Verlyn. I agreed, because I thought that was what you would want me to do.”
“Yes.”
“But it was unbearable. Miss Verlyn prattles on and on.”
“Miss Verlyn? Are you sure you are speaking of the correct Rossington girl?”
Daphne grimaced. “Quite certai
n, Mama. The one who was shot, correct?”
“Yes,” she said again, this time glancing at Neville to discover he was listening intently.
“She is the only one who makes the least bit of sense in this household, but she does talk a lot.”
“I am surprised, because she is usually quiet. Her older sisters seem unable to control their tongues.”
“Mayhap that is why Miss Verlyn was talkative with me. She has waited years for a chance to get in a word.”
Neville laughed. “You may be right.”
“What did she have to say?” asked Priscilla, waving him to silence.
“All she would talk about were three things.” She counted on her fingers. “Horses, highwaymen, and the constable. Constable Kenyon, I believe.”
Sitting, Neville asked, “What did she have to say about them?”
“She loves horses, and she hates highwaymen.” Her face grew troubled. “She really, really hates them. She kept saying how they had ruined her enjoyment of the countryside, comparing them to vermin like foxes.”
“A fairly apt description.” Priscilla sat next to Neville. “They are thieves, and they are clever.”
“Some more than others,” he agreed.
Daphne went on, “And she talked endlessly about the constable. She seems to believe, in spite of her mother’s strong opinions, that her father will grant her permission to become Constable Kenyon’s wife. How did she say it? Oh, she said her father could not deny her the chance to marry a man who would soon be fêted as a hero by everyone in the parish.”
“Because the highwaymen will be gone?” Priscilla asked.
“Or,” Neville added, “Kenyon may have told her that he is close to nabbing the person preying on the highwayman, and that he will be certain that order is kept in the parish.”
“Oh, I hope not, Mama.” Daphne leaped to her feet and threw her arms around Priscilla. “Then you will be hurt.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked as she wondered how her daughter could possibly know about Cross’s threat. Neville would have held his counsel. Had Agatha or Edgar overheard their leader’s words?
“Do not pretend with me, Mama.” She swallowed hard. “I know you and Uncle Neville must be in grave danger. All of us are. Otherwise, you would not have interrupted your honeymoon to bring us here where you believe we will be safe.”
Priscilla had to smile. No one had told Daphne the truth; she had discerned it on her own. That should be no surprise after Daphne had watched Priscilla and Neville solve other crimes as appalling as this one.
“I feared this would happen,” Neville said grimly. “She has your wisdom and insight, Pris. Now I have two intelligent women to deal with, along with Agatha who thinks she can bamblusterate me.”
Daphne chuckled. “Why don’t you try to bamblusterate her?”
“And how would I do that?”
“I do believe,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye that Priscilla had seen in Neville’s so many times, “that Edgar is harboring a yearning for Agatha.”
“Daphne!” gasped Priscilla. “Such language. If your aunt was to overhear . . .”
Her daughter laughed. “Mama, you know I guard my tongue around Aunt Cordelia.” She sat and lowered her voice as she leaned toward her mother. “You know, too, that I am right. Edgar watches Agatha whenever she comes into the room. He does not stop until she leaves. Oh, do you think it is a wholly unrequited love?” She put her hand over her heart. “How does he bear it, do you think? I could not endure it if Burke did not return my affection.”
Priscilla frowned. “I trust I shall not hear about you doing anything want-witted with Lord Witherspoon.”
“Oh, Mama! You know you can trust me and Burke.”
“I know I can trust you, but I have only begun to know Lord Witherspoon.”
“He is a gentleman. A genuine gentleman.” She looked past Priscilla and asked, “Isn’t that true, Uncle Neville?”
“No man, be he gentleman or rogue, can be fully trusted when in the company of a beautiful young lady.” He tweaked her nose and grinned. “Not even your darling Witherspoon.”
Daphne grimaced, then stood. Giving them each a hug, she wished them a good evening. She paused at the door and looked back. “Consider what I said.”
“Always,” Priscilla replied. As soon as the door closed again, she shook her head with a smile. “Daphne believes romance is in the air.”
“Why not? It has a sweeter scent than murder.” He leaned back and settled his arm around her shoulders. “I wonder if Duncan will come to feel that way.”
“Duncan? Duncan McAndrews?” She was curious why he had brought up his friend’s name.
“Your charming aunt told me that Duncan called to have tea with her. Twice. Both times at your aunt’s invitation, from what I garnered. I hope the poor chap is careful. Your aunt has buried three husbands already.”
She slapped his arm. “Through no fault of her own other than she has married men much older than she is.”
“Duncan is not much older than your aunt.” He grinned. “Or what age she claims to be.”
“Mayhap my aunt wants the company of a man closer to her age.”
“Or she wants to pay you back for marrying me by keeping company with one of my more reputable friends.”
“Enough, Neville! I am trying to be serious here.” She shook her head. “Why are we going on about this? Daphne is in love and wants everyone else to be as well. She even believes Edgar has a calf-love for Agatha.”
“And what if that is so?” Neville’s eyes began to twinkle. “Could it be that you and I have been so wrapped up with trying to solve these murderers that we have failed to notice something right beneath our noses?”
“And what would that be?”
“That Edgar and Agatha are falling in love, despite of their rough words to each other.”
“And engaging in fisticuffs.”
He smiled. “Courtship rituals are not the same the world over, Pris.”
“Do you want me to believe that thieves try to stab one another rather than the man asking the woman’s father if he might court her?”
“First of all, even if the woman’s father is still alive and not in prison, he probably has no idea where his daughter is and the type of life she leads.”
“I was jesting.”
“I know, but I am not.”
She saw how a smile curled one corner of his mouth and knew that he had devised a plan that would be both effective and amusing—if it worked. “What scheme do you have in mind?”
“A simple one. We need to distract our watchdogs, and what better way than to play the role Daphne selected for us?”
“And that is?”
“As matchmakers, my dear Pris.”
HIS MIND MADE up, Neville wasted no time in arranging for Edgar to be in their rooms at the exact moment that Agatha arrived with a large vase of fresh flowers. If Mrs. Betts was curious why a floral arrangement was needed in their rooms at this late hour and why he wanted Agatha to bring it, she showed no sign. Instead, she nodded to Neville’s request and took her leave to do as he asked.
And exactly as Daphne had noticed, Edgar watched Agatha with eager eyes from the moment she entered the room. He offered to help her set the heavy vase on a table, and then he complimented her on being strong enough to carry it up the stairs.
Agatha paid no attention to his bon mots. He slunk away, but his hungry gaze followed her.
Priscilla pretended to fix the arrangement, and she spoke softly to the female thief. Neville did not need to hear what she said because Agatha’s head snapped around and she stared in amazement at Edgar. That announced Priscilla had mentioned to Agatha that she had an admirer.
“Really? You think so?” Agatha ask
ed, then lowered her voice.
With a smile, Priscilla nodded. She did not have to say anything more. Agatha now regarded her cohort with obvious interest. There was a slightly extra swing in her hips as she walked past Edgar. He gave her a bawdy wink, and Agatha made a most unexpected sound. She giggled like Daphne before scurrying into Priscilla’s bedchamber.
Priscilla arched her brows at Neville, and he fought not to smile. Could it really be that simple? He doubted it, for nothing else had been since they stopped at the inn. Yet her few words might have laid the groundwork to distract their chaperones. Too bad they would have to waste that distraction on doing Cross’s bidding rather than being in each other’s arms.
He looked away from Priscilla as she drew the pins from her hair. He wanted that glorious gold drifting across his bare skin and hers. There were no greater riches a man could long for. Despite himself, his gaze followed her as she waded lightly through the stream of moonlight drifting across the floor and went to draw the draperies on the balcony doors. The sight of her, like some graceful nymph moving to unheard music, brought him to her side. He put his fingertips beneath her chin and tipped it up. She breathed his name like a prayer, and he knew she was the answer to his.
But as he bent to kiss her, a furtive motion in the gardens below caught his eye. Not one man, but two. The more distant one led a horse that glowed like an opal in the moonlight. Dark rider and pale horse! Motioning with his head to Priscilla, he held his finger to her lips. She turned and stiffened. She had seen the movements, too. She continued to close the draperies, leaving them open only a few inches so they could peer out.
“One must be skulking after the other,” she said.
“No, they are moving toward each other.” He swore when a flash blinked in the moonlight.
“What is it?”
“A dark lantern. One of them is signaling someone else.” He raised his voice as he glanced over his shoulder and found the room was otherwise empty. “Edgar, where in the blazes are you?”
The thief came back into the room. His mussed hair, as much as his surly expression, revealed what had distracted Agatha and him. “Wot?”
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