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‘Far from it,’ he was swift to assure her. Then, after considering for a moment only, he quite deliberately added, ‘Only after you’d returned from that seminary did I find your company less than agreeable.’
Study her though he did, he could detect nothing to suggest she was in the least offended by the disclosure. Her smile had faded in an instant, true enough, but her expression gave him every reason to suppose she was more intrigued than anything else by the candid admission, before she eventually asked, ‘Why so?’
‘Because I found your behaviour during those few years leading up to your eventual departure from the Grange quite artificial,’ he told her bluntly, fervently hoping that by so doing it might result in a resumption, at least in part, of the relationship they had once shared, which had been based on mutual trust, deep affection and honesty.
He chose not to dwell on the reasons why he should wish for a resumption of their past close association as he gave voice to his earlier thoughts. ‘You attempted to ape the manners of your cousin Eugenie, and it simply didn’t work. It just didn’t suit you to play the simpering miss.’
One finely arched brow rose, as blue eyes studied him keenly. ‘I cannot recall you regarding Eugenie in the light of a simpering miss,’ she reminded him, with just the faintest trace of pique in her voice. ‘In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I seem to recall your remarking once that her manners and conduct were beyond reproach.’
‘And so they were,’ he readily concurred. ‘And perfectly natural too. From the cradle your cousin had been strictly reared. You were not. Eugenie’s behaviour was scrutinised at all times for the slightest imperfection. You, on the other hand, were allowed to do more or less as you pleased. I thought at the time that it was not the wisest thing your father ever did, allowing his sister to persuade him to send you away to a school that was renowned for turning out débutantes who all behaved exactly the same. No doubt it was beneficial for some; for others, like yourself, it was nothing short of disastrous. The Colonel would have done better either to engage a stricter governess-companion to instruct you on how to comport yourself, or to send you to a school where standards were not so rigidly high. ’
He watched as she turned her head and stared intently in the direction of the neat yew hedge that divided the formal gardens from the shrubbery. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Beth. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention.’
‘You haven’t offended me,’ she said at length. ‘You’ve merely given me pause for thought. No doubt I shall mull over what you’ve told me at my leisure, and decide if there is some justification for the criticism.’
Once again he became the object of a level blue-eyed gaze.’ At the risk of inviting further criticism, dare I ask how such an arbiter of conduct in the fair sex rates my behaviour now?’
Although half-suspecting her of mockery, he decided to be totally frank. ‘If what I have observed since your arrival here is a true representation of your character, and I would be most surprised if it was not, I should say you’re a young woman who conducts herself to please no one but herself, who is now totally without artifice and who is more than capable, still, of exuding an abundance of natural charm, when the mood takes her.’ He took a moment to slant her a quizzical smile. ‘You certainly had Charles Bathurst clinging to your every word during dinner.’
‘What utter rot!’ she exclaimed, while eyeing him uncertainly, as though unable to make up her mind whether his intention had been to compliment her or not. ‘It was simply that, apart from Ann and myself, no one sitting close to him attempted to engage him in conversation very much at all. The vicar and his wife, seated opposite, apart from one or two polite exchanges, virtually ignored the poor fellow throughout the meal. And your sister didn’t precisely exert herself to converse with him very often, either.’
‘Mmm…I have frequently remarked upon it that dear Constance is not altogether wise on occasions,’ Philip responded, as he began to guide Beth along one of the paths that led back to the terrace. ‘There’s some excuse for the vicar and his spouse, I suppose. They’re good people, but the Reverend Mr Chadwick wouldn’t wish to offend the more influential part of his congregation by becoming too friendly with someone who was considered a bastard by the vast majority of the polite world for the first two decades of his life.’
‘Great heavens!’ He had captured her full attention, and it clearly showed. ‘I was wondering throughout dinner why it was I couldn’t remember old Eustace Bathurst ever mentioning he had a nephew. Not that I ever knew the old curmudgeon very well, of course.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘But surely he must have acknowledged him at some point, otherwise why did he leave his property, not to mention all his wealth, to his nephew?’
‘Poor old Eustace had been in an unenviable position,’ Philip began to explain. ‘I discovered from Uncle Waldo that not only was Eustace’s brother a key player in the scandal that took place almost four decades ago, Eustace himself was on friendly terms with the sixth Viscount Litton who, incidentally, remained until his death Charles’s mother’s legal spouse. It appeared not to trouble Eustace a whit that his friend the Viscount, when in his cups, wasn’t above beating his young bride unmercifully for the slightest misdemeanour. Like so many others, Eustace considered it a wife’s lot to put up with a husband’s—er—peccadilloes’
Disgusted, but intrigued, Beth demanded to be told more.
‘It was after she had suffered a particularly vicious beating, that the young Viscountess was attended by the newly qualified Dr Cedric Bathurst. They fell in love, and as soon as the Viscountess was restored to health they ran away to live under assumed names as man and wife. Some few years later the Viscount succeeded in locating his errant wife’s whereabouts. Charles had been born by that time, but even so the Viscount flatly refused to grant his wife a divorce, and made life so difficult for the couple that they were forced to flee yet again. Eustace had no contact with his brother at all during this period. In fact, it wasn’t until after the Viscount’s death, some fifteen years later, when Cedric had been able to marry the mother of his child, and had set up a very successful practice in Northamptonshire, that contact between the Bathurst brothers finally resumed. But even so mud sticks, and there are those still unwilling to recognise Charles Bathurst as his father’s legitimate offspring and the rightful heir to Eustace Bathurst’s fortune.’
Once again Philip found himself the recipient of an assessing blue-eyed gaze. ‘But you are not of their number, I fancy.’
‘Assuredly not!’ he concurred. ‘But sadly there are those in these parts unwilling to offer him the hand of friendship. I am hoping he can rely on your support?’
‘That must rate as the worst insult you have offered me thus far!’ she returned sharply, her dark brows having risen in feigned hauteur. ‘Really, Philip, I’m astonished you felt the need to ask!’
For answer he gave a bark of appreciative laughter. Then, before she was able to do anything to avoid it, he entwined her arm securely round his and returned to the house to rejoin his other guests.
Chapter Three
Early the following week, while alone in the front parlour busily dealing with household accounts, Beth was informed that Sir Philip Staveley’s sister had called. A few moments later the lady herself swept unaccompanied into the room, appearing, it had to be said, slightly put out.
‘What a—er—very singular manservant you keep, Bethany, my dear,’ she began, after accepting the invitation to seat herself in one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. ‘His odd manner gives one every reason to suppose that he isn’t solely an indoor servant.’
‘Rudge’s coat buttons over many duties, Constance,’ Beth confirmed, all at once realising what must have given rise to her unexpected visitor’s odd expression when first entering the room. ‘Although I wouldn’t be without him for the world, even I must admit he lacks the natural aplomb and social graces of an experienced butler.’
She smiled wickedly as a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Perhaps, if I’m feeling particularly vindictive one day, I might persuade your brother to have Rudge up at the Court for a spell so that he might pick up a few pointers from the very estimable Stebbings.’
As the teasing had clearly been wasted on her guest, who appeared quite nonplussed, Beth didn’t attempt to explain she had been merely jesting. Instead, she glided smoothly across the room in order to provide her visitor with some refreshment.
‘Would I be correct in assuming you imbibe the same revolting concoction as my good friend Ann?’ she asked, holding up a certain decanter containing a clear liqueur flavoured with almonds.
‘What…? Oh, yes, yes. A glass of ratafia would be most welcome.’
‘Each to her own,’ Beth murmured, providing herself with a glass of burgundy, before joining her guest over by the hearth.
‘Is Mrs Stride not to join us?’ Lady Chalford asked after gazing about the room in a decidedly vague manner. ‘Such a charming woman, not in the least ingratiating. Yet, at the same time, one gains the distinct impression she’s quite accustomed to socialising with those more fortunately circumstanced than herself.’
Although in her formative years she had been far better acquainted with Sir Philip than his sister, Beth knew Constance well enough to be sure that she was not in the least malicious by nature. There was no denying, though, there was a wide streak of quaint snobbery running through her, which had a tendency to surface from time to time.
Consequently, although she had no intention in taking up the cudgels on her friend’s behalf, Beth was not slow to reveal, ‘If I were to tell you that her maiden name was Carrington, and that she is closely related to the branch of that family owning many acres of Gloucestershire countryside, you’ll perhaps appreciate why she’s not overawed in polite company.’
Quickly realising she had captured her guest’s full attention by what she had thus far revealed, Beth was happy to divulge more in the hope that it might pave Ann’s smooth introduction into local society.
‘It is true that her father, like my own, was a younger son, and therefore was obliged to make his own way in the world. He joined the church, and ended his days as a well-respected, if not particularly affluent, clergyman. Needless to say, Ann too was obliged to earn her own living at a young age, and thanks to both her parents’ efforts received a well-rounded education. She eventually attained a post as governess with a family in Hampshire, where she met and subsequently married Major John Stride, who owned a modest property in the county.
‘When he went out to Portugal with his regiment, Ann was happy to accompany him. Sadly he lost his life at Talavera. It was around that time I arrived on the scene.’
Lady Chalford gave a sudden start. ‘Why, yes! I clearly recall darling Philip mentioning something about that only the other day—said something about wondering whether Colonel Ashworth had sent for you at all. My brother seemed to suppose it had been entirely your own decision to join your father out there.’
Beth attempted to hide neither her surprise nor her grudging respect. ‘Well, well, well! The clever devil! I wonder how he managed to deduce that.’
‘It is true, then?’ Lady Chalford prompted, after watching closely as Beth, her expression revealing absolutely nothing at all, merely turned her head to stare intently at the logs smouldering nicely in the grate.
‘Oh, yes, it’s true, right enough,’ she admitted at length. ‘Very few people know it, however. I don’t think even Ann was ever officially informed, though she might have guessed, of course.’
Raising one hand, she waved it in a dismissive gesture. ‘Still, we digress. Getting back to dear Ann’s history—her husband was with Wellesley in India, and the, now, Duke of Wellington thought well of him. Needless to say, even though she was my paid companion, she was treated with respect by the vast majority of the more discerning officers. She most always partook of meals with Papa and myself and, in consequence, has rubbed shoulders with a great many younger sons of the aristocracy. Little wonder, then, that she isn’t in the least diffident when in polite company.’
‘Indeed, no,’ Lady Chalford agreed, frowning slightly. ‘But I still think it strange that she agreed to be your paid companion when she might have returned to her house in Hampshire, and lived a genteel existence in her late husband’s home.’
‘You say that because you don’t know Ann very well,’ Beth told her bluntly. ‘Her husband, although a serving officer, was by no means a wealthy man, and did not leave his widow so very comfortably circumstanced. Besides which, the house is leased until the end of the year, and is presently occupied by a practitioner and his family. We’ve never discussed it, but I doubt very much whether Ann would wish to return there. Engaging in some genteel occupation for a few hours each week in order to enjoy a luxury or two wouldn’t suit her at all. She is both energetic and resourceful.’
Raising her head, Beth stared at the wall behind her visitor’s head, her mind’s eye easily conjuring up images from the past, the vast majority of which were not so very pleasant.
‘Having no desire to offend your sensibilities, ma’am, I shall say only this—my friend and I suffered hardship out there in the Peninsula. We witnessed many happenings to which any gently bred female would not normally be subjected. That said, I believe my years with the army were the making of me. Had I remained here in England, I would undoubtedly have eventually been coerced into marriage, more than likely a loveless union, and would by now be heartily bored with my lot.’
Lady Chalford’s expression was all at once one of both shock and disapproval. ‘But, my dear! It’s every young woman’s ambition, surely, to achieve a suitable match, and become a wife and mother?’
‘Not mine, it isn’t!’ Beth returned bluntly. ‘I might have thought differently at one time. Thank the Lord I’ve more sense now!’
Easily recognising the signs of mortification her plain speaking had aroused, Beth changed the subject entirely by asking her visitor if her call was merely social or whether there was a specific reason for the visit.
‘As a matter of fact, I did wish to consult with you on a particular matter,’ Lady Chalford admitted, after once again appearing slightly taken aback by the younger woman’s blunt way of expressing herself. ‘And so pleased to have this opportunity to speak with you in private.’ She shot a quick glance across at the door. ‘Are we likely to be disturbed, do you suppose?’
‘Only by Rudge, if he takes it into his head to bring in more logs. But don’t be alarmed. Despite his blunt manner, he’s remarkably discreet,’ Beth assured her. ‘And Ann isn’t likely to return much before luncheon. It just so happens the vicar’s wife, having somehow discovered Ann was the daughter of a clergyman, approached her on the evening of your dinner party, and asked if she would kindly assist in helping to distribute clothes to the needy in the parish.’ Beth cast a brief look at the plasterwork ceiling above her head. ‘And she agreed, more fool her!’
‘Well, it just so happens that that is what I wish to consult with you about.’
It was Beth’s turn to be slightly startled, and she stared at her visitor in no little amazement over the rim of her glass for a second or two before fortifying herself from its contents. ‘You wish to discuss the vicar’s wife importuning Ann?’
‘Oh, no, no! You misunderstand me, my dear. It was mention of the dinner party that jogged my memory. You see, I wanted to ask you about Philip. I couldn’t help but notice you and he spent some little time together quite privately in the garden during the evening.’
Once again Beth was at a loss to understand what her visitor was attempting to convey. Disapproval, perhaps? ‘What of it?’
‘Well, I was wondering, you see, what you thought of him—his manner towards you, I mean?’
Just a ray of enlightenment at last began to dawn. ‘Damnably insulting, if you must know!’ Beth returned, at her most plainspoken. ‘Had the crass impudence to accuse me of once having behaved like a simpering idiot, would you believe!’ A vindictive glimmer all at once added an extra brilliance to her striking eyes. ‘And I shan’t forget it in a hurry, either, I can tell you!’
Lady Chalford gurgled with mirth. ‘You jest, wicked girl! Philip is ever the gentleman in mixed company.’
‘Ha! Much you know!’ Beth scoffed, but then relented when her visitor appeared slightly put out by the slur on the Baronet’s character. ‘Well, I suppose he’s your brother, so you’re bound to think the best of him.’
‘Oh, I do. I do,’ she was speedily assured. ‘And I’m so very concerned about him too.’ A moment’s pause, then, ‘Do you find him much altered?’
‘Well, naturally I do!’ Beth returned in a trice, thinking the question faintly absurd. ‘We’ve all changed in more than half a decade. The passage of time is kind to so very few.’
‘Quite!’ Lady Chalford acknowledged, frowning. ‘But I was thinking not so much of physical differences as changes in his character, his manner. He has become so withdrawn, so insular since…since poor Eugenie’s demise. Oh, I know he puts a brave face on it when in public, poor boy. But I have seen him, Bethany…have come upon him on several occasions since my arrival at the Court, just sitting there, studying the miniature of his late fiancée, which he keeps in the desk in his library. He always looks so forlorn, so lost, just staring down at the only remembrance he has of that lovely, lovely girl. But whenever I’ve attempted to console him, he sets me at a distance, and is distinctly aloof. I hardly dare mention Eugenie’s name for fear of upsetting him, and on the rare occasion I do he invariably changes the subject.’
‘How odd!’ Beth was genuinely perplexed as she recalled Philip discussing Eugenie quite openly with her on the evening of the dinner party, and surprisingly betraying little emotion whatsoever. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t sympathy he sought. Furthermore, he had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, she reminded herself.
‘Your brother was ever the private man, preferring to keep his own counsel for the most part, at least in his private concerns. He wouldn’t willingly betray his emotions in public, even in front of you, Constance. I do not doubt, though, he has suffered much over the loss of Eugenie.’
‘Oh, he has!’ Lady Chalford wholeheartedly agreed, taking a moment to dab at her eyes with the wisp of fine lawn swiftly extracted from her reticule. ‘He has never so much as looked at another female since the tragedy occurred.’ She coloured slightly. ‘At least, he has taken little notice of any female who would make him a suitable wife…not until, that is, this past Season.’
All at once Lady Chalford brightened, betraying more liveliness of spirit than Beth had ever witnessed in her before. ‘I do not know if you are aware of it, but your cousin Phoebe was brought out in the spring. And although, perhaps, not the instant success her eldest sister once was, she wasn’t without certain admirers. Even Philip paid her no little attention. Hardly surprising, though, really. She bears a striking resemblance to Eugenie.’
‘Really?’ Beth said, mildly interested. ‘The last time I saw Phoebe she didn’t resemble her eldest sister very much at all. Quite the little brown mouse, in fact! But that was some years ago, now I come to think about it.’
‘Then you are in for a surprise, my dear, for she does so now, as you’ll discover for yourself next month. Your aunt and cousin are to attend Philip’s birthday celebration, and are to put up at the Court for a few days. And that is where I am hoping I might count on your support.’
All at once alarm bells began to sound in Beth’s head. ‘How do you mean—count on my support? For what, precisely, may I ask?’
‘In helping Philip see a little more of Phoebe by, perhaps, generously inviting your cousin and aunt to stay here, enabling them to extend their sojourn in the county.’
‘Absolutely not! I shall not be made a convenience of a second time!’ Beth could see at a glance that she had shocked her visitor by the vehemence of her refusal. Nevertheless, she had no intention of changing her mind.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s simply out of the question. And you’ll forgive my saying so, but I don’t suppose for a moment Philip would thank you for interfering in his personal concerns. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate me doing so, especially as we no longer share that close bond of friendship we once enjoyed. Furthermore, since I chose the Peninsula in preference to staying with her, the affection in which my aunt once held me has lessened considerably, if the letters I’ve received in recent years are anything to go by. If, however, she is now prepared to let bygones be bygones, and voices a desire to stay with me here at the Grange, then I shall be only too happy to invite her…next year, when I hope to have the entire house in good order.’
And with that Lady Chalford was forced to be satisfied.
Ann, returning in good time for luncheon, discovered her young mistress seated at the escritoire in the parlour precisely where she had left her some two hours earlier. The accounts book was opened at the exact same page, with few entries having been set down. The neatly stacked pile of bills by the slender right hand, did not appear to have decreased by very much, and there was clear evidence of a troubled frown lurking between the striking azure eyes.
‘What is it, Beth dear? Are you feeling slightly put out not having accomplished your accounts this morning? Would you like me to leave you in peace to finish the task?’
So deep in thought had she been that Beth had hardly been aware of the fact that someone had entered the room. As always, though, the soft, understanding tones, successfully breaking through her reverie, had had an immediate calming effect upon her troubled spirits, at least up to a point.
‘It’s true I haven’t done as much as I might have wished, but that’s the fault of my unexpected visitor, Ann,’ she informed her. ‘All the same, I don’t wish to be left alone. Come, let’s sit by the fire for a spell, and you can tell me all about your morning and the interesting snippets you’ve managed to pick up at the vicarage.’
Ann frankly laughed, because she knew well enough that Bethany, being somewhat unorthodox in behaviour, neither indulged in gossip nor paid much heed to it. Notwithstanding, there had been one or two curious pieces of information discovered that morning that Ann thought might be of interest to her unconventional employer. Consequently she had no reluctance in revealing the disturbing fact that instances of robbery in the area had increased dramatically in recent months.
‘Mrs Chadwick also said that even two or three of the larger houses in the village had been broken into in recent weeks. And, by all accounts, it’s much worse in the local town, where men hang about on street corners, behaving in a distinctly offensive manner to those more happily circumstanced.’
Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to learn this. ‘It’s only to be expected. Now the war with France is blessedly over, there are too many looking for too few jobs. The unrest will continue, and get very much worse while men are unable to support themselves, let alone feed their families.’
Ann nodded in agreement before she bethought herself of something else she had discovered that day. ‘Are you by any chance acquainted with someone by the name of Napier? Mrs Chadwick seemed to suppose you were. Seemingly he’s a close friend of their son, and has been a frequent visitor at the vicarage in recent years. Said something about him heralding from Surrey, and living quite close to Lord and Lady Barfield,’ she continued, when Beth had merely frowned.
‘Oh, you must be referring to young Crispin Napier,’ she responded, after giving the matter more thought, and then shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him since he was a boy. He must be in his early twenties by now.’
‘That’s right,’ Ann readily confirmed. ‘I’ve discovered he and the vicar’s only son were at some school together, and have remained friends ever since. Apparently, Mr Napier is returning here next month for Sir Philip’s birthday celebration. Which I find most strange in the circumstances.’ She shook her head, clearly perplexed. ‘Mrs Chadwick divulged something that gave me every reason to suppose that young Mr Napier, for some reason, isn’t too fond of the Baronet. Apparently Sir Philip organised a shooting party soon after his return from London earlier in the summer, and invited a great many of his neighbours, including the Reverend and Mrs Chadwick’s son and Mr Napier, who happened to be staying at the vicarage at the time. Seemingly Mr Napier wasn’t too eager to join the party, and only did so to bear his friend company. So why do you suppose he was so keen to accept the invitation to attend the birthday celebration if he truly isn’t so very fond of Sir Philip?’
‘Seems odd, certainly, but I suppose young Crispin has his reasons. Furthermore, I expect Lady Chalford was responsible for issuing the invitation, and I cannot imagine he holds a grudge against her,’ Beth responded, before she bethought herself of something else. ‘And talking of Lady Chalford… It was she who paid me a visit this morning, and whilst here gave me every reason to suppose that her brother knew, or at least strongly suspected, that it was indeed my decision to join Papa in the Peninsula, and not he who sent for me.’ Beth paused for a moment to search her friend’s face. ‘It must surely have been you who told him.’
If Ann was startled by the blunt accusation, she betrayed no sign of it. If anything, she appeared slightly bewildered. ‘I might have done so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I honestly cannot recall.’ All at once her expression betrayed slight concern. ‘Does it matter? Would you have preferred him not to have known?’
‘To be perfectly frank…yes,’ Beth admitted, having quickly decided it would serve no purpose to lie. ‘It doesn’t redound to my credit, you see, the way I behaved back then…the bitter resentment I felt towards him and Eugenie. Naturally, I should prefer that he never discovers anything about my feelings at that time. It’s all water under the bridge now, after all.’
She looked up to discover herself being regarded intently, and felt obliged to force a smile, feigning unconcern. ‘Not that I need trouble myself unduly about it. Philip might be as sharp as a tack, but it’s unlikely I shall find myself in his company so frequently that I might inadvertently relax my guard and reveal my—er—once, less than charitable feelings towards him.’
Two days later, whilst visiting the local market town, Beth was obliged silently to own that she might have been a trifle optimistic in her predictions, when she espied none other than her most influential neighbour sauntering along the main street towards her. In an instant she accepted that it was too late to avoid the chance encounter. Furthermore, she wasn’t so very sure she even wished to try, as he was accompanied by none other than Mr Charles Bathurst, a gentleman who had left a very favourable impression upon a certain discerning female, judging by the number of times his name had been raised in conversation since the evening of the dinner party at Staveley Court.
Beth chanced to glance sideways in time to catch a becoming hue rise in her companion’s cheeks the instance Ann observed precisely who it was approaching.
‘Here to replenish stocks?’ Beth asked, instantly drawing both gentlemen’s attention, thereby allowing her surprisingly flustered companion a little time in which to regain her poise. ‘Or merely enjoying the bustle and atmosphere of a Markham market day?’
‘Both,’ Sir Philip revealed, his gaze fixed on the young lady whom he considered appeared particularly becoming that fine morning in a dashing bonnet trimmed with blue ribbon. ‘Bathurst is here to cast an eye over a few beasts. I’m here, as you so rightly surmised, merely to soak up the atmosphere. I love market days…always have.’
Beth’s smile faded very slightly. ‘Yes, I remember. I frequently accompanied you here.’
It would have been at this juncture that she would have made some excuse to part company with the gentleman, had it not been for the fact that she was certain her dear companion felt no similar desire to go their separate ways. Consequently, Beth disregarded her own feelings, and asked the gentlemen if they would be so obliging as to escort them back to where their carriage awaited them at the town’s most popular inn.
Although she might have preferred it to be quite otherwise, Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to find herself squired by Sir Philip, leaving Mr Bathurst to engage, if her expression was any indication, a highly contented widow in conversation a few feet behind.
‘Without wishing to appear vulgarly curious,’ Philip began, determined, himself, not to walk along in stony silence, ‘might I be permitted to know what has brought you to town today?’
‘A surfeit of nerves, I’m ashamed to say.’
‘Now, that I simply cannot believe!’ he countered, totally unconvinced.
‘Well, let us say a desire to take some necessary precautions prompted the visit,’ Beth confessed. ‘I wanted half a dozen hens. So I thought to get a couple of geese at the same time. I’ve been reliably informed, you see, that there have been one or two burglaries taking place in the village in recent weeks,’ she added, staring across the street at where a small group of men just happened to be loitering by a low wall.
‘Very wise,’ he said, following the direction of her gaze, and frowning slightly as he focused his attention on one lean, unkempt man in particular. ‘But wouldn’t a dog serve the purpose better? You could keep it close by, in the house, if you chose.’
‘True. But I haven’t heard of any new litters being born in the neighbourhood. And I should want a pup,’ Beth answered, glancing up at him and catching his frowning scrutiny. ‘What is it, Philip? Do you recognise one of them?’
‘I’m not sure. But one does seem vaguely familiar, though I cannot for the life of me imagine why he should be. He certainly doesn’t work for me.’
‘Funny you should say that, because I thought I’d seen the short one, with the limp and mousy-coloured hair, somewhere before.’ Frowning, Beth shook her head. ‘If he’s a native of these parts I cannot imagine where I might have come across him. More than likely, though, he’s a survivor of the Peninsular Campaign. Trouble is, I nursed so many out there I have difficulty remembering each individual.’
