"That young roan of yours is making splendid progress, Meggie."
"He is, indeed" Meg reached across her brother the jam pot and spread a large dollop of marmalade over her muffin. She and Terrence had shared a brisk gallop before sitting down to breakfast, and her two-year-old blue roan had made a good showing against her brother's more seasoned mount. "I think Bristol Blue may be as fast as his father one day."
"You've done a fine job with him, my dear," Terrence said as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. "You have put Seamus's nose quite out of joint, in fact. He had wanted to train the roan himself, you know."
Meg chuckled, but was gratified by her brother's praise. "Bristol may be ready for higher obstacles, I think. He is very surefooted on the low jumps, with a good strong neck. His equilibrium is sound. I believe he is ready, Terrence. What do you think?"
Before Terrence could answer, the breakfast room door was opened and Gittings entered.
"There is a gentleman to see you, sir. A Mr. Albert Herriot."
"Herriot?"
"Oh, Terrence," Meg said, her voice lifting in interest, "it must be a relative of Lord Sedgewick."
"Of course," Terrence said as he pushed his chair back and rose from the table.
"I have put him in the small drawing room, sir," Gittings said as he turned to lead the way.
"I am coming with you," Meg announced as she quickly rose and followed her brother. She brushed at the skirts of her habit and pushed a stray curl behind her ear in a feeble attempt to make herself more presentable. She knew that neither of them ought to receive a guest in such a fashion, still wearing their riding clothes and muddied boots, and no doubt smelling of horse. But if the gentleman was indeed a relative of Lord Sedgewick's, then he must have learned of the accident and would likely be anxious about his lordship's condition. It would be cruel to keep him waiting.
Meg followed Terrence into the small drawing room, an oak-paneled room dominated by a rather spectacular overmantel of intricately carved classical figures and curling foliage that stretched all the way to the ceiling. A sandy-haired gentleman of average height stood with his back to them as he gazed out the mullioned windows overlooking the gardens. He turned at the sound of their entry, a look of agitated uneasiness on his face.
"I am Sir Terrence Ashburton," her brother said as he extended his hand to the visitor. "And this is my sister, Miss Ashburton."
"Albert Herriot," the gentleman said as he grasped Terrence's hand and absently nodded at Meg. He was a young man, about the same age as Terrence, with a strong, jutting nose, wide mouth, and level gray eyes which, at the moment, were filled with concern. "My cousin, Lord Sedgewick," he said in an anxious voice, "is he—"
"Your cousin is doing well, Mr. Herriot," Terrence said. "There is no cause for alarm."
A look of profound relief passed over Mr. Herriot's face. He threw his head back and swallowed with some difficulty. "Oh, thank God," he said at last. "Thank God."
"Please be seated, Mr. Herriot," Meg said, indicating an armchair near the fireplace. The poor man looked almost ready to collapse. Meg sat in an adjacent settee and watched as he sank into the chair, his face still pale and haggard, as if he had expected the worst and had not quite yet comprehended that his cousin was alive and well. Terrence had walked across the room and returned with a glass of brandy, which he thrust into Mr. Herriot's hands.
The man looked up, nodded, and wrapped his fingers around the glass. "Thank you," he said before taking a swallow. He then looked at Meg and Terrence, who had sat down beside her, and offered a weak smile. "I am sorry," he said. "It is just that I was so concerned. Sedge is ... well, we are very close, you see. I had thought... but you say he is all right?"
"Yes, Mr. Herriot," Meg said. "He has a broken leg, and suffered a concussion and a rather violent fever. But the worst is over and he is doing much better. He is still quite weak, of course, and will be confined to bed for a while because of the leg. But he seemed in good spirits when I last saw him."
"That is good news," he said, smiling more easily. He was a very pleasant-looking man, with a certain look in his eye which made Meg think he might have a bit of the same sort of charm as his cousin. A family trait, perhaps. "Very good news, indeed," he said.
"How did you hear about the accident?" Terrence asked.
"I was visiting Cosmo Trevelian at Bodley Rise, his hunting box in Norfolk," Mr. Herriot replied. "A shooting party. Sedge was to come as well. In fact, we had met along the way, at Hawstead. We had thought to follow one another to Norfolk, but Sedge was delayed a bit when his valet suddenly took ill. I went on ahead." He took another sip of brandy and continued.
"I became a bit concerned," he said, "when Sedge did not arrive at Bodley Rise by the following day. But I assumed he had stayed behind with poor Pargeter, his valet, or had run into another group of friends, or some such thing." He shrugged and amusement tugged slightly at the corners of his mouth. "Sedge is not always the most reliable of chaps, you see. He can be easily"—he paused and looked directly at Terrence— "distracted."
Terrence and Mr. Herriot shared a significant look, and Meg understood at once that the distractions alluded to were women. So, Lord Sedgewick was something of a rake, was he? Not surprising, she thought, as an image of the famous smile came to mind.
"Then Pargeter showed up a day later, without Sedge," Mr. Herriot continued, drawing Meg's attention back to the matter at hand, "and I confess I began to worry. Pargeter told us that Sedge had left him behind at the inn to recover from his illness, and had gone on to Bodley Rise without him. The same morning I had left."
"I am afraid he did not get very far," Meg said. "We found him on the Ixworth Road, a few miles north of Bury St. Edmunds, just before the toll bar."
"The road just there is badly rutted," Terrence added. "Always has been. It looked as though one of his wheels had become snagged in a deep rut, and Lord Sedgewick was thrown from the curricle."
"Poor old chap," Mr. Herriot said. "Must have been daydreaming instead of paying attention to the road. Might have killed himself."
"Indeed," Terrence said, narrowing his eyes slightly, "he almost did."
Mr. Herriot shook his head back and forth and slowly expelled a deep breath. "Yes, well to answer your original question, just on the heels of Pargeter's arrival, Trevelian received your note, which he shared with me. I came as soon as I could. I brought Pargeter along as well."
"We are very glad you have come," Meg said. "And I hope you will stay as long as you like. Lord Sedgewick will no doubt be glad of your company while he is confined to bed."
"Thank you, Miss Ashburton," Mr. Herriot said. "I would like to stay until he has fully recovered, if that is acceptable. Then I shall see that he is safely conveyed home." He rose from the chair. "May I see him?"
Meg started to rise, but Terrence placed a hand on her arm to forestall her. "If you do not mind, Mr. Herriot," he said, "I would like to discuss something with you first."
"Of course," Mr. Herriot said as he resumed his seat.
Meg gave her brother a quizzical look, but he ignored her, keeping his eyes fixed on their guest.
"Does your cousin," Terrence began very slowly, "have any enemies?"
Mr. Herriot's head jerked back in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"
Meg furrowed her brow and stared at her brother. What on earth had he meant by such a question?
"Are you aware of anyone," Terrence continued, "who might wish to do your cousin harm?"
"I... I do not... " Mr. Herriot stammered and looked thoroughly confused.
"Terrence?" Meg prompted. "What—"
"Good heavens!" Mr. Herriot said at the same moment. "You do not mean that—"
Terrence held up his hand, and both Meg and Mr. Herriot glared at him. "I am afraid that what happened to Lord Sedgewick was no accident. His curricle had been deliberately tampered with. The axle was cut almost clean through."
Mr. Herriot stared at Terrence in open-mouthed astonishment.
Meg grabbed her brother's arm and squeezed hard. "Terrence! What are you saying? You never mentioned this before."
Terrence laid a hand over hers. "I am sorry, Meggie. I had not wanted to trouble you. But now that his lordship's cousin has arrived, I thought it best to let him know the true situation." He turned to face the wide-eyed Mr. Herriot. "I have said nothing to Lord Sedgewick. He only regained consciousness yesterday, and is still very weak."
"You are saying ..." Mr. Herriot began in a voice so soft it was barely above a whisper, "you are saying that someone tried ... tried to k-kill Sedge?"
Terrence glanced at Meg and then turned again toward their guest. "I am afraid it looks that way." He dropped his eyes and lowered his voice. "I am sorry. I thought you should know."
"My God." Mr. Herriot let out a ragged breath. "My God."
"When did you learn this, Terrence?" Meg asked, still clutching her brother's arm.
"Soon after we brought Lord Sedgewick home," Terrence replied. "Seamus discovered the broken axle and was immediately suspicious. After he reported it to me I examined it myself. There is no question about it. The axle had been sawn. It was no accidental break."
"Who would have done such a thing?" Meg murmured, speaking her thoughts aloud.
"I was hoping Mr. Herriot might be able to help us on that score," Terrence said, turning to their guest and raising his brows in question.
"I don't know. I don't know." Albert Herriot's hands trembled as he brought the glass of brandy to his lips and took a deep swallow. He closed his eyes for a moment and then seemed much more steady when he opened them once again. "Truly, I can think of no one. Sedge has no enemies that I am aware of." He shook his head as he looked down at the glass in his hand. "No, everyone loves Sedge. He is . . . well, he is one of the most amiable men I have ever known."
"He has angered no one that you know of?" Terrence asked. "No—I beg your pardon, Meggie—no jealous husbands, that sort of thing?"
"No, no. Nothing that I know of."
"Well, if it is not over a woman," Terrence said, "then such actions are usually a product of either greed or revenge. I take it your cousin is a rich man?"
Mr. Herriot nodded.
"Who looks to inherit?"
Mr. Herriot sighed. "His title and estates are entailed. I am his heir." In the next breath, he straightened upright with a jerk. His widened eyes glared first at Terrence, then at Meg, then back to Terrence. "Good Lord, you cannot think that I—"
"No, no, of course not," Terrence interrupted.
"My God, man. Sedge is like a brother to me."
"I understand, Mr. Herriot, and I am certainly not suggesting that you had anything to do with his accident. I am merely trying to make some sense of what happened."
Mr. Herriot relaxed back into the chair, but his brow remained furrowed with confusion and a hint of anger.
"Are there any other persons," Terrance asked, "who might benefit from Lord Sedgewick's death?"
"I am certain his mother and sister will receive generous settlements," Mr. Herriot said in a chilly voice. "And his sister's son, no doubt. The boy is all of five years old and something of a hellion. A bit young, don't you think, to be plotting against his uncle?"
Terrence ignored Mr. Herriot's angry sarcasm and went on. "What about gambling debts? Does your cousin hold anyone's vowels?"
Mr. Herriot continued to glare at Terrence. Finally, he relaxed back into his chair and sighed. "Not that I know of. There was one fellow a few months back, Lord Digby, who lost quite a tidy little fortune to Sedge. The man was in his cups and made a bit of a spectacle of himself at White's. Never came right out and accused Sedge of cheating, which would have been ridiculous. But cursed my cousin's run of luck quite loudly."
"What happened to Digby?"
"Paid his shot, as far as I know. Sedge never mentioned it again."
"Anyone else you can think of?" Terrence asked.
Mr. Herriot brought a hand to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. Shaking his head, he said, "No, no one." After a moment, he looked up once again. "And the business with Digby ... well, the man was drunk. I do not want to give the wrong impression."
"I think we should consider this mystery some other time," Meg said as she rose from the settee. Poor Mr. Herriot looked thoroughly rattled. She did not think it the proper time or place to be analyzing all of Lord Sedgewick's actions and acquaintances. "Mr. Herriot will be wanting to see his cousin."
Both men rose as Meg stepped past them, heading toward the door. "Thank you, Miss Ashburton," Mr. Herriot said. "I would like to see him, if he is up to having visitors."
"We will just have to go and see, will we not?" Meg said.
* * *
"Thank you, Pargeter," Sedge said as he toweled his freshly shaved face. "I feel human again." The valet retrieved the towel and then helped Sedge into a clean nightshirt. "It is good to have you back with me, Pargeter. Although," he said, flashing a grin at the dour man as he rearranged the pillows behind Sedge's back, "I have had the most charming nursemaid during your absence. Are you quite certain you are fully recovered? Perhaps you should return to Mount Street and get your strength back. Take a few weeks off."
"I am quite recovered, my lord," Pargeter replied as he straightened the counterpane. "It was only an attack of a bilious stomach which left as quickly as it came. Besides, you will need a proper manservant while confined to bed. It is not right that you should allow a young lady—"
He was interrupted by a knock on the bedchamber door.
"Sedge!"
Pargeter held open the door as Sedge's cousin Albert walked into the room, wearing a broad smile. "What sort of mischief have you got into this time?"
"Bertie! Good to see you, old chap." He reached out to grab the hand offered by his cousin and shook it vigorously. It really was good to see him. Though given to a certain amount of recklessness, he had always been a likable young man and Sedge was quite fond of him. He released his hand and swung it in a sweeping gesture across the bed. "As you see, I have made rather a mess of things. Broke my bloody leg."
He looked beyond Albert to see that Miss Ashburton and Sir Terrence had followed him into the room, and were both smiling broadly. Sedge felt the heat of a blush color his cheeks. "Forgive my language, Miss Ashburton," he said, offering a sheepish grin, "I did not see you."
She continued smiling and gave a wave of dismissal. "I just wanted to see that Mr. Herriot found you awake. I shall leave you two gentlemen to converse in private—without the constricting presence of a lady." She grinned at Sedge and then turned to speak to Albert. "Mr. Herriot, your things have been taken to the bedchamber just across the hall. Please, make yourself at home. We dine rather late, due to stable business, but a cold luncheon is always set out just after noon." With that, she turned and walked away, Sedge's eyes following her as she left the room. After a few brief words, Sir Terrence followed her, leaving Sedge alone with Albert.
Sedge turned to his young cousin, raised his brows, and grinned. "Well?"
"Sedge, you devil! How on earth did you contrive to be rescued by such a beauty? She is magnificent."
"Isn't she, though? A dashed shame to be immobile at such a time."
"That did not seem to keep you from devouring her with your eyes."
"I shall have to be less obvious," Sedge said. "But what the devil am I supposed to do? She is the only female for miles, as far as I can tell, save for her grandmother and the housekeeper. This is a stud farm, after all. Did you know?"
"Oh, yes," Albert said. "There is no mistaking it. Horses everywhere. The iron gates leading onto the estate are topped with a huge, gilded horse's head. The walls of most of the rooms I've seen are hung with equine portraits and hunting prints. Wooton. Stubbs. That sort of thing."
Sedge smiled and gestured to the portrait of Blue Blazes hung over the fireplace.
Albert nodded and walked around the bed to the windows. Sedge had asked that the curtains be tied back to brighten up the room. Though he could see nothing more than sky from his position on the bed, it nevertheless cheered him up to let a little of the outdoors inside. Albert stood at one of the windows and looked out.
"Besides," he said, tilting his head as though to indicate something below, "I saw the stables as I drove up. Very impressive. You should see them, Sedge."
"Bertie, Bertie," Sedge moaned, "must you be so cruel? How can I see them when I'm stuck in this damned bed? Oh, but I cannot wait to be up and about."
* * *
"So, you see, Pargeter, you need not worry about the receipt," Gram said as she removed the muslin cover from the crock of her special infusion ingredients. "The mixture is already combined. You need only measure out the correct amount, then allow it to brew for at least one hour. No less, mind."
"Yes, ma'am," Pargeter said, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Remember," Gram continued, "keep the pot tightly covered while the infusion steeps. If you can smell the aroma of the tea, then the essential goodness of the herbs is escaping into the air rather than being retained in the liquid."
"Yes, ma'am."
'"Tis a very potent brew, Pargeter." Gram chuckled. "His lordship is not overly fond of it, to be sure. But he must drink it, nevertheless."
"Yes, ma'am. One half cup four times a day."
"That's right," Gram said, smiling. "So, you need only brew enough each morning for one jar. Two large handfuls. Remember that. At least twice the amount you would use for a normal tea. And remember to take the mixture from this particular crock. I will keep it covered with a square of blue muslin, so it should be easy enough to identify."
"Thank you, ma'am," Pargeter said as he eyed the myriad of crocks that filled the room, most covered with white muslin caps tied tightly around the lip. What a somber-faced man he was to be serving such a cheerful gentleman as Lord Sedgewick. "I have no knowledge of herbs myself," he said, "and should hate to make a mistake."
"Do not worry, Pargeter. Just let me know when the mixture runs low so that I can make up another batch."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
Gram handed him a muslin pouch containing one day's worth of the infusion mixture. He nodded and turned to go. Gram turned back to her worktable.
"Ooomph!"
The strange exclamation caused Gram to swivel around in time to see Pargeter recover from an apparent collision with Mr. Albert Herriot.
"I beg your pardon, sir!" the valet said in an astonished voice.
Mr. Herriot laughed. "No harm done, Pargeter. My fault entirely. Please, do not let me interrupt you."
"I am terribly sorry, sir. Please excuse me." The discomfited valet bobbed his head and backed out of the stillroom.
Mr. Herriot chuckled as he stood in the doorway. "I did not mean to cause any distress, Mrs. Lattimer. Poor Pargeter. He is such a Friday-faced old thing. I do not know how Sedge abides the fellow"
"He seems very competent." She grinned and added, "Though he is a bit glum."
"I hope I am not disturbing you," Mr. Herriot said. "I confess I was exploring a bit and heard voices. What a marvelous stillroom!"
Gram beamed a smile at the genial young man as he walked into the room, his gaze traveling from the herbs and flowers hanging above his head to the shelves of jars and crocks lining the walls. "Do you know something of herbs, Mr. Herriot?"
He laughed. "Not a thing, I'm afraid. I cannot tell a dandelion from a pokeweed. But my mother always kept an herb garden and a small stillroom. Nothing like this, mind you," he said as his arm swept the room in an expansive gesture. "She especially enjoyed making potpourris. Every room in our home was redolent of her dried flowers. Good heavens, but she would have loved this." He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. "What a delicious combination of fragrances." He opened his eyes and looked all around the room. "By Jove, you have a little bit of everything in here, do you not? You must show me your gardens, Mrs. Lattimer, for I suspect they are impressive indeed."
Gram reached out to pat his arm. "I would be glad to give you a tour, Mr. Herriot. I am rather proud of my herb gardens, though, of course, they are not at their peak of beauty just now. In a few months, though ... well, in any case, they are of only minor significance, after all, compared to the true treasure of Thornhill. The stables are unequaled, you know. A young gentleman like yourself must surely find more of interest in the stables than in the gardens."
Mr. Herriot leaned against the workbench and sighed. He looked down at Gram with such a sweet, self-conscious smile—not so terribly different from his cousin's easy grin— that she completely lost her heart to him. A pity he was not taller. "I am naturally keen to see the stables," he said. "But I must confess, the smells in this room bring back such fond memories of my mother, that just at the moment I believe I would prefer to see an herb garden."
Gram reached behind to untie her apron, and tossed it on the workbench. "Then follow me, Mr. Herriot, and see the finest herb garden in all of Suffolk."