“But you heard her speak the first time,” Ellen said. “How did she sound? A lady or a maid or…?”
Hardcastle looked at Ellen; his expression grew distant, as if he was replaying the moment in his memory. “Fact is,” he eventually said, “she sounded a bit like you. Wasn’t you—I do know that—but similar. Cool and collected and sure of herself. Perhaps a bit more haughty-like.” He paused, then said, “I always thought she was a lady, but which lady and from where, I haven’t a clue. She was always there ahead of me, and she waits until after I slope off before she leaves. I don’t know how she gets there or from which direction she comes or in which direction she leaves, so it’s no use asking me.”
Christopher exchanged a glance with Toby. The arrangement matched what else they’d learned of the mastermind’s scheme. Each person involved knew very little about the next cog in the mechanism. Or the previous one, come to that.
Toby returned his attention to Hardcastle. The publican’s shoulders had gradually slumped as he’d told his tale; his belligerence had evaporated, and he looked sober and increasingly anxious. Toby asked, “What date were you given for your next delivery?”
Hardcastle blinked. “By next Monday. That means Monday midnight at the latest.”
Christopher rapidly reviewed all they’d learned. He met Hardcastle’s eyes. “Rollins—does he know anything about the notes?”
“Nah. I just used him to off-load the lace once I’d taken the notes out of it.”
“What about your mate who helped collect the packets?” Toby arched his brows. “Does he know what was hidden in the lace?”
Hardcastle shook his head. “No. The Frenchy—Millais—harped on about that. Only those who needed to were supposed to know about the fake notes. I paid me old mate two pound per packet, brought up and stashed in the inn’s cellars, and he was happy with that. He knew well enough not to ask questions.”
And Hardcastle saw no reason to give them his mate’s name; Christopher didn’t bother to ask for it.
“Right, then.” He pushed back from the desk and rose. Toby did the same.
With the first hint of desperation creeping into his expression, Hardcastle looked from one to the other. “So you’ll make sure I don’t swing?”
Christopher joined Ellen and urged her toward the door. “If all you’ve told us proves true, our agreement will stand, and at worst, it’ll be transportation for you.”
Hardcastle grimaced, but remained slumped, resigned. He didn’t watch as Christopher guided Ellen out of the room and Toby followed.
Christopher paused to give the grooms waiting outside the door orders to transfer Hardcastle back to the cellars, where there was a cell-like room they could hold him in. “He’s been cooperative, so make sure he’s got decent food and some ale and a pallet and blanket for tonight. I’m not sure how long we’ll have to hold him, but it’ll likely be several days.”
The grooms nodded and went in to fetch Hardcastle.
Christopher followed Ellen and Toby along the short corridor that led from the kitchens to the door at the rear of the front hall.
Ellen spoke over her shoulder. “Hardcastle was foolish to get involved, but for all that, he seems to have a certain sense of honor. He didn’t want anyone else to be blamed for things they didn’t know about.”
Head down, his hands sunk in his pockets, entirely sober, Toby said, “He’s a perfect example of just how clever the mastermind has been—he’s had his agents hunt and search to find just the right sort of people to run his scheme for him.”
Christopher nodded. “Capable people who have a weakness—in Hardcastle’s case, a desire for more money, possibly to help keep the inn afloat.”
Ellen sighed. “I just hope his family can manage without him.”
Christopher grimaced. “Eventually, we’ll have to tell them where he’s gone and why, but for now, given he’s been in the habit of going off for days every now and then—”
“And,” Toby broke in, “he told his son there was something he had to see to.”
Christopher nodded. “Given that, let’s leave his family to manage for now. For them, any bad news can wait.”
They emerged into the front hall to discover an arrival in progress. Several trunks and hatboxes along with two suitcases stood in a clump in the middle of the floor. Mrs. Marsh was directing two footmen over which rooms to cart everything to, while Pendleby was bowing and attempting to usher the not-entirely-unexpected guests into the drawing room.
Christopher and Toby spotted Drake’s dark head and strode forward with considerable relief, even while their gazes settled on the second dark-haired guest—Louisa, Drake’s wife.
Toby and Christopher had met the couple at Somersham Place only a few weeks before; Louisa was expecting the couple’s first child, albeit with some months yet to go, but not even the skills of London’s best modistes could conceal her burgeoning figure.
Louisa’s green eyes locked on the three of them. “There you are, Christopher. And Toby, too.” Louisa smiled delightedly at Ellen. “And who’s this?”
Christopher shot Drake a look, along with a thank-God-you’re-here-and-about-time nod. He was a trifle surprised Drake had allowed Louisa to accompany him into the country on a critical mission which might yet prove dangerous, but then again, this was Louisa; Christopher had never known anyone able to rein her in—except, sometimes, Drake. Clearly, her husband had elected to choose his battles.
After welcoming Louisa with a suitably cynical “What a lovely surprise!” and bending and bussing her cheek, Christopher stepped back and allowed Toby to greet her.
Ellen had halted a few paces from the group.
Smiling encouragingly, Christopher captured her hand and drew her forward as Louisa, her expression alight with curiosity, stepped past Toby. Christopher glanced at Louisa. “Allow me to present Miss Ellen Martingale of Bigfield House, which is just across the lane. Ellen—this is a cousin of sorts, Louisa, Marchioness of Winchelsea.”
Ellen’s eyes widened, and she dropped into a curtsy. “My lady.” As she rose, she glanced sharply at Christopher, then, her own habitual curiosity surfacing, regarded Louisa. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
Louisa hadn’t missed the swift look Ellen had cast him. “Please, no ma’ams! Just Louisa.” She reached for Ellen’s hand and, as she shook it, smiled with smug delight. “Indeed, I’m exceedingly glad to make your acquaintance.”
Louisa undertook to introduce Drake, and to Christopher’s eyes, Ellen’s curiosity only grew.
With the social niceties dealt with, Christopher caught Drake’s gaze. “You’ve arrived earlier than I anticipated. Did my latest message reach you?”
Drake nodded. “I’d already made arrangements to come down, and we were on our way. When we stopped to change horses at Sevenoaks, Louisa recognized your man in the inn yard. He gave us your message, and I told him to return here at his own pace. He’ll be somewhere behind us—we didn’t dally.”
Knowing the sort of horses Drake favored, Christopher wasn’t surprised that his man hadn’t yet reached the manor.