Excellent. Another distraction.
“Is that the housekeeper Sally Holt?”
“No. That’s Martha Flores. She works here too.”
“What does she do?”
“You ask more questions than a child.”
“If you offered information, I wouldn’t need to ask. What’s in the woods?”
“Nothing.”
Thea set off toward the woods, but Luxborough barreled around in front of her, blocking her view with his body made for hugging and sheltering.
“You had better not go into those woods,” he said.
“The woods are forbidden?” she asked eagerly.
“Very forbidden.”
“Are they dark and dangerous and full of monsters?”
“No, they are just forbidden.” His expression was severe, and he stood as unmoving and unmovable as a watchtower. “This is my one rule: Do not cross that footbridge or go into those woods. There are a hundred acres of woodland on the other side of the lake, as well as fifty acres of gardens and two thousand acres of farmland and orchards. Go anywhere you please, but not through there.”
“So that is where you bury the bodies of your victims,” she said lightly.
Though she spoke in jest, a darkly bleak expression crossed his face. He pivoted away from her, and when she saw his face again, the look was gone.
Thea was fumbling for words when someone yelled, “Dick Tatworth!”
She turned to see a newcomer striding around from the rear of the house. At first glance, Thea assumed the newcomer was a man, given the outfit of breeches and boots, with a black waistcoat over a white shirt, but at second glance—
“That’s a woman!” she said.
Sun glinted off the woman’s red hair, which was gathered in a fat coil at the back of her head. Her clothing must have been tailored to her measurements, for Thea couldn’t imagine a man having such a curvy shape.
“So it is.”
Thea clutched Luxborough’s arm. “And she’s holding a gun!”
“So she is.”
What’s more, the woman was pointing the gun at the deliveryman, her arm straight and steady as she marched at him, scolding him in a strong, rich voice.
“Dick Tatworth, you rotten cad, I’ll skin you alive and feed your meat to the dogs.”
“Calm down, missus,” that man stuttered, hands raised as he stumbled toward his wagon. “We can talk about this all sensible like.”
Lord Luxborough did not seem even mildly perturbed by the unfolding drama, and Martha Flores only ducked behind the gun-toting woman to watch the spectacle with interest.
“What’s going on?” Thea realized she was squeezing his arm and released him. “Do you mean to intervene?”
“She seems to have this in hand.”
The red-haired woman continued her advance. “You think you can dally with one of my maids? You think her lack of family means she’s not protected? I protect my own.”
“She’s lying!” the man shrieked, his ruddy cheeks turning ruddier. “I never.”
“You never what?”
“Whatever she said I did, I didn’t.”
“You think I don’t know you have one wife in Bristol and another in Bath? Be gone, Dick Tatworth, before I shoot you in the bollocks and let you explain that to all your wives.”
Luxborough and Thea jumped aside, as Dick Tatworth leaped into his wagon and spurred his horse to a swift escape. The woman lowered the pistol and handed it to Martha Flores.
Thea could hardly drag her eyes off her. If only she could do that! She could see herself now, pointing a gun at Percy Russell in that cool, confident way, while Percy spluttered and ran. She must learn to shoot while she was here, too.
“She is splendid,” Thea breathed. “Who is that?”
“Sally Holt,” Luxborough said.
“That’s your housekeeper?”
He shrugged. “I did warn you she is eccentric.”
With a call to Sally over his shoulder, Rafe took Thea’s elbow and tried to usher her toward the house. This was made difficult because she kept twisting to look back at Sally, as if she couldn’t get enough of her.
“Show’s over,” he snapped, irritated both by Thea’s blatant admiration and by his new tendency to find excuses to touch her. “You’ll find walking easier if you face forward.”
Thea looked up at him, her face bright with excitement. Blast her and her talent for delight. It was not only infectious, but addictive. For all Rafe’s grumbling during their trip, he kept looking out for sights she might enjoy. Even now he was tempted to be the one to show Thea the house and estate, if only to watch her face light up at each discovery. And after each new delight, she would seek another, and another, always seeking something new. He would do well to remember that. A man could run himself ragged offering novelties in an effort to keep her happy, and never succeeding for more than a day.
The sooner he handed Thea over to Sally and forgot about her existence, the better.
“Why does Sally Holt wear men’s clothing?” Thea asked in a low voice.
“Because she wants to, I suppose.”
“And you don’t mind? Arabella’s mother would have a fit.”
“If you had met some of the people I’ve met in the world, you’d understand why I do not care a penny what my housekeeper wears.”
“I cannot wait to see the butler.” She turned her eager gaze toward the front door. “What does he wear?”
“No butler.”
“Why not?”
“He objected to Sally and said either he went or she went, and I said fine. She manages without one.”
“Why did you choose her over him?”
Rafe hesitated, not sure how to explain Sally. He released Thea’s elbow and settled on saying, “Her father was the local schoolteacher, and she has lived here most of her life.”
It was simpler not to say the rest: that as a girl, Sally Holt had been unexceptional, except for her beauty, which she attempted to conceal under plain gowns, unflattering caps, and a deferential manner. But in the six years between Katharine’s death and Rafe’s return—that period when Rafe went into the selva to hunt orchids and avoid the world—polite Miss Holt had transformed into a woman who said what she pleased, dressed as she pleased, and eyed the world as if she wished to deal it a good hard slap.
Rafe had never asked Sally what happened in those years that made her change so, and she never volunteered the information. By tacit agreement, they never mentioned Katharine at all.
Thea threw another glance over her shoulder, and said, “Oh, she’s coming,” and stopped short. Rafe had to stop too.
“My apologies for losing you a deliveryman, my lord, but I will protect the girls at any cost,” Sally said, as she approached. Her words were for Rafe, but her eyes did not leave Thea. “I trust I did not frighten you, my lady.”
“Not at all.”
“That was not how I intended your first impression of Brinkley End. The staff were to be lined up outside to greet you. But then the maidservant was weeping and… I shall call the staff now, if you wish, my lady.”
Rafe frowned at this unexpected version of Sally. She seemed almost anxious to please. Surely not.