“And who do you think—”
“I cannot say, yet, even to you. I’m not sure myself what I think; it is only an intuition. I should not like to stake anything to it.”
Frederick looked set to protest this, when Nash entered the room. “Your wife requests a moment of your time, Mr. Lenox,” he said.
Lenox rose. “I shall go back into town, soon. I’d like a skulk around. May I speak to the publican, as he speaks to the coach drivers?”
“Yes. Ah, but before you go, I promised I would remind you that the cricket match is in only a few days. Fripp is in a lather for you to play.”
“They’re going on with it?”
“Oh, yes. There will be a moment of silence, I expect, but it’s the last weekend, the pavilion has been erected, yes, we must have the cricket. It’s the fifth match of the summer. And the decisive one, this time — for the first time since ’sixty-eight the sides have split the first four matches.”
“King’s Arms against the Royal Oak, as in the old days?”
Frederick laughed. “When that changes, England will be no more, Charles.”
“Have you played this summer?”
“Oh, I’m too old.”
“If I play you must, Freddie.”
“I wouldn’t pin your hopes to it.”
Lenox left his cousin and went upstairs. Jane was seated at her desk, surrounded by piles of books and papers. Now that Lenox thought of it she had been spending a great deal of time here in the past few days.
“Too busy to come along on a walk with Sophia?” he asked, sliding in through the open door.
She turned in her seat, her face bright. “There you are!”
“What are you writing?”
“This and that, letters. Tell me, will you be able to come to supper tomorrow evening?”
“I should think so. Why?”
“It would be nice to have a little company, I think. I told Freddie as much and he agreed, but I wanted to sure you’d be here. It would be nicer for Dallington and Miss Taylor, I think, to have a few fresh faces around here.”
From the indifferent tone of this last utterance, Lenox detected its primacy. “You cannot be matchmaking, Jane, can you?”
She had stood up, and she took him by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him on the cheek. “No, no, of course not. Though have you observed how often they’re together, in the gardens and the drawing room? Fast friends.”
“Jane, not two days ago I was dragging John Dallington—”
“Yes, dear.”
“I cannot imagine his mother would congratulate you on that match, either, considering—”
“No, I know, dear.”
“Even if it is true that she would wish to see him settled, a governess, over thirty, without more than what she makes by the sweat of her brow, with parents who—”
“Yes, dear, you’re quite right,” said Lady Jane. “Let’s talk of something else.”
“Who will you be inviting to supper?” said Lenox crossly, unfooled.
“Oh, I’ve had a word with the housekeeper and Freddie.”
“Is that what you were writing?”
“No!” she said. “Something very different. You shall know before too long.”
He saw that this, anyhow, was true. He changed the subject. “I’m to play in the cricket.”
“Do you have the whites?”
“I shall have to borrow them, but there are always a few spare sets lying about Everley. Will you watch?”
“I suppose my nuptial duty dictates I must.”
Lenox laughed. “Hardly, no. You ought to come if you like the sport as a general proposition, however.”
She frowned. “As far as I understand you play by attaching mattresses to your legs and waddling back and forth between two sticks, while occasionally gesturing with your own personal stick at some sort of red ball. But then I don’t call myself a great sportsman.”
“You do yourself an injustice there.”
“Still, I should like to see you bat.”
“And my friend Fripp is a great bowler, even at his age, I expect,” said Lenox. “You can come around during the breaks, if you prefer. They’ll have tea and cakes, the wives of the players.”
“I should be involved in those preparations, then?”
Lenox pictured Lady Jane, as he had seen her many times, closeted in private conversation with the great and good of the royal court, of London society, and was tempted to laugh. Then he realized she would be just as comfortable in the pavilion, and felt a flourish of love for her. “If you like. Freddie can tell you which of the women in Plumbley to consult about it.”
Miss Taylor knocked at the door then; this was the hour, customarily, just before tea, when they took Sophia — but if they wished to skip it today, Mr. Lenox having taken the child on her walk, then—
Of course they did not want to skip their half hour, and played very happily with the child, showing her rattle to her, making faces over her bassinet, and generally making fools of themselves until the bell rang for the afternoon repast.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dallington had still not returned by five that evening. According to Frederick, who presided over the cakes and the sandwiches — in addition to Lenox and Lady Jane an old and unmarried woman of the parish, Miss Wilson, was in attendance, as apparently she was each Thursday — that morning the duke’s son had asked the kitchens for roast beef on a roll, tucked it into his pocket without so much as the benefit of a napkin to wrap around it, and been off before seven.
When they heard a footstep in the hall, then, all of them looked expectantly toward the door for him.
It was Oates, however. Lenox and his cousin went out to greet the constable, who had taken off his helmet and stood, rather drenched, in the hall. “It’s Musgrave, sir,” he said. “Sirs.”
“What of him?” asked Freddie.
“He’s done a scarper.”
Lenox raised his eyebrows. “He’s left town?”
Oates, who again looked and spoke as if he had taken a few drinks in the King’s Arms that afternoon — not quite enough for full impairment, but hardly a professional quantity either — pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Reported by Mrs. Flora Criscombe, Musgrave and his household in three coaches, with equipage, headed on the road to London.”
Lenox turned to Frederick. “Does he often travel?”
“Oates?”
“Not since he moved into Church Lane, in my memory, and what it is, I reckon he’s done poor Weston and — and now — and knows we’re getting close to him,” said Oates, slurringly.
Lenox felt badly for the man; at the same time he wished for a more professional ally. “To so incriminate himself would be exceedingly stupid, and Musgrave did not strike me as a stupid gentleman.”
“No,” said Freddie. “Has his wife gone with him?”
“Only a footman was left behind,” said Oates. “He was covering the furniture when I knocked on the door.”
“Where did he say Musgrave had gone?”
“He didn’t know. He—”
“I say it would be foolish of Musgrave to leave,” Lenox interjected, his chin in his hand, arms folded, eyes cast down with concentration, “but if there is some devastating piece of evidence soon to arise it would, perhaps, be wise in him to go to the continent.”
“And he took poor Catherine Scales, too,” Frederick murmured. “I dread to think of the life he’s leading her.”
Lenox turned to a servant. “Fetch me my hat and coat, please, would you?”
“Charles?” Frederick asked.
“We must look over the house. If he left in haste perhaps there is some evidence to parse. Oates, will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
Frederick was looking rather askance at Lenox, who smiled, reading his thoughts. “We cannot stand upon much refinement in this business,” he said “Certainly Musgrave has not.”