She emerged almost an hour later, knowing a great deal more than she had, despite Belinda’s reticence, and having acquired a new stable boy in the shape of Belinda’s nephew. She folded Crowther’s handkerchief with its few threads back into the pocket of her skirt.
Harriet was slow to reach the breakfast room even though she did not pause to visit her son or baby girl that morning. Instead she took time to consider what she had learned, walking around the fruit garden to the east of her house. She was proud of the trees that flourished under her care, and found being among them soothing. The movement of the wind in the leaves reminded her of the sea, and when she closed her eyes she could almost call up the sounds of wind and wave making the timbers of a sailing ship shift and groan, almost catch the tang of salt in the air. But she was now a long way inland.
When she got into the hallway, she was told that Crowther had arrived and was already at the breakfast table drinking chocolate with her sister. Harriet found them sitting close together with Rachel’s sketchbook open on the table between them. Rachel looked up as her sister entered.
“Harriet, Mr. Crowther has been looking over my sketches of Mrs. Heathcote’s cat, and he thinks I have talent!”
She looked as smug as the cat in question, an animal Harriet had never warmed to.
“But he says I must understand the webbing of the animal’s muscles to get it quite right, like Da Vinci! Next time he has a dead cat to dissect, he has promised I may go and watch. Isn’t that good of him?”
Harriet raised her eyebrows. “Charming, you unnatural beast.”
Rachel looked back down at her sketchbook, riffling through the pages, and gave a little shrug.
“I follow you in everything. And it was you who told me ‘we must not be afraid to know.’”
Harriet took her coffee from the sideboard and sat down.
“I was quoting someone else-‘Aude sapere’-and I recall he came to an unpleasant end. Still, there are worse words to live by.”
Crowther lifted an eyebrow. “It was Horace and I believe he retired from more active business to run an estate. Many would consider him lucky.”
Harriet gave no sign of having heard him.
There was a moment of silence. Rachel looked from one to the other and rose with a sigh.
“Well, you have things to discuss, I imagine. So I will leave you. Harry, a note came from the squire. It is there by your plate.”
“I see it. Details of when the inquest is to be, I suppose.”
She looked up at her sister’s soft face. Rachel would make a good manager in a wealthy man’s home and look for no other satisfaction in her life than providing comfort for those she loved. Harriet felt a wave of affection for her sister, but was disturbed to find within that affection a breath of jealousy. She had fallen into the role that her sister was formed for, and felt herself wronged in it. The world gave its gifts, but its pains also often came wrapped in pretty papers.
Rachel let the door close behind her, and Harriet found Crowther observing her over the edge of the newspaper. He caught her eye and turned his attention back to the little items of horror and amusement that made up the Daily Advertiser till she was ready to talk to him.
“You seem to have been made a favorite,” Harriet remarked.
Crowther glanced up briefly. “I’m honored. But she might think me less her friend when I accuse the man whom she loves of murder.”
Harriet became very still.
“Though,” Crowther continued with the air of a man commenting on the weather, and folding the paper again, “he is a stupid, brutish, unpleasant sort of man. He almost challenged me to a duel last night.”
Harriet turned swiftly, her lips parted in surprise, and knocked over her cup. Some of the coffee splashed on the tablecloth.
“Oh, damn! I’ve ruined yet more of the Commodore’s linen.” She sprang up and dabbed at the stain with a napkin. It seemed to spread and darken. “A duel, Crowther? What on earth are you talking about?” She picked up the napkin again, and used it to hide the stain, arranging it carefully as she went on, “And as to any feelings Thornleigh once encouraged in my sister, I assure you …”
He put up his hand. “Mrs. Westerman. Please do not let me frighten you into trying to protect the reputation or conduct of your sister or yourself. I am sure it has been above reproach.”
There was a dryness in his tone that made Harriet uncomfortable. She tried to think what he had seen of them the previous day. A horrid image of herself appeared in front of her; her worst traits blown up and highly colored, her motivations petty and foul.
“And now you think I wish to attack Thornleigh and the Hall as revenge for his jilting my sister?”
Her voice was crystalline. Crowther looked at her with surprise. Harriet noticed his cravat had been tied very sloppily, and there were crumbs of bread on his sleeve. She was sorry to find it did not make her feel any better.
“No, madam,” he said gently. “I do not think that, though Hugh may suggest it to your neighbors at some point.” He sighed and shifted in his chair. “Mrs. Westerman, we both know any discussion of the relations between your sister and Mr. Hugh Thornleigh between us is irregular, and I am well aware I am neither confidant nor counselor to you. But not knowing these things leaves me more in the dark than ever. The squire tried to persuade me last night to convince you to go no further into the concerns of Thornleigh Hall. It irritated me. But he promises matters will become unpleasant, and if you are too nice to speak to me of Hugh Thornleigh without worrying about your reputation, perhaps he is right, and you had better keep to household management.”
His voice had risen a little as he spoke. Harriet held up her hand without looking up from her napkin and nodded.
“I do trust you,” she said simply. “And for some strange reason, I seem to value your good opinion.” Her fingers plucked at the tablecloth. “I am not sure I behaved well. It is ridiculous; I like to tell myself I do not care what the world thinks of me. But I find it unpleasant to talk about these matters.”
“I very much doubt, Mrs. Westerman, if anything you can say will alter the opinion I have of you.”
He said these words almost tenderly, and when Harriet looked up it was with a smile and a faint blush.
“Lord! That almost sounds like a challenge. Oh, very well. I will be as frank as I know how. And I am sorry to be so overly sensible.” She put her elbows on the table, and rested a cheek on one hand. As she talked, the fingers of the other tapped out an irregular rhythm on the stained tablecloth.
“Hugh came back from the war in America with the injury to his face and eye that you see. He had been away since before we purchased Caveley-indeed, it was only two months before, that we had met Lady Thornleigh. The family had not been in evidence at all until Lord Thornleigh’s illness. I believe Hugh wished to continue to serve, since the injury did not stop him being a useful soldier, but when he heard of his father’s illness, and that Alexander’s whereabouts were still unknown, he thought it his duty to return home. It was the first time he met his stepmother, you know. She was a dancer before she became Lady Thornleigh, and only a year or two older than Hugh. They were not friendly. Still, I was glad he had come back, and he became a regular visitor here.”