"Which of the lads brought you the ale, Edgar?" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for a wrap lying over the end rail.
"I didn't know 'im, ma'am." Edgar shuffled his feet uncomfortably, staring fixedly out of the window beyond the bed. In his shock and guilt, he had rushed in on Lady Ariel in her bedchamber without giving a thought to the intimacy of the surroundings. The sight of his lady sitting on the edge of the bed in her shift, swinging her bare legs, flooded him with embarrassment.
"You think he's not one of ours?" She thrust her arms into the sleeves of the wrapper, unaware of Edgar's discomfiture.
"Mebbe, m'lady. Mebbe 'e's new an' I 'adn't seen 'im afore."
"Go down to the kitchen and ask around," Ariel instructed as briskly as before. "Find out who knows him, where he comes from. And then find him. I'm going down to the stables to check on the others."
"Right y'are, m'lady." Edgar went eagerly to the door. "The roan's doin' fine this mornin'. Wounds closin' over nicely an' she 'ad some bran mash."
"Good." Ariel slipped from the bed and stood up gingerly, assessing her strength with a critical frown. "Go now, Edgar."
The man left and Ariel began to pace the bedchamber. "I don't believe Simon could have stolen the mare." "He had the opportunity," Jenny pointed out.
"Yes, but I don't believe he would do anything so underhanded. It's much more likely to have been Ranulf. He's been making inquiries, and Edgar told me he was livid when I shipped the colt out. He must have some inside information and he heard that I had a buyer for the mare."
In other circumstances it would have made Jenny smile to hear Ariel championing a Hawkesmoor-a man whom she would once have believed capable of any despicable act, a man whom a few short days ago she would have cheerfully pitchforked into the pits of hell.
"Well, whether it was your brother or not, I don't think you're going to do yourself or anyone else any good if you go out again in the cold, Ariel," she said practically.
"No." Ariel flopped down in the rocker, drawing the folds of the wrapper tightly around her. "You're right, I'm not." She bit a fingernail, tearing it off with a snap. She was going to have to move fast now. Ranulf would not stop at the mare.
Ranulf had a more than usually self-satisfied air, Simon thought, as the earl of Ravenspeare turned his horse toward the drawbridge and led the hunt clattering out of the castle, over the moat.
Simon rode up alongside his brother-in-law and offered a comment on the day's expectations.
"We should see good sport if Ralph has done his work," Ranulf replied. He cast a darkling look at his young brother riding just behind him. The younger man flushed.
"I can't be responsible for inept hunters. I've instructed the beaters and made sure the woods are well stocked. What more can I do?"
Ranulf didn't answer. "Do you intend to go to court when you leave us, Hawkesmoor?" His voice was pleasant, as if he was having the conversation with an amiable acquaintance. "You have the duchess of Marlborough's patronage, as I understand it."
"Sarah and I have a shared interest," Simon responded. "We're both deeply concerned for the health and welfare of her husband."
"Ah, yes, our valiant John, duke of Marlborough." Roland's tone, unlike his brother's, was caustic. "I've heard it said that Queen Anne grows a little impatient with her hero."
Simon's lips tightened for a moment, then relaxed. He smiled and shrugged. "Men of Marlborough's caliber don't find it easy to dance to the tunes of a whimsical conductor- monarch or no. But I've not yet heard his loyalty questioned." His voice had the faintest edge to it.
Roland made some nonchalant answer, not prepared to attack the character of a man known to be among Simon's closest friends, and regarded as a demigod by the whole country.
"Do you know anything about a woman called Esther in these parts, Ravenspeare?" Simon addressed Ranulf, his tone still light and conversational. "She would have come here some thirty years ago. Maybe a few more."
Ranulf looked surprised. "I was but ten years old."
"I just wondered. I've a mind to discover her whereabouts, if she's still alive."
Ranulf now looked very interested. "What's she to you, Hawkesmoor?"
"Nothing, as far as I know. But there seems to be some family mystery about her." He shrugged again. "I detest mysteries."
"She came from Hawkesmoor land to Ravenspeare land?" Roland asked sharply. As usual, of the brothers, he was the quickest to grasp the point.
"Possibly."
"Are you implying that there might be some connection between our two families with this woman?"
"I know of none," Simon lied smoothly. "Her name was mentioned in my father's papers. Not much was said about her, except that she left Hawkesmoor land and it was believed that she had moved to Ravenspeare. I was curious and simply wondered if the name meant anything to you."
"Not to me," Roland declared. He called over his shoulder, "Ralph, d'you know of a woman by the name of Esther living anywhere on Ravenspeare land?"
Ralph drew up alongside his brothers. His expression was still sullen. "I can't be expected to know the names of every tenant, let alone the fly-by-nights and vagrants coming through."
"No, that's certainly more in Ariel's line," Ranulf observed. "I should ask your wife, Hawkesmoor. If Ariel hasn't heard of the woman, you may rest assured that she isn't here… buried, maybe, but living…?" He shook his head, put spur to his horse, and took after the crying hounds toward a distant copse.
The rest of the hunt followed suit, and Simon dropped back into the midst of his own cadre. Ariel had never heard of Esther. Edgar had never heard of her. Perhaps Ranulf was right and she was dead. Thirty years was a long time, and the Ravenspeare involvement, if there had been any, would have concerned Ranulf's father, maybe even his uncles. Whatever had happened, it was now buried. If there had been any reference in the Ravenspeare archives, Ranulf would have known of it. And his ignorance had not been feigned.
But what had happened to the child? His father's papers had referred very clearly to Esther's child, fathered by Geoffrey's own brother Owen. A child that, on its father's death, Geoffrey had assumed responsibility for. But Simon couldn't remember his father ever referring to this unknown cousin. His own mother had never mentioned the child either. Was it a boy or a girl? Not even that simple fact had emerged from Geoffrey Hawkesmoor's cryptic papers.
Simon had discovered them only a few months ago, hidden beneath a false bottom of his father's desk. And that in itself was a puzzle. Why would such an act of family generosity have to be kept hidden, hidden from the world as if for all time? Did it have something to do with the child's mother? The papers referred obliquely to the woman's complete disappearance, to Geoffrey's several attempts to locate her.
But it was this unknown cousin who fascinated Simon. Why, if his father had assumed responsibility for the child, were there no provisions made in his will for his dependent? If this person still existed, Simon, his father's sole heir to a considerable estate, felt he owed him or her something. He didn't know why he should feel this obligation, but he did.
At the very end of his father's private papers, there was one reference to Ravenspeare. The only clue Simon had. I can only assume that the devil's brood have had a hand in her disappearance. It's not the Ravenspeare way to leave loose ends flapping in the wind, even though, in her present state, she's no threat to them. But they would have her somewhere under their eye, just in case that changed.