“Is there no other copy?” Patrick asked.
Pris shook her head. “And it’s closely guarded-even more so now.” She colored faintly. “I slipped back last night and looked around-searched the woods in case Rus had come back. He hadn’t, but I saw two extra guards patrolling around the building. Caxton knows Rus and I are both after the register, and he’s determined we’re not going to see it.”
Eugenia’s brows rose. “Perhaps we ought to consider ways of swaying Mr. Caxton.” She glanced at Pris. “You said he was highly eligible.”
“I also said he was more beautiful than I am, and similarly immune to ‘gentle persuasion.’”
She saw Patrick’s slashing smile flash; she directed a frown his way, but he, too, was immune.
“I don’t suppose,” he said, “that you’d consider swaying Caxton as a challenge?”
Crossing her arms, she humphed. “Perhaps, but…”
That was one challenge she might not win.
“I was wondering…”
They all turned to look at Adelaide. A soft frown was creasing her brow. “I saw a lending library in the town. This is Newmarket, after all-perhaps they have a book that will tell us something about this register?”
Pris blinked. “That’s an excellent idea.” She smiled. “Well done, Adelaide! We’ll go tomorrow, and while we’re there, we’ll also search for a map. I want to find where all the common land is and whether there are any derelict cottages or abandoned stables hidden away out on the Heath.”
Patrick nodded. “Another excellent idea.”
“Well, then!” Eugenia gathered up her tatting. “We all have something to get on with tomorrow. I suggest we go to bed-there, it’s midnight.”
They stood as the clocks throughout the house chimed.
Climbing the stairs behind Eugenia, conscious of the comfort of the familiar sounds about her, Pris wondered where Rus was, whether he had any comforts at all, what the sounds surrounding him now were.
She needed to learn where he was. And whether the cold lump of fear congealing in her stomach was justified.
As it happens we do have a map showing the stables and studs.” The lady behind the counter of the lending library smiled at Pris. “I’m afraid you can’t borrow it, but you’re very welcome to study it.” She nodded across the foyer of the lending library. “It’s hanging over there.”
Pris swung around, eyes widening as she saw a very large, very detailed map covering a considerable section of the opposite wall.
Behind her, the helpful lady continued, “We get so many gentlemen calling in, trying to find their way to this stud or that stable, that we had the aldermen make that up for us.”
“Is it up-to-date?”
“Oh, yes. The town clerk drops by every year to make adjustments. He was here in July, so the details are very recent.”
“Thank you.” Pris flashed the lady a brilliant smile. Leaving the counter, she crossed the foyer that ran across the street end of bookcases stretching back into the dimness of the building. There were chairs and low tables grouped in the area, more or less in the library window. Two old ladies were sitting in armchairs, comparing novels. Pris halted before the large map mounted on the wall.
It was huge and wonderfully informative. It even showed some of the bigger stands of trees out on the Heath. She located the wood in which she and Caxton had kissed; backtracking, she found the area where Cromarty’s string exercised, then traced the route back to the stable southeast of Swaffam Prior. Even the tavern in the village was carefully marked.
Elsewhere, somewhere between the bookcases, Eugenia and Adelaide were pursuing books on the Breeding Register.
Locating the Carisbrook house, Pris scanned the major estates, the studs and famous stables ringing the town. She memorized the names and outlines of the larger properties, searching for distant sheds or disused buildings, any places Rus might be using as a refuge.
She knew he was close, still in the vicinity. While the possibility of his having gone to London had to be examined, she didn’t believe he had.
Next to a large stud labeled Cynster, she found a smaller property, an old manor with a house called Hillgate End. The name carefully lettered beneath was CAXTON. Pris took note of the surrounding lanes and woods, her mind-if not her enthusiasm-preparing for the inevitable, that she would have to approach Caxton again.
After their interlude in the wood, she absolutely definitely didn’t want to think of having to do so. Of having to risk it. Turning her mind from the prospect, she set about quartering the Heath, searching for old or disused dwellings.
Behind her, the bell above the library door jingled. An instant later, one of the assistants exclaimed, “Why, Mrs. Cynster! You’re just the person we need. I have a lady here terribly keen to learn about the register-I assume that’s the Breeding Register Mr. Caxton keeps-but we’ve no books about it, which I must say seems strange. Perhaps you could speak with her?”
Pris looked around, and beheld a vision in soft summer blue. Mrs. Cynster was a youthful matron, extremely stylish, elegantly gowned with a wealth of guinea gold curls exquisitely cropped. By her side, a young girl, perhaps ten or so, stood patiently waiting.
The young girl saw Pris. The girl’s eyes grew wide, then wider. Staring unabashedly, she blindly reached up and tugged her mother’s sleeve.
Pris turned back to the map. She was often the recipient of such stunned fascination, but in this case, given her mother, the girl had an unusually high standard for comparison.
Regarding the map, Pris considered the Cynster stud, with the smaller Hillgate End estate nestled above it. Mrs. Cynster, assuming she was the Mrs. Cynster, was Caxton’s neighbor.
Behind her, Mrs. Cynster agreed to speak with Eugenia; the assistant led her away between the rows of bookshelves. Pris heard the young girl hushed when she tried to tell her mother about Pris, heard her scuffling footsteps as she reluctantly followed the ladies.
She had a few minutes at most to decide what to do. To decide how best to use the opportunity fate had sent their way. Mrs. Cynster might be Caxton’s neighbor, yet Pris couldn’t see the man who had interrogated her in his office sharing his problems-she was fairly certain he thought of her as a problem-with his neighbors, particularly not the ladies.
There was no reason Mrs. Cynster would know anything about her, let alone the motives behind her and Eugenia’s quest to see the register. But if Mrs. Cynster knew anything about that blasted register, or even something useful about Caxton…
Turning from the map, Pris walked down the corridor between two bookshelves, using Eugenia’s voice to guide her.
“I have to confess,” Mrs. Cynster was saying, “that although I’ve lived in Newmarket almost all my life, and have an interest in breeding and training horses, I really have no clue as to what, precisely, is in the Breeding Register. I know all race horses are registered, but as to why, and with what details, I’ve never thought to ask.”
Eugenia saw Pris and smiled. “There you are, my dear.” She glanced at the golden-haired beauty. “Mrs. Cynster-my niece, Miss Dalling. She’s been so helpful trying to find answers to my questions.”
Mrs. Cynster turned. Pris met pure blue eyes, open and innocent, yet there was a quick and observant mind behind them.
Smiling, she bobbed a curtsy, then took the hand Mrs. Cynster extended. “I’m very pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Cynster’s smile widened; she was a small woman, several inches shorter than Pris. “Not nearly as pleased as I am to meet you, Miss Dalling. I hate being behindhand with the latest, especially in Newmarket, and you’re obviously the lady I’ve recently heard described as ‘stunningly, startlingly, strikingly beautiful.’ I had thought the description a trifle overblown, but I see I was being too cynical.”