by Jane Ashford
“She had that sort of accent,” added Evan.
Ada waited through a longish silence. It was sometimes better to let the memories flow without interruption.
“She had a friend in Shrewsbury,” said Tess suddenly. “How did I forget about that?”
“That’s right,” said Rose. “She visited there a few times, didn’t she, on her days off. Found a ride with a carter, wasn’t it?”
Tess nodded. “Only it was so far, she gave it up finally,” she added. “Too much trouble, she said.”
“Shrewsbury,” said Ada when it seemed they had nothing more to say.
“Yes, miss.”
“Do you know who she visited?”
None of them could recall that.
“If we ever knew,” said Conway. “Which I don’t think we did, myself. She wasn’t one for confiding her personal affairs.”
“It was a female,” said Tess. “I know that. Nothing scandalous about it.”
Conway bridled. “I did not mean to imply that there was.”
“Maybe it was the vicar’s wife,” said Rose. She frowned. “I don’t know why I think so.”
“But you all remember that she went to Shrewsbury,” said the duke.
All four servants nodded.
They tried a few more questions, but nothing further emerged. At last Ada let the servants go, with thanks. When she turned back, the duke was staring at her. “That was masterful,” he said.
Ada felt herself flush with pride. “My friends and I learned a great deal about how to ask questions when we tracked down a ring stolen by a crow.”
“Did you say crow?”
She nodded. “If you begin by asking very simple things, easily answered, without much thought, the memories start to…flow. And others seem to pop up.” She was rather proud of their skills.
“Now I am imagining you extracting a confession from a bird.”
“The crow did speak.” Ada smiled at his bemused expression. “Just a few words. It couldn’t carry on conversations.”
“And yet you managed to expose its villainy.”
There was warm admiration in his gaze, and Ada basked in it a little. “Hardly that. Mere…acquisitiveness. Sooty just liked shiny things.” She headed for the door. “Shall we set off for Shrewsbury?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I shall ride there and poke about.”
“I’ll go with you. Of course. We must make inquiries. There is no time to waste.” And she had just demonstrated her ability to ferret out information.
“It’s most likely a wild-goose chase,” said the duke. “It’s been years since the woman visited there.”
“Yes, but this is the only link to her we have. She might have gone to this friend when she left.”
“Perhaps, but even so, she’s probably long gone.”
Ada frowned at him. “But she might not be. She might be right there, ready to translate Delia’s note for us. On the spot.” Her fingers curled, grasping at the idea. “We have to try!”
He was almost afraid to do so, Peter realized. If, when, they did, the effort was likely to prove futile, like his father’s many schemes. And then he would lose more than a sum of money. The risk seemed greater than any he’d faced before.
She came closer and put a hand on his arm. “You can’t give up hope. A few failures don’t mean the next thing won’t work.”
Her touch warmed him right through. “More than a few,” he had to say. The long string of his father’s missteps had brought the estate to the brink of dissolution. But he wouldn’t tell her that. It wasn’t her burden.
She gazed up at him as if trying to divine his thoughts.
If only there was something to say, Peter thought, some magic words that would remove all obstacles. Unfortunately, he lived in stark reality, not a fairy tale.
“When I fell asleep in Delia’s bedchamber,” Miss Ada said, “I dreamed of her again. Only it was different. She tried to speak to me.”
“She?”
“Delia.”
“My sister tried to speak to you.” Peter tried to keep the skeptical anxiety out of his voice. Unsuccessfully.
Miss Ada made a dismissive gesture. “The dream Delia. Of course I know she isn’t real.”
The impatience in her tone was a relief. He didn’t want to think that her visit to Alberdene had deepened her grief into something more disturbing.
“It just meant that I’m certain the note she left is important,” Miss Ada went on. “I believe it’s an important communication.” She bent close, fixing Peter with her dark gaze. “And I won’t give up.”
The passion in her voice moved him as much as her nearness beguiled him. In that moment he would have done anything she asked. Scaled mountains, wrestled giants. “Of course I’ll go to Shrewsbury,” he answered.
“We will go. Right now. I must be off before my aunt comes looking for me.”
“I can’t take you.”
She made use of her eyebrows to scowl at him. “You wouldn’t even know to ask about this woman if not for me. I have a right to come.”
“Yes, but…” It was humiliating to admit the truth. “I have no horse for you to ride.”
“Any sort of mount will do. I’m a good rider. You needn’t worry.”
The only decent riding horse in Peter’s stables was his own. He’d sold off just about everything else. Alberdene now possessed several broken down carriages that wouldn’t make it down the drive, a dilapidated gig, and farm carts that couldn’t be spared from their tasks, even if their rough teams hadn’t been far too slow for the proposed trip. Once again, he was shamed by the state of his holdings. “You misunderstand me. I have no horse for you.”
“No horse?”
A ducal household ought to have mounts for guests. Anyone would expect that. But this one didn’t. He turned away from the astonishment in her face. “I’ll report everything I discover naturally.”
“You must have something I can ride.” She glared. “If you try to go without me, I’ll follow you. I promise I’ll find a way.”
He believed her. He had a sudden image of her perched on the back of a great bewildered plow horse, clinging like a child, kicking it with her heels. She would be hours traversing the road to Shrewsbury, if she made it at all. “I could ask your aunt to keep you here.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
Fleetingly, Peter revisited the days of childhood, when to be a talebearer or a sneak was the biggest sin.
“I brought you Delia’s note,” she said, her voice vibrating with outrage. “I came here to find out what it said! I thought you would help me.”
Her dark eyes burned into his. He wanted to help her. He’d never wanted anything so much.
“There must be something,” she added.
“There is a decrepit gig.” Peter’s horse would pull it. He’d been forced to do so before. He did not like it, however. There had been incidents. A stable boy had nearly been kicked in the head.
“Splendid,” said Miss Ada. “We’ll take that.”
“It’s seven miles to Shrewsbury. You’ll be exposed to the elements. You’ll be cold.”
“Of course I shan’t mind that.”
She was difficult to resist. No, impossible. “The gig may well break down,” Peter warned. “It’s older than you.”
“You must learn not to be so negative.” She put a hand on the doorknob. “Only give me a few minutes to get ready.” She turned back. “You won’t leave without me?”
It had occurred to him. If he went directly to the stables, he’d be gone by the time she fetched her bonnet.
“I will follow you,” she repeated.
This wouldn’t be as simple as she seemed to think. She would have to find a farm team and convince its driver. No laborer would want to mount her.
Peter couldn’t resist that quiet plea. He gave in, despite a head full of doubts. They would be cold. They would most likely find nothing helpful in Shrewsbury. They would have to rush to be back in good time. But he would be with her, an inner voice whispered. He would enjoy her company for a little longer.
He nodded. At least the gig was an open carriage, which satisfied the proprieties. And they would be back before the end of the day. “Come to the stables when you’re ready.”
In her bedchamber, gathering warm garments, Ada had a brief dispute with Sarah, as she’d known she would. And she prevailed, as she’d also been certain she would. Sarah was the most persuadable of her friends, even agreeing to watch over Ella while Ada was gone. She managed to get away without encountering anyone else. She nearly ran into young Tom outside the door, but she saw him first and ducked behind a shrub until he’d passed.
Twenty minutes later, she was riding away beside Compton in the Alberdene gig. It was indeed old and dusty, but it didn’t seem likely to fall apart in the next few hours. They would get to Shrewsbury and back. The horse pulling the light vehicle was restive, obviously not happy to be in harness. But again, it would do.
Excitement and hope surged through her. At last they had taken a real step. They would find this woman, discover the meaning of Delia’s last words, and uncover the treasure. Meanwhile, she sat beside her love on an adventure that would make all this happen. This was what life would be like in the rosy future she imagined.
“What is your plan?” she asked as they moved away from the ridge where the house sprawled.
“You wait until now to wonder?”
“Of course I trust you to have a plan. This is your country after all. Although how could this woman be so close and you not know?”
He started to say that she could not, and thus that their journey was useless. Ada could almost see the words forming on his lips. She braced for a dispute. But his answer surprised her.
“We weren’t really acquainted. In fact, I barely met her. She would have had no reason to contact me.”
“You’d think Delia might have kept in touch,” said Ada.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know on what terms they parted. Delia never mentioned her.”
“You think they might have been at odds?” And if so, would the woman refuse to help them?
“We have no way of knowing.” The horse objected to a touch of the reins, and he had to calm it.
“Still, the town is so close,” said Ada when this altercation had subsided.
“I rarely go into Shrewsbury. We do our marketing over in Wrexham. It’s closer.”
“Oh.” Ada wondered if they would be reduced to walking about a strange town asking if anyone was aware of a foreign woman who used to visit and might, possibly, be living there.
“I do know some people in Shrewsbury, however,” he added. “I will ask them. A foreigner stands out in a small town.”
“Yes.” She refused to be discouraged. There would be plenty of time for that if they failed. Ada fingered her reticule, which held the sheet of Delia’s cryptic writing, folded in four. She pulled her cloak closer. As he’d warned, it was cold riding in the open carriage on this gray October day. The moving air penetrated despite her gloves and the wool scarf tied around her neck. She hitched up the blanket that Compton had tucked around her when they started out and put her hands under it.
The horse slowed again and kicked at a bit of harness. The duke gentled the animal and got him going again. “Prince doesn’t like pulling the gig,” he said, as if Ada had criticized his driving.
She’d noticed that young gentlemen could be very sensitive on this topic. Some of them seemed to see their handling of the ribbons as a measure of manhood. Indeed, one of Charlotte’s brothers had actually come to blows with a crony over a carriage race, and it had been bloody noses all around. “You’re doing very well,” she said.
He gave her a sidelong glance. It was warm with amusement, as if he’d followed some of her thoughts. “Better than you know. Prince is a riding horse. Solely and completely, in his mind. He despises the harness.”
“Why use him for this journey then?”
“As I told you, Miss Grandison, I had no others available.” His tone had gone clipped.
She’d actually thought he was exaggerating to keep her from accompanying him. Surely no duke had just one horse. “There must be farm teams.”
“Which need to be about their work. And are even less suitable for a gig. Would you plod along for two hours on this journey?” He glanced at her. “Perhaps you begin to understand what I mean when I say that my resources are limited.”
It hadn’t really sunk in, Ada acknowledged. Alberdene’s furnishings might be worn, but there were servants to call upon and fine dinners on the table. Did he truly have only one horse? Was it a hardship for him to have guests? The idea that her visit might be a financial strain was embarrassing. She didn’t know how to ask without offending him further, however. And if he said yes, what was she to reply? Ada limited her comments to observations about the countryside for the remainder of the drive.
They came into Shrewsbury from the north. It was a pretty town of brick and black-timbered white buildings set in a wide loop of the Severn River. Compton drove to the largest inn, where the gig could be stabled until they were ready to return, and then they walked together to the houses of people he knew.
And then began a frustrating process that made Ada more and more impatient as the minutes passed. They couldn’t just step in, ask their question, and leave when they received an answer. Whatever his difficulties, Compton was the highest-ranking resident in the area, and a visit from him was an event. People wanted him to sit, accept their hospitality, and provide a story to impress their neighbors. They had to make a bit of polite conversation. The duke did this with a degree of aplomb that surprised and impressed her, exchanging views about the state of the county and agricultural conditions. She had only seen him with her friends before, and he had seemed much less at ease in his own drawing room.
Ada said little, merely enduring sidelong glances as people clearly wondered who she was and what her relation to the duke might be. No one quite dared to ask them. She fell into a daydream of returning here someday with an acknowledged position—as, in fact, his wife. This pleasant vision helped curb her impatience as the minutes dragged on.
Finally, at the fourth house, they came upon a clue. The wife of a prosperous merchant did know of a foreign lady who gave language lessons to aspiring young people in Shrewsbury. After lengthy pondering and word sent to a neighbor, she was able to come up with an address. She even insisted on sending one of her servants to show them the way. Ada followed him eagerly, her hopes rising with each step.
The man led them to a small wooden house in a narrow cobbled street. It had a steep peaked roof and windows picked out in white. The servant marched up and pounded on the door before they realized that he meant to. When it opened, he announced, “The Duke of Compton,” with loud, officious relish.
“Thank you. That will do,” said Peter. He gave the man a coin and indicated that he could go. Seeming to feel that he had completed his duty, the fellow strode off.
Peter turned back to face the woman in the doorway. As his servants had remembered, she was small and thin. Her pale-silvery hair might be gray or a light sort of blond. It was pulled tightly back into a bun at the nape of her neck, which made it hard to tell. She had sharp cheekbones and eyes of a very light blue that slanted slightly in a wrinkled face. Her gown was gray and very plain.
Since the door opened directly into the front room of the house, Peter could see a girl of twelve or so standing beside a sofa. She looked nervous. “I fear we’ve interrupted,” he said. “I beg your pardon. But we wanted to speak to you. Are you the lady taught my sister for a while at Alberdene?”
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br /> The woman nodded.
“Ah, good.” Peter glanced at Miss Ada and saw triumph in her face.
“I heard that Lady Delia died,” said the woman. Her voice had a subtle singsong lilt.
“Yes.”
She bowed her head. “I am sorry.”
“Thank you.” Peter decided just to plunge in. “She left something behind that we hope you might help us with.”
“I?”
Peter nodded, not wanting to say more in front of the little girl. He tried to indicate this desire with a shift of his eyes.
This earned him a long glance before the old woman turned and said, “You may go, Fanny. I will see you for your lesson next week. Tell your mama that there is no charge for today as we were cut short.”
The girl slowly donned her cloak, clearly curious and hoping for more information. But they waited until she had gone before moving inside the house. When the door had shut behind her, their hostess bent to add a log to the fire. “Please, take off your things and sit down. I’m afraid I have no servants to help you.”
They shed their cloaks and settled around the small hearth.
“I am Miss Inari Koskinen,” said the old woman then. “Can I offer you a glass of elderberry wine? I make it myself. At home it would be lakka, from cloudberries, but this is not so bad, if I do say so.”
“Cloudberries? What a lovely name.” Ada wondered if she could mention that she was quite hungry, and decided that it wouldn’t be polite.
The old lady eyed her, then disappeared into the back of the house. She returned a few minutes later with a tray holding a bottle of homemade wine and glasses. Sitting down across from them, she poured. Ada gave her a smile as she took hers.
Compton leaned forward as if to speak.
“Please,” said their hostess again, gesturing at the tray. “Accept my hospitality.”
The duke hesitated. Clearly he shared Ada’s wish to get down to business. But their hostess looked equally determined to observe the social niceties. He leaned forward and took a glass. “Thank you,” he said. He sipped. “Very good.”
Miss Koskinen laughed. “I doubt it’s exactly to your taste. But it is what I have. In this place.”