Pleased and a little surprised, she took the wall easily, and reined in shortly afterward to wait for the others.
Sir Antony said, “Where now, Miss Tarrant?”
Having expected a compliment on her riding, she hesitated. Then, catching his gaze and observing his amusement, she saw that he knew exactly what she had expected, and purposely had not catered to her vanity. She realized then that, except for the exaggerated admiration he had expressed when he first stepped into the drawing room in his guise as the haughty fop, he had never complimented her. She realized, too, that she wanted very much to win his approval.
Astonished at herself for reacting in a way which she despised in other females, she managed to respond evenly, “We’ll see Cubert and Wenna Breton first, or Wenna at least. You may have met Cubert yourself, for I think he occasionally helps the free traders. More to the point, you said your assassins may have friends in France, and I know at least one Frenchwoman hereabouts who may still have family there.”
“Angelique,” Letty said promptly.
When Sir Antony raised his eyebrows, Charley explained that Angelique was the dressmaker in Lostwithiel who had supplied her mourning gowns.
“Not that habit, surely!”
“No, I had this made in London, but Angelique is quite skilled.”
“If she is the connection, why do we visit these other people?”
“Their daughter, Jenifry, is apprenticed to Angelique, and I was disturbed to learn that she had not seen her parents since she began to work there. I want to tell them I’ve seen her, and suggest that perhaps we can arrange for them to do so as well. And, of course, they ought to know more than I do about Angelique, since they apprenticed their daughter to her.”
Sir Antony said, “I do not think we are looking for a woman, you know. Assassination is not generally a feminine act, and although I have known you long enough now to realize that you believe women capable of anything—”
Charley cut him off with a chuckle. “I don’t suspect Angelique of wanting to murder Wellington, sir. She is married, however, and it does occur to me that her husband might be someone who could tell us something useful. I do not know how they met, of course, but he could well have friends in France. We can talk to him, perhaps, and even to Angelique herself, but I believe Wenna Breton might be an even better source of information. She is a very fine spinster, you see, and spins yarn for other families, as well as for her own. Since she mixes a lot with others, she might give us some very helpful information.”
The Bretons’ small thatched cottage lay nestled in a hollow at the edge of the moor. A patch of garden rimmed with blackberry brambles sprawled in back with a sheep run behind that. Wenna Breton, a sturdy woman of about fifty, with sunburned cheeks and the deeply lined face of one who spent as much time outdoors as in, opened the door herself.
She exclaimed, “Miss Charley! What a treat. Come you in, lass, come you in.”
“Sebastian, stay!”
“Lordy, he can come in, sir. My husband’s dogs fair make themselves to home wherever they please.”
“Wenna, this is Lady Daintry’s daughter, Lady Letitia Deverill.”
“’Tis an honor, your ladyship,” Wenna said, making her curtsy. “You would be Lord Gideon’s daughter then, as well, would you not?”
“I am, indeed,” Letty said, looking around. “What a cozy home this is!”
“Thank you, my lady. My girls and me, we fashioned them throws and coverlets and cushions. They do brighten a place.” She looked expectantly at Sir Antony.
Charley introduced him, adding sweetly, “He may be Grandpapa’s heir, Wenna.”
“Be that so, then? I did hear there be some question about it. But come you in, and I’ll fetch out cakes and cider, Miss Charley. You’ll like that after your ride.”
When they had taken seats in the cottage’s main room, which served as kitchen and sitting room, and the cider had been poured, Wenna passed a basket of warm saffron buns.
Charley said, “We won’t be at all offended if you want to continue your spinning while we visit. I know you have much work to do, for you always have, and I can see that you were working when we arrived.”
“Thank you, Miss Charley, I will.” Setting the bun basket conveniently near Sir Antony, she settled herself on a low stool by her spinning wheel. A fluffy plume of white wool dangled from its spindle.
Wenna reached into a large basket of raw wool on the floor beside her and pulled out a handful, stretching and pulling it, her quick fingers picking out bits of detritus missed in the carding. This done, she held the mass near the dangling plume and began rhythmically to press the floor pedal. Using one hand to hold the wool and the other to feed it to the plume, she looked up at her guests again. Yarn appeared as if by magic from the spindle, winding its way to the bobbin below.
Fascinated, Letty got up from her chair and moved closer to watch. “Don’t you have to twist it?”
“Bless you, my lady, ’tis the wheel does the twisting.” Wenna smiled at Letty. Her hands continued their smooth, practiced motions without pause.
“Is it hard to do?”
“My Jenifry’s been spinning since her fifth year, my lady. Near all my girls started young. B’ain’t nothing to it but feeding the wool steady and keeping the rhythm. Even four-ply can be the work of a youngster.”
“Could I learn?”
The woman stared at her in apparent consternation, though her hands did not stop. “Spinning’s a chore for common folk, not for ladies of quality.”
“Oh.” Letty sounded so disappointed that Charley said, “Wenna spins to put food on her table, Letty, not for her amusement. If she takes time to teach someone who can’t help her, she will not finish all the work she needs to do.”
Wenna smiled. “It ain’t that, Miss Charley. I’d teach her in a twink. I just thought her own folks wouldn’t like it.”
Letty shot a mischievous glance at her cousin and said, “They won’t mind a bit. Moreover, if my hands were busy, I could let Sir Antony have the third saffron bun. He’s eaten two already and seems to be eyeing that last one as if he were starving.”
“He can have as many as he likes,” Wenna said, getting up to let the child sit on the stool.
“He cannot,” Charley said. “We mean to ride into town from here, Wenna, and I’m going to buy some pastry pigs from Dewy the Baker. He can have some of those. I meant to get some the last time we went to town, but we spent all our time at Angelique’s, and Dewy’s shop was shut up afterward. I’ve loved pastry pigs since I was a child, and no one makes them like Dewy.”
Wenna had been showing Letty how to hold the raw wool while Charley talked, but at mention of Angelique, she looked up. When Charley fell silent, she said, “Our Jenifry be apprenticed to Miss Angelique, Miss Charley. I don’t suppose …”
“I saw her, Wenna, a few days before the funeral, when I went into Angelique’s. I was surprised to hear that she has not been allowed to visit you.”
“We knew about Miss Angelique’s rules, Miss Charley, but we did think we’d be able to see our Jenifry if we went into town. But when Cubert went, he were told that were agin the rules as well. It don’t seem right, but Michael Peryllys himself were there, and he did show Cubert where it said as much in them papers he signed. He didn’t get so much as a peek at our Jenifry. It don’t seem right,” she said again.
“I don’t know people in Lostwithiel as well as I know them in Fowey,” Charley said, seeing without much surprise that Sir Antony seemed to be paying more attention to the conversation than to saffron buns, now that they were discussing Angelique. “We’re nearer to Fowey for one thing, and it’s so much smaller. How well did you know Angelique before you agreed to the apprenticeship?”
“Not at all, miss, her being foreign and all. Cubert knows Michael, of course, for they’ve … they’ve worked together now and again for years, at the mines and such.” Glancing away, she went on hastily, “We knew Miss Angelique makes dre
sses for many ladies hereabouts, and we hoped she could teach our Jenifry. Jenifry be a dab hand with a needle and thread, and she got her head set on making her own way in the world. Says she don’t want to depend on getting herself a husband, but I don’t know, Miss Charley. ’Tis a fact and all that I never knew how much I’d miss her, and it fair terrifies me to think of her going into womanhood without a man to look after her.”
Conscious of Sir Antony’s steady gaze, Charley forbore to explain her views on feminine independence, although in truth, those views had undergone some slight alteration since the reading of her grandfather’s will. She said, “I can well believe you miss her, Wenna, and I daresay, if I ask to see her, they will not refuse me. As I said, we mean to ride into Lostwithiel from here. Would you like us to look in on her?”
“Oh, if you would, miss! I just want to know she’s happy. Though, truth to tell, if she ain’t, I don’t know what we’ll do. Them papers what Michael made Cubert sign did say she must serve Miss Angelique for seven whole years and a day.”
“We’ll deal with that if she proves to be unhappy,” Charley said. “If she likes sewing, and works hard, one day she could set up her own business, Wenna.”
“Mayhap she could,” Wenna agreed, but the thought did not seem to cheer her. They remained a few minutes longer, and Charley noted that Letty had picked up the basic principles of spinning. Her motions were nearly as sure as Wenna’s had been.
“That was fun,” she said as they bade Wenna good-bye. “May I come to visit another day, and try again?”
“Bless you, my lady, come whenever you’ve a mind. I’ll enjoy the company.”
“I think I’ll ask Papa to buy me a spinning wheel,” Letty said as they rode out of the cottage yard, followed by the faithful Sebastian. “I think it would be fun to spin one’s own yarn and then use it to hook a rug or knit a shawl. Just think, the whole thing, from sheep to shoulders!”
Sir Antony laughed. “Do you intend to shear the sheep yourself?”
Letty wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Sheep are rather large. I could maybe shear a lamb, but I’m not certain about a sheep. I’ve never seen one shorn.”
“Well, I have,” Sir Antony said. “When I was about your age, my father took me to Holkham Hall for the shearing. It was a tremendous occasion with visitors from all over, like a large market fair. Big burly men did the shearing. They grabbed the sheep and held them upright between their knees, racing each other to see who could shear the greatest number in a day. It was a noisy, smelly business. I liked the splendid dinners much more, believe me, and the dancing bears and trained dogs even more.”
Conversation turned to dancing bears and other oddities the three had seen at fairs in England and in France, but Charley had not missed the casual reference to Holkham Hall, the famous home of Mr. Coke of Norfolk. So Sir Antony had at least visited that county. It did not mean a great deal, of course, since Mr. Coke was indeed widely known for his hospitality. His guests for the annual shearing were known to come from as far away as Ireland and Northern Scotland. Still, she filed away that piece of information with the rest of what she had learned about him.
He was a pleasant, easygoing companion. She liked him and was rapidly developing an odd sense of contentment in his company, finding his even temperament a refreshing change after her dealings with Alfred. Remembering then the hard look in Sir Antony’s eyes when he had intervened with the groom, and the way he seemed able to influence her with no more than a look or a touch, she found herself having second thoughts. Clearly, Sir Antony might not always be so easy of manner as he appeared.
When they reached Lostwithiel and she turned along the cobblestoned High Street toward Angelique’s, he reined in, saying above the ringing clatter of hoofbeats, “I’ll meet the pair of you at Dewy the Baker’s in twenty minutes. I daresay I can find the place easily enough.”
Eyeing him in surprise, Charley said, “You won’t have any difficulty at all. Anyone can tell you where his shop is to be found. But don’t tell me you are afraid you will feel out of place in a dressmaker’s shop, for I won’t believe you.”
“You would be right,” he said with an impudent smile. “In truth, I think you were right, too, about Cubert Breton helping the free traders. Wenna mentioned a name I’ve heard, and common though the name is, if your Angelique should also chance to have friends amongst that lot, I’d as lief not meet any of them at present.”
“Do you think they would recognize you? It never occurred to me that Cubert might, if we’d met him. I think anyone would have to be very discerning to do so.”
“Perhaps, but someone might recognize Annabelle or Sebastian more easily.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, they might.” She thought anyone would remember the well-mannered mare.
She and Letty were disappointed, however, to learn at Angelique’s that Jenifry had gone out of town with her mistress to help with a fitting. The girl who assisted them seemed nervous, and recalling that Angelique was a harsh mistress who did not allow her assistants to enter the front part of the shop, Charley decided the girl was afraid of offending a favored customer who might later complain. Hoping to put her at her ease, she said kindly, “Will you tell Jenifry that I brought greetings from her mother, if you please?”
“Yes, miss. I will if I’m allowed.”
“But why would Angelique not allow you to give her a simple message?”
“I-I didn’t mean nothing by it, miss,” the girl said, rubbing her hands on the plain apron she wore. “There just be so many rules, and a body do be forgetting. One way or another, I’ll tell Jenifry, I promise.”
“See that you do,” Charley said firmly. “I do not believe we have met before. What is your name, please?”
“I-I be Bess Griffin, miss. With Jenifry gone, I’m the only one here, since Annie was … since she run off to London. It’s the first time Miss Angelique done let me talk to customers. Oh, pray, don’t be vexed! Miss Angelique and the master, they …” Recollecting herself swiftly, she said in more controlled voice, “I won’t forget, miss.”
“That’s all right then, thank you, Bess. Come along, Letty.”
“She was frightened,” Letty said as they collected their horses and led them up the High Street toward Dewy the Baker’s.
Charley agreed. “We’ll come back soon,” she said. “I begin to think Jenifry might be better off with another mistress. Here is Dewy’s,” she added. Then, having asked two boys playing on the flagway to hold their horses, she said, “It hasn’t been nearly twenty minutes yet, but we’ll go inside anyway.”
Sir Antony was nowhere in sight, but she guessed that if he was really worried about meeting someone who knew Jean Matois, he might decide to wait until she and Letty were on their way out of town again before he rejoined them.
“We want a dozen pigs, Dewy,” she said when the baker greeted her and she had introduced him to Letty.
“Right you are, Miss Charley,” the baker said, grinning at Letty as he began to wrap their purchases in brown paper. “And here’s the thirteenth for her ladyship, so she won’t have to steal one.”
“I wouldn’t,” Letty exclaimed, looking shocked.
Charley smiled, saying to the baker, “She’s not from Cornwall, but her papa grew up at Deverill Court, so she ought to know the rhyme.” To Letty, she said, “The one about ‘Tom, Tom, the piper’s son’?”
“‘Stole a pig and away he run!’” Letty looked at the pig-shaped pastry. “Is this the sort of pig he stole then?”
“It is,” the baker and Charley said in chorus.
Charley added, “It’s got currants inside. Dewy’s papa was a pieman, who sold pig pies from a cart.”
“Well, good gracious,” Letty said, breaking it in half to examine the filling. “I always had a picture in my mind of a boy, staggering along with a full-sized pig over his shoulder. I wondered how he could have eaten the whole thing before they caught him. Oh, Sir Antony, look!” she added wh
en the door to the tiny shop opened and that gentleman strolled in. Obligingly, he raised his quizzing glass and peered at the pastry pieces she held up for his inspection. Seeing his bewilderment, Letty grinned and said, “It’s a pig, sir, like the one that the piper’s son stole in the rhyme. You know.”
“Is it, indeed?” His manner was haughty in the extreme. Drawing back a little, he added in a finicking way, “I trust you have got something to wipe your fingers on, child. Until you do so, I pray you, do not let them venture too near this coat of mine!”
“I won’t,” she said, twinkling at him. They left the shop, and were soon back on the road. Sir Antony maintained his haughty demeanor until Letty said in a teasing voice, “Are you still afraid of soiling your coat, sir, or do you want to eat a pig?”
Charley smiled, but Sir Antony said with mock severity, “I hope you don’t mean to put that question to everyone we meet. It has a rather off-putting ring to it.”
Chuckling, Letty said, “Well, if Sir Antony doesn’t want one, Cousin Charley, I’d like another, please.”
“Greedy girl,” Charley said, but she untied the string and extricated three pigs from the paper, handing one to each of her companions and biting into the third herself. “We did not learn very much, I’m afraid,” she said when her mouth was no longer full of pastry and currants, and she could speak again.
“Unfortunately, gathering this sort of information takes a great deal of time,” Sir Antony said, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his fingertips. “Have you got more of those things, or are you saving them for other members of the household?”
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