by Joan Smith
They went to the kitchen and got a brace of candles before descending to the wine cellar to admire the dusty bottles and black beetles scuttling into dark corners. “Is there just the one doorway to reach the cellar?” he asked. “What I am thinking is that wine could easily be stolen if there is access from outside.”
“There’s no outside door,’ she assured him. “Just the one from the pantry and one from my manager’s office, which used to be the butler’s room. I don’t worry that he is stealing from me; he may have any wine he wants without asking. That’s about it,” she said when they finished touring the cellars.
“You haven’t showed me the door to your manager’s office,” he reminded her.
“It’s in that little passage behind the hogsheads," she said, and pointed it out.
Mr. Fletcher had to see it for himself, test the door, and would have gone up to Ramsay’s office if Esther hadn’t stopped him. “You’ll give poor Buck heart failure,’ she warned. “No one uses that door but him.”
They returned upstairs. “You will have seen the grounds and stable yourself,’ she mentioned.
“Would you mind pointing out to me how much of the land belongs to the dower house, and how much goes with the inn? I noticed you keep your mounts at the inn stable,” he said. “Do you not have a stable at the dower house, Miss Lowden?”
“Not a usable one.”
“Then you would want to keep enough land to build one. You won’t want to pay stabling fees at the inn after you sell it.”
“I’m sure we could work out something on that score. There’s a derelict barn out back,” Esther mentioned. “The lot could be divided to include that tract with the dower house. I didn’t get a formal severance, as I owned both properties.”
“I don’t remember seeing any stable near your place.”
“It’s overgrown with vines. There’s a tall thorn hedge between it and the house. It hasn’t been used in decades, as the dower house wasn’t occupied.”
“I expect you won’t want to go tramping through wet grass in your dainty slippers. We'll do that another time. May I walk you home, Miss Lowden?”
As they walked along the path to the dower house, he first thanked her for showing him the inn, then said, “How many acres go with the place?”
“I kept ten, including the dower house and its land. Say eight at the maximum for the inn.”
“It doesn’t leave much room for expansion,” he pointed out.
“But on the other hand, you wouldn’t be paying for land that stands idle, and you might be able to buy up a few more acres from neighboring properties if you want it in the future.”
“I see I’ll get no bargain from you, Miss Lowden,” he bantered.
“No, indeed. My being somewhat reluctant to sell prevents that.”
They reached her door, and Mr. Fletcher bowed himself away, promising he would call soon to continue bargaining.
It was only half past eleven, and Esther decided to change into walking shoes and rougher clothing to go over her land and see how much of it she should maintain for the dower house. Renovating the old barn might be cheaper than building a new stable. She was becoming excited about the possibility of selling, but her eventual plans didn’t involve living year-round in the dower house. It would be only a summer home, while she rented a flat in London for the dull winter months. Perhaps some obliging relative might even find her a parti....
Esther wrapped herself in last year’s pelisse and put on her oldest walking shoes for the short trip. Once she was off the beaten path, the tall grass hampered her walk. The barn was so overgrown with vines that only its roof was spotted between the trees, and thorn bushes had sprung up along the way. She’d have to cut a new path to the barn if she decided to turn it into a stable. Her hem was wet with dew by the time she finally reached the structure.
It was a low, spreading building, stone at the bottom, with the top finished in lumber. Whatever paint might have once decorated it had long since worn away, leaving weathered wood that looked rather pretty peeping out behind the vines.
She took a step through the broad opening into the dark, cool space. There was no wooden floor, just damp earth underfoot. The earth and the vines at the window openings gave her a feeling that she was not in a building at all but in some leafy glade. Sunlight filtering through the perishing roof completed the effect.
But what was it that lent that feeling of eeriness? A definite shiver tingled up her spine. Some sixth sense told her she was not alone in the deserted building, and her heart pounded.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she looked to the far corners of the barn but didn’t advance farther into the building. What was that shadow? It moved, and her heart leapt to her throat.
“Did I frighten you? I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Esther swallowed her heart as a tall shadow detached itself from the far corner and advanced toward her. It quickly took on the form of a man.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Meecham?” she demanded.
He stepped into the light, smiling sheepishly at being caught. “Merely satisfying my curiosity,” he said. “When I learned Mr. Fletcher was touring the inn, I assumed it was with the intention of purchasing it. If it is for sale, I am interested as well.”
“Who said Mr. Fletcher was touring the inn?” He gave her a laughing look that caused the light in his brown eyes to dance most attractively. “I am neither deaf nor blind, Miss Lowden. After a short ride I returned to the inn. I saw the two of you coming down from the attics and entering the kitchen. But please don’t be embarrassed at having conned me. Actually it was Fletcher who told the lie. You were only an accessory after the fact.”
Esther felt a warm flush suffuse her cheeks. “It was a business tour. I didn’t know you had any business interest in my inn, or you would have been welcome to join us. I expect Mr. Fletcher wanted my total attention. Naturally he had a great many questions to ask.”
“What sort of thing was he interested in?”
“Everything,” she said comprehensively.
“Secret passages, that sort of thing?”
“That possibility always arises in these ancient houses."
“And does the Lowden Arms have any such features?”
“No, it hasn’t. If I’d realized there was such an interest, I would have had a few installed while I was renovating.”
“It has plenty of space at any rate. This barn might be turned into a dance hall for guests at the inn.”
“I hardly think so. Only servants dance in barns.”
“Horn and hoof, Miss Lowden,” he said, wagging a shapely finger at her. “The farmer’s creed, but it ought to be followed by us all.”
“But you’re not a farmer. Mr. Ramsay mentioned you were looking for a private house only.”
“That’s true, but my being a gentleman farmer’s son makes me alive to farming possibilities.”
“Where does your family farm?”
“In Devonshire,” he said vaguely. “It will screw Fletcher up to a good price for the inn if he thinks he has some competition.”
The truth of this was not slow in registering. Esther began walking around the barn. “I had thought I might rebuild this into a stable for myself,” she mentioned.
“I hardly think it warrants rebuilding. The roof is shot.”
“But the walls are still quite stout,” she said, and went to examine them more thoroughly.
She had the impression Mr. Meecham wanted to stop her investigation. He didn’t try to do it by force, but when she headed for the west corner of the barn where he had been hiding, he distracted her a few times by pointing out spots in the wall where light came through, and mentioned the lack of a hayloft.
“I don’t intend to keep a commercial stable, Mr. Meecham. A pair of carriage horses and a mount for myself is all I would require,” she said, and walked briskly to the far west corner.
In the loose earth there were fresh horseshoe marks, traces of o
ats, and the lingering aroma of animal. “It seems the poachers use this isolated spot,” he said. “I’ve noticed small game is plentiful. There’s a wine bottle with the dregs still wet, in the corner here.”
Esther had already spotted the gleam of glass and picked the bottle up to read the label. “This comes from my inn!” she exclaimed. “It’s our most expensive brand.”
“Really!” Mr. Meecham said, and took it from her. There was an air of excitement about him that she couldn’t account for. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. My manager buys this from a London firm. None of the locals use it, so far as I know. And poachers certainly couldn’t afford it.”
“Perhaps someone had a picnic here.”
“It’s hardly suitable for a pleasure walk,” she pointed out.
He smiled warily. “For some pleasures, men prefer seclusion.” She frowned in perplexity. “I am speaking of petticoat dealings,” he added bluntly. “A footman or groom might be aware of this private oasis.”
“My footmen and grooms don’t have mounts. There’s been a horse or two here as well. I don’t like this, Mr. Meecham.”
“What is it you suspect?”
“I—I don’t know,’ she said, and was suddenly taken with an anxiety to leave. What she suspected was that Captain Johnnie had hidden his mount here. The bottle of wine told her Captain Johnnie was a guest at her hotel, and common sense pointed to Mr. Meecham as the culprit. Common sense also whispered that if he realized the direction of her thoughts, he might detain her—permanently.
She hastened to the doorway, afraid he’d stop her, but he only followed quickly at her heels. He didn’t realize she suspected him, then, and she must be cautious not to alert him. Once back in the sunlight, her fears faded somewhat, and she tried to behave normally.
“What you have is two sets of trespassers,” Mr. Meecham explained. “Poachers using horses, and errant footmen meeting their light-o’-loves for trysts.”
“That would explain it,” she agreed quickly.
“What will you do?” he asked.
Her mind raced to find the most clever answer. “Probably nothing but put a lock on my wine cupboard,” she said airily. “I don’t mind the poachers thinning out the rabbits. The place is overrun with them, and as to the footmen—why, I suppose they will meet their girls somewhere, and they bother no one at the barn.”
She looked closely at her companion as she mouthed this lie and didn’t think she was imagining the relief she saw there. She’d alert the constable to keep an eye on the barn, and with luck, Captain Johnnie would be in irons after his next holdup.
“Generous as well as beautiful,” he said approvingly.
Meecham accompanied Esther back along the path to the dower house. Newly leafed bushes in blossom scented the air, the sky was an azure arch above them, and birds warbled their mating calls, but this spring beauty went unnoticed by Esther. It was all she could do to keep from breaking into a run in her eagerness to get away from Captain Johnnie. When they encountered an overgrown tangle of bush and weeds, he stepped in front of her.
“Let me go first and break a way through the bush for you,” he offered.
Once they were past this barrier, the more cultivated garden of the dower house was reached. The backhouse boy was working on the cucumber hills, and with her own servant nearby, Esther felt she had reached safety.
They stopped and looked back over the wildflowers that bedizened the grass and up at the pattern of trees against the sky. A calm satisfaction settled slowly on Meecham’s face as he gazed around. “It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked softly, as though speaking to himself. “Almost like a little Garden of Eden, cut off from the world. You can’t even see the inn from here or hear it. I wish I could throw up a little hut here at your back door, camp beside the Thames as we used to camp along the Tag—Tamar when I was a boy.”
The scenery and his idyllic description had lulled Esther into calmness, but she looked sharp when he stumbled over the name of that river.
Meecham quickly spoke on to distract her. “The company in those days was not nearly so charming or so beautiful,” he said, with a conning smile. Not the real smile of earlier; the mood had changed.
“Camp along the Tagus” was what he had started to say. That river was well known from the Peninsular campaign. Any bivouacking Meecham had done had been in Spain or Portugal. He was an army man like Captain Johnnie. She studied his complexion. It was weathered, not tanned dark like a newly returned officer’s. No, he had been home from the Peninsular War for a few years. And Captain Johnnie had been ruling Hounslow Heath for eighteen months.
Esther found herself staring into his dark eyes. She might as well have spoken her thoughts, for the knowledge in his was easily readable. His conning smile faded; a quick frown pleated his brow when he realized she’d noticed his slip. It was followed by a questioning look, doubtful, soon settling to knowledge. All these changes occurred in an instant. Before another instant had passed, a reckless, rakish smile flashed, and Mr. Meecham pulled Esther into his arms.
He crushed her against his chest, and his lips came down hot and hard in a scorching kiss. She made a futile attempt to push him off, but it was like a kitten fighting a tiger. He easily overpowered her and held her for a long embrace that, strangely, began with a ruthless attack and eased to gentleness as Esther stopped struggling.
When he released her, she gazed mutely at his darkly dilated eyes. He wasn’t smiling triumphantly, and he wasn’t angry. He looked rather startled, and so did she.
She pulled away, her cheeks flaming from the unexpected interlude. “I’m sorry, Esther—Miss Lowden,” he said.
As she glanced down, she noticed he was still holding her two hands in his. “You’ll be giving me the idea you’re the kissing bandit, Captain Johnnie,” she said. Her voice was unsteady, but her gaze was firm. He didn’t flinch or try to deny it.
“I knew what you were thinking. Since I was suspected of such villainy, I foolishly decided to play the part. It was rash. I do apologize.”
“I will expect you to check out of the inn immediately,” she said.
“Don’t be so foolish,” he scoffed. “I’m not the Royal Scamp.”
Esther lifted a haughty brow. “Are you not, Mr. Meecham? Still, I would prefer not to take any chances. And it does give the clients an odd impression to see guests clambering into their rooms by means of a ladder, you know.”
His brow lowered in anger. “I haven’t done anything. The only way you can make me leave is by blackening my name, and if you do that, you’ll open yourself to an expensive slander suit.”
“Mr. Meecham! You are the one who is foolish. You can’t go on using the inn now. I know who you are. I'll notify the constable. You’ll be watched incessantly.”
“A fine scandal that would cause. Miss Lowden, proprietress of the Lowden Arms, claims to have caught the Royal Scamp. Why, you’d be immortalized with a ballad before a week was out. Is that what you want, to be a byword in the taverns? No, Miss Lowden, you may be slightly eccentric, but I can’t believe you want your name broadcast so indiscriminately. I think you will keep your suspicions to yourself. That’s all I ask.”
“Don’t try to intimidate me,” she said, and strode angrily away. She resisted the urge to turn around when a low rumble of laughter trailed after her.
Chapter Six
Esther wanted to discuss Mr. Meecham’s suspicious behavior with someone more sensible and worldly than her chaperon, yet she hesitated to take her story to the constable. Neither a lawsuit nor a scandal involving her inn was desirable.
Joshua Ramsay was the logical person—older, worldly, presumably wiser, and Mr. Meecham’s surety. But Joshua was in London, and besides, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was in a hobble. His cousin Buck couldn’t be relied on to keep it quiet from Joshua, either. Within ten minutes it occurred to her that Mr. Fletcher was a possible confidant, and within fift
een she had sent a note to the inn requesting him to meet her by the Thames.
He came promptly, his blue eyes agog with curiosity. “Miss Lowden, what is the matter?” he asked. There was a noticeable air of concern about his handsome brow; he possessed her two hands and gripped them tightly.
“How kind of you to come,” she said, and squeezed his fingers as tightly as he held hers.
His concern softened to a smile. “You knew I would” was all he said, but the simple words suggested a high degree of devotion. “Now tell me what has got you hipped, and we shall sort it out.”
“It’s about the Royal Scamp and Mr. Meecham.” They began a slow turn along the gravel walk, and Esther emptied her budget to him, explaining all her suspicions, but skimming rather lightly over Meecham’s physical attack on her.
“It’s intolerable that he is staying at the Lowden Arms, rubbing elbows with respectable people like yourself. Is there no way I can get him out without causing a scandal or laying myself open to a lawsuit?” she asked.
Mr. Fletcher gave her fingers an avuncular pat and considered the matter a few moments. They sat on a wooden bench at the end of the walk. It was situated behind a stand of ornamental shrubbery that provided privacy.
“I think I know what you should do, Esther,” Mr. Fletcher said at length. “I—I hope you don’t mind my calling you Esther?” he asked apologetically. “It slipped out.”
It seemed hard to insist on the formalities when she had sent for him, and she graciously consented. Soon she agreed to call him Beau as well. “What do you think I ought to do?” she asked.
“Let him stay.”
“Let him stay?” she exclaimed. “My whole purpose in sending for you was to discover how I might turn him off.”
“Turn him off if you like; he won’t set up a revolution. If he is Captain Johnnie, he doesn’t want publicity any more than you do. That was mere bluster. He shan’t stay long now that you’ve tumbled to his identity, but as long as he is here, it gives us an excellent opportunity to observe him. With luck we might even capture the Royal Scamp. That would be quite a coup for your inn.”