Sword and Song (13 page)

The chestnut horse reined in beside me. I looked up at Esther Jerdoun.

Under that greatcoat, she was dressed in breeches. A cravat was knotted carelessly around her throat; a waistcoat of embroidered burgundy gaped at her breast showing the gathers of a white shirt
beneath. She looked utterly beautiful and I was furious with her. Riding out alone! At night!

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Not looking for thanks at any rate,” she said coolly.

I took a breath, unclenched my jaw. “My apologies, madam. I’ve had a very trying day.”

“Was that before or after the attacker shot at you?”

I stared at her, then laughed unwillingly. “Oh – both! And how do you know about the attacker?”

“I chased him off,” she said.

As I gaped at her, she swung down from her horse and began rummaging in her saddlebags. “Do sit down, Charles, before you fall down. There is a tree stump over there in the hedge. I have
some wine and cheese. Thank goodness the night is warm.”

“You shouldn’t be out riding alone,” I said, unable to hide my anxiety. “Not at this time of night!”

She gave me a cool look. “You are not my husband yet, Charles.”

Nor ever will be
, I thought, and lowered myself wearily on to the tree stump. My feet were aching; I’d walked around all day and never imagined I’d end by traipsing several
miles along country lanes.

“You are right,” Esther said. She pulled a bottle of wine from the saddlebag and two cloth-wrapped parcels, and came to sit down beside me. “I ought to be more circumspect.
Scandalising people by riding around in breeches is not wise.”

I was disconcerted. I’d never heard Esther give a fig for the opinions of other people. Besides, I disapproved of her riding alone, not riding in breeches. I rather liked Esther’s
breeches. And her independence of mind. Her cool head and her mischievous smile –

This would not do. I concentrated on the parcels she was unwrapping. One held two wine glasses – she held them up to the light to make sure they were still clean. The other contained white
bread, cheese and two large apples. She filled the glasses, offered me cheese. It was all so genteel and civilised I felt a hysterical urge to laugh.

“We can’t just sit here. There’s a man out there with a pistol who might come back to finish us off!”

“No,” Esther said firmly. “He is entirely gone, I promise you. Now, will you let me tell you the story without interruption, Charles? It will take much less time, I assure
you.”

Wine and cheese and the woman I loved. And she was plainly enjoying herself. In the breeches and waistcoat and greatcoat, she even began to behave like a man, putting one foot up on a stone and
lounging back against a fence.

“You seem to attract these situations, Charles,” she said.

“They attract me,” I said, punning.

“I do know
something
about the habits of poachers. My stepfather suffered badly from them when I was a child. They decidedly do not go close to the big house, and they do not attack
anyone unless they themselves are in danger of arrest. An injury – or worse – to another person would simply change a transportation offence into a hanging offence, which clearly would
not be desirable. So you were not attacked by a poacher the other day.”

I nodded. “I agree.” I was surprised by how thirsty I was, drank down the wine, poured another glassful.

“Which means that the first attack was in all likelihood a personal matter. So, when you decided to go into town this morning, I thought the threat of another attack had to be taken
seriously.” She reached for her wineglass which she’d propped in the cleft of a root. “I followed you into town this morning.”

“What! I didn’t see you.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said. “You were in one of those abstracted moods you fall into when a mystery absorbs you. You would not have seen a mad bull charging at you
until its breath was hot on your neck, and even then you would probably have thought it was just a warm breeze getting up.”

“I can look after myself,” I said mildly, half-annoyed at being chided, half-pleased she was so concerned. “Did you follow me around town?”

“I did not. I went home and did some business for a few hours. Then I went back to Barras Bridge to wait for you returning. Whatever possessed you to start out so late, Charles?”

“The spirit disembodied late.”

She was silent for a moment. “Did she tell you anything useful?”

“Not much.” I waved her on. “And then?”

“I followed you back, at what I thought was a safe distance. Not far out of town, I became aware somebody else was following too. I did not want to be seen so I turned off into a little
village and cut across country; I got myself on a low ridge, where I could see the pair of you riding along the road. But I could not see your follower. I was just worrying over this when I spotted
him on foot in the wood. Before I could do anything about it, he had taken a pot shot at you. Or at Alyson.”

That startled me. I stared at her over a mouthful of apple. “You think Alyson could have been the target? But I was the one who was attacked at Long End.”

“Charles,” she said, patiently. “You are tall and dark and young. So is Edward Alyson. Close to, there is only the most superficial of resemblances between you, but at a
distance and particularly from behind – ”

“Even the most inept attacker must be able to distinguish the difference in the quality of our clothes,” I protested.

“It was dark in that wood,” she said. “And you were both wearing greatcoats. From a distance, the difference was not obvious at all. And it was even darker in the garden at
Long End.” The gloom was gathering, blurring the lines of her face. She gestured with her wine glass. “It is a possibility that must be considered, Charles!”

“But is it then mere coincidence that the attacks come while I’m trying to find out who killed Nell?”

“You admit yourself there is little hope of finding the girl’s murderer. What is more likely? That an apprentice is scared you will find out his identity even though there is no
evidence against him, or that a wealthy man like Alyson might offend some villains? Or a husband or two? Or be involved in some dispute over property?”

I thought of the woodland. And wondered if ‘Mrs. Alyson’ had a husband elsewhere.

“What happened after the villain fired the shot?”

“I saw Alyson fall. The man must have thought he had hit his target. He ran off. Across the fields. I set the horse after him and he must have seen or heard me – he veered off in
another direction. Then my horse balked at a high gate and I thought it quicker to go after him on foot.”

The men I’d seen running across the field, I realised, had not been two men at all, but a man and a woman: the attacker pursued by Esther. So – only one attacker then, as I had
previously thought.

“He was rather faster on his feet than I am,” Esther said ruefully. “I might have caught up with him in time but another man emerged from a hedgeline riding one horse and
leading another. They rode off together and I had to give up the chase.”

I was bewildered. Two attackers after all?

“In what direction did they go?”

“West,” she said, “into the setting sun. He will not be back tonight, Charles. Even if he knows he failed to kill whichever of you was his intended victim, he knows too that he
was seen. He will not come back and risk capture – best to be patient and try again another time.”

“What did this second man look like?”

“Burly, middle-aged perhaps. I could see nothing more than that. Oh, and he was poorly dressed like a servant.” She began to wrap up what was left of the food and the glasses, held
out the wine bottle to me. “I think we should make our way back.”

“To Long End?” I stood up, exasperated. “I’m tempted just to have done with it all and go back to town.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You could no more give up on a mystery than fly. Besides, you have a living to earn. And I am here, because you are here.” She smiled at my
surprise. “Oh, really, Charles! Someone has to keep an eye on you!”

“You sound like Hugh,” I said uneasily.

She was very close, a pale wraith in the gathering gloom, very still. Her perfume drifted to me like a night-scented flower. A tiny smile touched her lips. “Charles, have you any idea how
boring town is in summer?”

“Ah, I see,” I said. “My company is better than yawning over a piece of needlework.”

She leant closer. Her lips almost touched mine – I jerked back. She smiled again. “It is plain to me, Charles,” she said, “that you will get that poor girl’s
murderer. I have every faith in you. And it is equally plain that
I
will get
you
.”

She packed the remains of the meal, with the glasses and the wine bottle, in her saddle bag, swung herself up on to her horse, using the tree stump as a mounting block. “Time to start
walking, Charles!”

Half a mile from the house, Esther spurred her horse on so we would not arrive at the same time. The sun had set completely and stars peeped through the rents in the
dissipating clouds. As I trudged up the drive, the house loomed up ahead against the sky, an indistinct hulk sparkling with flickering candlelights.

I made the stable yard safely despite starting at every shadow. The grooms were waiting impatiently, probably warned of my imminent arrival by Alyson. One snatched the reins from my hands and
started to coo over the dishevelled horse, another lifted its lame foot anxiously. No one cooed over me. No one addressed even one sentence to me – a far more effective display of contempt
than any words could have been.

I crossed the yard to the back door leading into the scullery. A shadow detached itself from the darkness by the horse trough. A tall man, jerking his head to urge me back into the shadows; I
retreated with him, looking in resignation at the lean marked face of Fowler.

“All right,” he said, grinning wolfishly. “What’s all the excitement? How did his high and mightiness Mr Alyson get to look like he’d fallen into a
midden?”

“Someone fired at us on the road,” I said wearily. “Fowler, I need sleep.”

“And I need something to tell his lordship.”

“Heron sent you?” I said startled.

“Likes to keep up with what’s going on,” he said. “And so do I. Come on, Patterson,” he wheedled. “If there’s excitement, let me in on it! You know how
dull life is when all you’ve got to worry about is whether a coat is pressed and cravats bleached!”

“You should have kept to your old life then.”

“I’d be hanged by now,” he said, his grin widening.

“Then settle for a quiet life.” I turned for the scullery door. “I’m going to bed before I fall asleep standing up.”

Fowler laughed softly. “You know your problem? You attract trouble.”

“You’re not the first to say so.”

“Nor the last, I warrant.” He followed me into the dark scullery. A stub of candle burned on a table just inside the door; he took it up, gestured to me to precede him. “Thing
is,” he said. “There’s only so many times you can get yourself out of trouble. Take my word for it. It always catches up with you in the end.”

“You seem hale and hearty enough.”

“I got out,” he said. “Settled for the boredom of shirts and coats.
You
just get yourself in deeper, month after month.” We started up the narrow servants’
stair. “And I don’t much fancy being the one who has to tell Heron you’ve got yourself killed.”

“It won’t come to that,” I said.

He shook his head. “Always does.”

He was at my door next morning before I was properly awake.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re not the last up. There’s not a lady out of bed except Mrs Jerdoun and she’s gone for a ride.”

I rubbed sleep out of my eyes, wondering if Esther had ridden out to look at the wood to look for signs of our attackers.

“And only a handful of the gentlemen up too,” Fowler said. He broke off, then started again in quite a different tone. “Would you like me to shave you, sir?”

Instinctively, I looked to the door. Heron walked in; his footsteps were soft but obviously not soft enough to escape Fowler’s notice. He cast an assessing look over me. “No damage,
I see.”

“Alyson was the one who fell from his horse.”

“Mr Alyson is in the breakfast room, sir,” Fowler murmured and indicated deferentially that I should sit down to be shaved. “I believe he has suffered no ill effects from his
adventure last night.”

“He seems positively to have enjoyed the incident,” Heron said dryly. “He is telling everyone about his narrow escape. You did not feature a great deal. I believe he frightened
the fellow off himself. A great burly brute, I understand.”

I sighed. “We never saw him. He never got within a hundred yards of us. Did Alyson – Mr Alyson – suggest a reason for the attack?”

“Highwaymen,” Heron said, straight-faced.

I laughed. “On a country lane? They wouldn’t find very rich pickings. And no one attempted to hold us up.”

“If you have no clue as to who killed the girl,” Heron said, going straight for the heart of the matter, “why should anyone attack you? Unless there is some musician who wishes
to take over your teaching practice?”

“They’d find it sadly unprofitable,” I said, submitting to Fowler’s ministrations. “I was wondering if the real target was not Alyson. There’s some business
about a woodland?”

Heron knew all about it, as I’d suspected he would – he’d evidently listened to William Ridley’s rambling diatribes, and elaborated in detail as Fowler shaved me. There
were ten acres of woodland, apparently, split into two by a stream; the woodland lay at the point where three estates joined. Ridley owned one of the estates, Alyson had just inherited the second;
they claimed half of the woodland each. But the owner of the third estate claimed the entire wood was within
his
land, as the result of a marriage settlement a century ago.