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Authors: Shirlee Busbee
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yacht?”
“No. Your cousin Mathew would take no chances. If he’d clouted you on the head, you wouldn’t be sitting here—he’d have made certain you were dead before he put you on the yacht. But like you, it doesn’t feel like Mathew to me—if your esteemed cousin Mathew wanted you dead, dead you would be.”
Barnaby nodded. “My thoughts precisely.”
“So who?”
“That’s the devil of it!” Barnaby declared angrily. “I don’t know! Beyond leaving London for Eastbourne, I have no clear memory. It could have been anyone.”
Lamb shook his head. “Not anyone. You’re a stranger here and”—John grinned at him—“while you can be infuriating, you haven’t been here long enough to drive anyone to murder. Your death only benefits Mathew . . . and his family.”
Unable to argue with Lamb’s logic, Barnaby picked up the jacket Lamb had laid on the bed. Shrugging into an expertly tailored jacket of brown superfine, Barnaby said, “At least I have you to watch my back.”
“That you do,” Lamb said and, reaching into the valise, he took out a long-bladed knife. Handing it to Barnaby, he watched as Barnaby examined the lethal instrument. Nodding his head in satisfaction, Barnaby bent and deftly slid the knife into a specially constructed sheath in the side of his boot.
Straightening Barnaby said, “I know I wrote you that I lost my knife in the Channel. How the devil did you find another one so soon?”
The corners of Lamb’s lips twitched. “Must I remind you—I am a most superior servant.”
After leaving a generous sum of gold for Mrs. Gilbert and his sincere thanks for their efforts, a few minutes later Barnaby and Lamb were riding away from The Crown. In addition to his own horse, John had brought along a fine black gelding for Barnaby to ride.
The weather was still fretful, but since the worst of the rain and wind had abated, it wasn’t an unpleasant day. Riding through the open, rolling countryside broken only by the occasional stand of trees, Barnaby felt a pang for the green meadows and forests of Virginia.
“It is very different than home, isn’t it?” Barnaby said after they’d traveled a few miles.
“This is your home now,” Lamb said quietly. “Unless, of course, you mean to turn your back on the title and all that comes with it and return to Virginia.”
“I wonder if English law would allow me to do so? I suppose I could do something like abdicate, couldn’t I? Mathew would certainly be elated.” Barnaby sighed. “Life was simpler when I only had Green Hill to worry about.”
Lamb looked at him, one brow raised. “Are you seriously considering doing something that harebrained? Whistling down a fortune and running back to Virginia?” Bluntly he added, “I think perhaps you suffered a harder blow than you realized.”
Barnaby stared glumly between the ears of his horse. Did he really want to return to Virginia? He could do it. England had not been very welcoming; his cousins clearly wished him at Coventry and one of them might have tried to kill him last night; he had no reason to stay. . . . The features of the boy who was not a boy floated through his mind. Well, he reminded himself, there was no reason to leave immediately.
More cheerful, Barnaby glanced at John and asked, “And how was your arrival at Windmere? Pleasant? Or hostile?”
Lamb frowned at him but realizing he would get no more out of him on this subject, he shrugged. “Somewhere between the two. Some of the servants were obviously delighted that they were finally going to meet the new master; others were sitting out in judgment. No one was rude.”
“And Windmere itself? Your impression?”
A slow grin spread across Lamb’s face. “I think you should see it for yourself.”
Barnaby’s first sight of Windmere left him breathless. Half castle, half manor house, the place was huge and stunning. Dominating a hill with the Cuckmere River flowing far below, on two sides of the
“No. Your cousin Mathew would take no chances. If he’d clouted you on the head, you wouldn’t be sitting here—he’d have made certain you were dead before he put you on the yacht. But like you, it doesn’t feel like Mathew to me—if your esteemed cousin Mathew wanted you dead, dead you would be.”
Barnaby nodded. “My thoughts precisely.”
“So who?”
“That’s the devil of it!” Barnaby declared angrily. “I don’t know! Beyond leaving London for Eastbourne, I have no clear memory. It could have been anyone.”
Lamb shook his head. “Not anyone. You’re a stranger here and”—John grinned at him—“while you can be infuriating, you haven’t been here long enough to drive anyone to murder. Your death only benefits Mathew . . . and his family.”
Unable to argue with Lamb’s logic, Barnaby picked up the jacket Lamb had laid on the bed. Shrugging into an expertly tailored jacket of brown superfine, Barnaby said, “At least I have you to watch my back.”
“That you do,” Lamb said and, reaching into the valise, he took out a long-bladed knife. Handing it to Barnaby, he watched as Barnaby examined the lethal instrument. Nodding his head in satisfaction, Barnaby bent and deftly slid the knife into a specially constructed sheath in the side of his boot.
Straightening Barnaby said, “I know I wrote you that I lost my knife in the Channel. How the devil did you find another one so soon?”
The corners of Lamb’s lips twitched. “Must I remind you—I am a most superior servant.”
After leaving a generous sum of gold for Mrs. Gilbert and his sincere thanks for their efforts, a few minutes later Barnaby and Lamb were riding away from The Crown. In addition to his own horse, John had brought along a fine black gelding for Barnaby to ride.
The weather was still fretful, but since the worst of the rain and wind had abated, it wasn’t an unpleasant day. Riding through the open, rolling countryside broken only by the occasional stand of trees, Barnaby felt a pang for the green meadows and forests of Virginia.
“It is very different than home, isn’t it?” Barnaby said after they’d traveled a few miles.
“This is your home now,” Lamb said quietly. “Unless, of course, you mean to turn your back on the title and all that comes with it and return to Virginia.”
“I wonder if English law would allow me to do so? I suppose I could do something like abdicate, couldn’t I? Mathew would certainly be elated.” Barnaby sighed. “Life was simpler when I only had Green Hill to worry about.”
Lamb looked at him, one brow raised. “Are you seriously considering doing something that harebrained? Whistling down a fortune and running back to Virginia?” Bluntly he added, “I think perhaps you suffered a harder blow than you realized.”
Barnaby stared glumly between the ears of his horse. Did he really want to return to Virginia? He could do it. England had not been very welcoming; his cousins clearly wished him at Coventry and one of them might have tried to kill him last night; he had no reason to stay. . . . The features of the boy who was not a boy floated through his mind. Well, he reminded himself, there was no reason to leave immediately.
More cheerful, Barnaby glanced at John and asked, “And how was your arrival at Windmere? Pleasant? Or hostile?”
Lamb frowned at him but realizing he would get no more out of him on this subject, he shrugged. “Somewhere between the two. Some of the servants were obviously delighted that they were finally going to meet the new master; others were sitting out in judgment. No one was rude.”
“And Windmere itself? Your impression?”
A slow grin spread across Lamb’s face. “I think you should see it for yourself.”
Barnaby’s first sight of Windmere left him breathless. Half castle, half manor house, the place was huge and stunning. Dominating a hill with the Cuckmere River flowing far below, on two sides of the
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