took the chair he nodded to. “Don’t all countrymen say that?”
“In this case it appears to be true,” he said dryly. “The local justice was annoyed by half his deer disappearing and undertook to wage war on the villains. Three weeks ago, he
sentenced seven men to transportation and cleared the country of poachers at one fell swoop. They are all now in Newcastle, awaiting a ship.”
“Can we be sure he caught them all?”
“Naturally not, but the strong possibility is that he did. The matter is more complicated than that, however.” Heron broke his dry toast into two pieces. “Six of the men left
families that are of course now destitute, and at least two of those families have male children of an age to take to poaching themselves. They may have to,” he added, “if they
don’t want their siblings to starve.”
“And you think one of these boys was out on a poaching expedition, saw me and thought I was an easy target.”
Heron broke the toast into smaller pieces. “Possibly.”
“Forgive me, sir,” I said, “but you don’t sound convinced.”
He sighed. “It is plain you were hit by someone much the same height as yourself. The oldest boy is twelve years old. He may of course be unnaturally tall but it seems unlikely.”
I contemplated the view from the window; Fischer was striding down the formal gardens, two spaniels bounding joyously at his heels. Heron put down the fragments of toast uneaten, and sipped at
his coffee.
“If I was not the victim of a poacher,” I said, “then there’s an inevitable conclusion to be drawn.”
“Indeed,” Heron said.
“Either it was one of the servants trying to rob me...”
Heron shook his head. “Why risk attacking you in person when they could slip into your room when you were not there and take what they want?”
“... or it was one of our fellow guests.”
Heron set the coffee dish down very precisely. “Interesting, do you not think?”
“No,” I retorted. “Believe me, sir, I have offended no one here, disadvantaged no one, cheated no one. Indeed, until yesterday, I knew no one, except for yourself and Mrs
Jerdoun.”
“I suggest you think a little more deeply,” Heron recommended. He went on, “Did you see Mr and Mrs Ord have arrived, fresh from their wedding trip?”
Heron has a low opinion of marriage; his own was apparently merely tolerable, and its end, with the death of his wife, a great relief. His cynicism showed in his voice. I recognised he’d
drawn a line under the previous part of the conversation.
I nodded. “I heard their carriage. They arrived remarkably late.”
“A broken wheel, I understand.” He picked up his pen again. “Do you think Mrs Ord looks well?”
“I haven’t seen her yet.”
“I fancy Ord did not much like your influence with her before the marriage.”
“Lizzie Saint was my pupil,” I said, “and a keen musician. Nothing more.”
“I never thought otherwise.” He picked up his pen again, returned his attention to his letter. “I will let you know if I hear anything more about the poachers,
Patterson.”
Unmistakeably dismissed, I picked up my breakfast and went into the hall. Unlike Heron, I knew Ord’s objection to me was nothing to do with his wife. I’d recovered some letters that
would almost certainly have ruined any chance of his marriage taking place; worse, I knew exactly what the letters contained.
But the thought of Philip Ord riding over in darkness on the off-chance of having an opportunity to dispose of me? Preposterous.
I was hesitating in the hall when the breakfast room door opened and the plump gentleman – what was his name? Ridley, William Ridley – came out, followed closely by a
scarlet-and-gold-clad servant.
“My lawyer? At long last, what the devil’s kept the fellow? Where have you put him? Very well, I’ll go and talk to him. Tell your master he’s here.”
The servant bowed and they took themselves off in different directions. It
“In this case it appears to be true,” he said dryly. “The local justice was annoyed by half his deer disappearing and undertook to wage war on the villains. Three weeks ago, he
sentenced seven men to transportation and cleared the country of poachers at one fell swoop. They are all now in Newcastle, awaiting a ship.”
“Can we be sure he caught them all?”
“Naturally not, but the strong possibility is that he did. The matter is more complicated than that, however.” Heron broke his dry toast into two pieces. “Six of the men left
families that are of course now destitute, and at least two of those families have male children of an age to take to poaching themselves. They may have to,” he added, “if they
don’t want their siblings to starve.”
“And you think one of these boys was out on a poaching expedition, saw me and thought I was an easy target.”
Heron broke the toast into smaller pieces. “Possibly.”
“Forgive me, sir,” I said, “but you don’t sound convinced.”
He sighed. “It is plain you were hit by someone much the same height as yourself. The oldest boy is twelve years old. He may of course be unnaturally tall but it seems unlikely.”
I contemplated the view from the window; Fischer was striding down the formal gardens, two spaniels bounding joyously at his heels. Heron put down the fragments of toast uneaten, and sipped at
his coffee.
“If I was not the victim of a poacher,” I said, “then there’s an inevitable conclusion to be drawn.”
“Indeed,” Heron said.
“Either it was one of the servants trying to rob me...”
Heron shook his head. “Why risk attacking you in person when they could slip into your room when you were not there and take what they want?”
“... or it was one of our fellow guests.”
Heron set the coffee dish down very precisely. “Interesting, do you not think?”
“No,” I retorted. “Believe me, sir, I have offended no one here, disadvantaged no one, cheated no one. Indeed, until yesterday, I knew no one, except for yourself and Mrs
Jerdoun.”
“I suggest you think a little more deeply,” Heron recommended. He went on, “Did you see Mr and Mrs Ord have arrived, fresh from their wedding trip?”
Heron has a low opinion of marriage; his own was apparently merely tolerable, and its end, with the death of his wife, a great relief. His cynicism showed in his voice. I recognised he’d
drawn a line under the previous part of the conversation.
I nodded. “I heard their carriage. They arrived remarkably late.”
“A broken wheel, I understand.” He picked up his pen again. “Do you think Mrs Ord looks well?”
“I haven’t seen her yet.”
“I fancy Ord did not much like your influence with her before the marriage.”
“Lizzie Saint was my pupil,” I said, “and a keen musician. Nothing more.”
“I never thought otherwise.” He picked up his pen again, returned his attention to his letter. “I will let you know if I hear anything more about the poachers,
Patterson.”
Unmistakeably dismissed, I picked up my breakfast and went into the hall. Unlike Heron, I knew Ord’s objection to me was nothing to do with his wife. I’d recovered some letters that
would almost certainly have ruined any chance of his marriage taking place; worse, I knew exactly what the letters contained.
But the thought of Philip Ord riding over in darkness on the off-chance of having an opportunity to dispose of me? Preposterous.
I was hesitating in the hall when the breakfast room door opened and the plump gentleman – what was his name? Ridley, William Ridley – came out, followed closely by a
scarlet-and-gold-clad servant.
“My lawyer? At long last, what the devil’s kept the fellow? Where have you put him? Very well, I’ll go and talk to him. Tell your master he’s here.”
The servant bowed and they took themselves off in different directions. It
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