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Authors: Lydia M Sheridan
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flinging it about her waist to hide the boots and breeches. The scarf she tied about her neck. There was nothing she could do about the brass-buttoned coat from another era. She debated keeping it, but instead rolled it up with the hat, beard, and scarf, and tucked it under a rotting log. Then, she leapt up awkwardly on Diana’s back, hooked her leg about the pommel as a dangerous side-saddle, and chirruped to Diana. They continued the ride around the Malford House, then circled back left toward the road.
Her heart pounded, the blood thrummed in her ears. There was no help for it but to trot through the village, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. No one would suspect. No one--
Just in front of the museum, a light flashed, blinding her. She squinted.
"Halt , who goes there?”
Every ancestor who had ever lifted a brow, hoisted a quizzing glass, or sneered to depress pretension came to her aid. R amrod straight in the saddle, Kate glared haughtily at the young man in the scarlet regimentals.
“I would pass, sir.”
He stepped closer. The lantern swayed in his hand, casting lacy patterns of light and dark on Kate. “May I ask your name, miss?”
“You may not, sirrah,” Kate snapped. “Furthermore, I am accustomed to being addressed as ‘lady.’”
He was just a youngster, and very uncomfortable interviewing one of the obvious quality.
“Begging your pardon, your ladyship. We have reason to believe a desperate criminal is abroad tonight.”
“Indeed?” Kate replied icily. “And what has that to do with me?”
He almost tugged a forelock before he remembered he was a soldier. “You might be in danger, miss--my lady, going about after dark.” He debated telling this noble creature about the murder, and decided not to risk feminine hysterics that evening. “Where have you been?”
“If it is any concern of yours, I was paying a visit to a sick tenant.”
“It's mighty cold tonight. W here might your coat be, your ladyship?” his words sounded suspicious to Kate’s ears, but his open face showed concern. Kate unthawed a trifle.
“Charity, lieutenant, begins at home.” Before he could unravel her mysterious sentiment, she nodded, dismissing him. Slapping the reins on Diana’ s neck, she urged her to a canter. At the Lady and the Scamp, she turned left down the post road. The inn and the road itself were swarming with red-coated men, armed to the teeth. She carefully pretended well-bred indifference as she rode past. Indeed, it was terribly difficult not to stop and gaze back in horror at the spectacle, now illuminated with the light of a dozen lanterns, on the bank of the river.
It was only as she unsaddled Diana, discarding her cloak, breeches, and boots under the floorboards in the tack room and changed into her worn muslin gown that she began to tremble, not from cold, but from fear.
Kate entered the house silently through the kitchen as usual. But this time when she knocked on the door of the butler’s quarters, it was rapid and staccato, like her heartbeat.
How was she going to tell Lucy?
The thought reverberated in her mind over and over, like the echoes in the Grand Cavern, until the idea came to her. She didn’t have to tell Lucy. She wasn’t supposed to know Adam Weilmunster had been murdered with a single bullet to the head. To tell Lucy would be tantamount to confessing her own sins. Lucy didn’t need that misery on top of the rest.
Curtis’ door opened with the unprofessional jerk of a butler who has been Expecting The Worst. His face spoke volumes, as did the disrepair of his dress. Never, even the time her sainted father played the joke with the cows, bringing the entire neighborhood down on their heads, had Kate seen the impassive Mr. Curtis so upset. With his neckcloth tied haphazardly under his ear and his shirt outside his breeches, he looked as deranged as she felt.
“The dragoons are out.
Her heart pounded, the blood thrummed in her ears. There was no help for it but to trot through the village, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. No one would suspect. No one--
Just in front of the museum, a light flashed, blinding her. She squinted.
"Halt , who goes there?”
Every ancestor who had ever lifted a brow, hoisted a quizzing glass, or sneered to depress pretension came to her aid. R amrod straight in the saddle, Kate glared haughtily at the young man in the scarlet regimentals.
“I would pass, sir.”
He stepped closer. The lantern swayed in his hand, casting lacy patterns of light and dark on Kate. “May I ask your name, miss?”
“You may not, sirrah,” Kate snapped. “Furthermore, I am accustomed to being addressed as ‘lady.’”
He was just a youngster, and very uncomfortable interviewing one of the obvious quality.
“Begging your pardon, your ladyship. We have reason to believe a desperate criminal is abroad tonight.”
“Indeed?” Kate replied icily. “And what has that to do with me?”
He almost tugged a forelock before he remembered he was a soldier. “You might be in danger, miss--my lady, going about after dark.” He debated telling this noble creature about the murder, and decided not to risk feminine hysterics that evening. “Where have you been?”
“If it is any concern of yours, I was paying a visit to a sick tenant.”
“It's mighty cold tonight. W here might your coat be, your ladyship?” his words sounded suspicious to Kate’s ears, but his open face showed concern. Kate unthawed a trifle.
“Charity, lieutenant, begins at home.” Before he could unravel her mysterious sentiment, she nodded, dismissing him. Slapping the reins on Diana’ s neck, she urged her to a canter. At the Lady and the Scamp, she turned left down the post road. The inn and the road itself were swarming with red-coated men, armed to the teeth. She carefully pretended well-bred indifference as she rode past. Indeed, it was terribly difficult not to stop and gaze back in horror at the spectacle, now illuminated with the light of a dozen lanterns, on the bank of the river.
It was only as she unsaddled Diana, discarding her cloak, breeches, and boots under the floorboards in the tack room and changed into her worn muslin gown that she began to tremble, not from cold, but from fear.
Kate entered the house silently through the kitchen as usual. But this time when she knocked on the door of the butler’s quarters, it was rapid and staccato, like her heartbeat.
How was she going to tell Lucy?
The thought reverberated in her mind over and over, like the echoes in the Grand Cavern, until the idea came to her. She didn’t have to tell Lucy. She wasn’t supposed to know Adam Weilmunster had been murdered with a single bullet to the head. To tell Lucy would be tantamount to confessing her own sins. Lucy didn’t need that misery on top of the rest.
Curtis’ door opened with the unprofessional jerk of a butler who has been Expecting The Worst. His face spoke volumes, as did the disrepair of his dress. Never, even the time her sainted father played the joke with the cows, bringing the entire neighborhood down on their heads, had Kate seen the impassive Mr. Curtis so upset. With his neckcloth tied haphazardly under his ear and his shirt outside his breeches, he looked as deranged as she felt.
“The dragoons are out.
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