“That is not my intent,” Percy said. “I will leave that to the customs officers. But I own this land, Paul. I am responsible for the safety and well-being of all who live and work on it. That may sound somewhat pretentious, but there is a general atmosphere of secrecy and fear here. Is fear too strong a word? No, I do not think it is. And there is that stable hand with his broken legs and that probably murdered valet of the late Barclay’s. Perhaps even Barclay himself, though indirectly rather than directly, since he was certainly captured and tortured and executed by the French.”
He had already told his new steward all those details. Knorr at least was someone he knew he could trust. He drew breath to say more.
“But you are thinking, are you not,” Knorr said before Percy could speak, “that the core of the gang is right here? The leader, at least? And I think you are right.”
Percy stared at him and nodded slowly. Something inside him turned cold. He must be thankful at least that Imogen had been sensible enough to agree to stay at the hall, where she must never be allowed to be alone. But . . . right in the lion’s den?
But devil take it, it was his den. And she was his woman, though he did not doubt she would not like that description of herself. It would probably make him uneasy too if he stopped to consider it, but he did not have the leisure to think about the state of his heart.
“Call Crutchley in, if you will,” he said. “Tell him to bring more port.”
The butler came creaking in a couple of minutes later, bearing a tray.
“Set it down,” Percy instructed him. “I will not keep you long enough for anyone to become suspicious. I have a very few questions for you. I do not expect you to give me the name of the person who ordered you to persuade me to move from my bedchamber overlooking the bay to one at the back of the house. But I do ask this. Was it a willing loyalty that caused you to obey, or fear of reprisal if you did not?”
The butler stared at him with apparent incomprehension.
“I have no intention,” Percy added, “of disciplining you in any way at all for damp sheets and a dead bird and soot.”
“Who is there of importance in your life, Mr. Crutchley, apart from yourself?” Paul Knorr asked.
Crutchley’s head turned toward him. His expression did not change, but he spoke. “I have a daughter down in the village,” he said, “and two grandsons, and one of them has a wife and two little ones.”
“Thank you,” Percy said. “Again I do not ask for a name, unless you choose to volunteer it, but do you know who the leader of this particular gang is?”
Crutchley nodded once after a longish while.
“Is his identity generally known?” Percy asked.
A quick shake of the head.
“And does he live and work within this estate?” Percy asked.
But there was no response this time—only a slight tightening of the butler’s lips and a blanking of his expression.
“Thank you,” Percy said. “You may leave.”
He stared at the closed door for some time before looking at Knorr.
“Where is Mawgan to be found when he is not busy head gardening?” he asked.
They left the house together a few minutes later rather than summon the man to the house.
*
“Whatever must you think of me?” Imogen said as they climbed the stairs together. Cousin Adelaide had drawn her arm through her own.
“I never did find a man I could both love and admire, Imogen,” she said. “I have always been convinced that such a man did not exist, though I never knew your Richard except once or twice perhaps when he was just a lad. Until very recently I would have said Lord Hardford was among the most worthless of them all. I am changing my mind about him even if he does have an air of carelessness about him and is too handsome for his own good. I think if I were your age, I might fall in love with him too.” She laughed, a deep bass rumble that Imogen could not remember hearing ever before.
“Oh, but I am not in love with him,” she protested.
They were approaching the head of the stairs and the drawing room.
“Then you have no excuse for dallying with him,” Cousin Adelaide said firmly. “Or would have no excuse if you were telling the truth. I never thought I would tell any girl to go with her heart, but that is what I am telling you.”
Cousin Adelaide had been living here for some time. Imogen had never disliked her, but it had never occurred to her to love Cousin Adelaide. Not until now.
“Thank you,” she said, “for coming down and offering your chaperonage.”
“Chaperonage?” Cousin Adelaide laughed again. “I came because I was burning with curiosity.”
And it was Imogen’s turn not to believe.
One of the twins was sitting in the old lady’s chair when they went into the drawing room, and the girl immediately jumped to her feet and moved away. Cousin Adelaide looked her old self by the time she was seated and supposed out loud and with obvious displeasure that the tea was probably stone cold in the pot.
Everyone looked expectantly at Imogen, and she made a hasty decision. She told them everything—omitting the one detail in the letter that had referred to Percy as her lover.