Grace walked in on the heels of Kitty’s question. “Ah, I see the plans are afoot for the day.” She smiled as Deery held out a chair for her. “Thank you, Deery. Tea would be wonderful.” Turning to Max, she raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess. You’re going to visit carriage makers.”
“Very astute for this hour of the morning, dear sister,” chuckled Max. He was thrilled to see she had left off her veil; obviously Kitty was having a good effect on her, or she’d become so involved in this entire puzzle that she’d simply forgotten.
He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked, but to do so might remind her of her scar. So he merely held his tongue and began a discussion on various other carriage makers and whether they would be spiteful enough to sabotage a peer.
It was a lively conversation, and lasted for close to an hour. But then Kitty rose. “If I am to accompany you, I must tidy myself, Max. I will be ready in about fifteen minutes?”
“Ideal.” He stood and glanced at Grace. “You won’t…”
“No.” She shook her head, refusing his unspoken invitation.
She might have left off her veil, but that in no way indicated her readiness to venture out on an excursion. He sighed. “As you wish.”
She shrugged. “While you’re gone, I will do a little research into the companies that produce carriages. I believe I saw a manufacturing booklet somewhere in your library. Probably when you were ordering yours.”
“My goodness, I’d forgotten how thorough you are,” her brother grinned. “By all means. Have at it.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Grace looked at him. “This mystery…and Kitty.”
He met her gaze squarely. “Yes to both, my dear.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.”
Chapter Twenty
“It’s rather imposing, not to mention huge,” said Kitty, looking around the elegant interior of the Seton-Mowbray travelling coach. “But awfully comfortable too. I can see why you suggested it for Hecate.” She turned to him and touched his hand. “Have I thanked you for that?”
“More than enough,” he smiled, turning his hand and clasping hers. “We have surprised each other, I think. Wouldn’t you say?”
She thought about that as the view from her window drifted from city streets to more open spaces. “Possibly. I didn’t know you, Max. I could say there was a predisposition to consider you remote and unapproachable.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps even stand-offish?”
“Good,” he nodded. “I carefully nurtured that image. Keeps the hoi-polloi away.”
“The what?”
“Sorry, an obscure phrase I picked up from Byron, damn him.” He shook his head. “It means, I think, those who are beneath one.”
“Ah. So you wanted to be viewed as a snob?”
“Was I?”
“Oh no,” she laughed. “You’re not tricking me into answering that question. Besides, I would agree that yes, I really didn’t know you at all. Now I have seen your concern for others, your kindness to me and your affection for your sister. Those are not the attributes of a stand-offish snob.”
“Thank you. I am unmanned by your encomium.” He fanned himself with his free hand.
“If you could manage a blush it would be more impressive,” she informed him dryly.
“Perhaps next time.” He nodded toward the window. “We’re here.”
Stepping down carefully, helped by Max since this coach was quite high off the ground, Kitty found herself in what could easily have been mistaken for a farm. There were cows in a nearby field, the sound of chickens added to the rural air, and the scent of wet grass put the finishing touches to a charming country scene.
“Goodness. Did we come that far?” She stared around. “It’s almost like being home at Ridlington.”
Max shook his head. “No, but there are far fewer carriages at this time of day heading out this way.” He took her arm. “Shall we begin our investigations?”
She nodded and together they walked toward the large barn, where the door was wide and voices could be heard calling out to each other inside. There were questions she’d like answered, and Max had his own list made out in his head.
This was the first step toward an answer, Kitty hoped. It might not help Hecate very much, but it would give the family a measure of satisfaction.
Twenty minutes later, they walked back to the coach together, rather frustrated.
“Well, that was a waste of time.” She stomped up the little steps into the interior, making the entire vehicle bounce. “Almost every question we asked, they couldn’t answer. Try Mr. Singleton, they said. They were charming, and if I’d wanted a pink carriage with cherubs on it, I dare swear they could provide it in the shortest time imaginable.” She sat with a huff, waiting for Max to join her.
“Pink?”
“But ask them if they knew of anyone trying to discredit their business, and they looked for all the world as if I’d stuck them with one of their sharp pointy things.”
Max sighed. “Without the drama, if you please. What you’re saying is we learned nothing, except that this Mr. Singleton would seem to be the man in charge.”
“Who wasn’t there. It all seems innocent enough. They seem innocent enough.” She grunted in disgust. “They weren’t even concerned when we made the suggestion about sabotage, other than to ask if they could see the spokes, and whether the springs held up.”
“Well they did seem quite worried their wheels had failed. It wasn’t until I told them they were deliberately sawn through that they breathed easier.”
“Yes,” she stormed, “it was all about the carriage to them. No concern at all about the victims of the incidents.” Her chin lifted. “I think they’re idiots.”
“They do make good vehicles, and it was interesting to learn their head designer studied alongside other carriage makers. Makes one wonder if a former classmate is at Kanehall now” mused Max, mildly. “But I have to agree. Their focus is on their work, not anyone who might be trying to disrupt it. They have a lot of orders and they’re doing quite well. Why should they worry about a failed wheel or two?”
“Because someone died, for God’s sake. And Hecate was injured. Badly injured…” Kitty bit back a sob.
The coach rocked into motion for the return journey to Mowbray House, and she reached for the leather strap to hold her steady. “I apologize for the drama.”
“No need,” answered Max. “I feel a bit like that myself. But we did elicit one useful thing…”
She sniffed. “We did?”
“Yes. The mysterious Mr. Singleton.”
“Oh. The manager, perhaps? Certainly someone in authority.”
“Or the owner. He might be both Whetstone and Frank. Where does their financial support come from? You can’t start a carriage making business on a few shillings and a dream, you know.”
She took that in and digested it. “Good point,” she said slowly.
“So asking ourselves who has the most to lose from accidents like this…” He looked at her. “I would suggest the man who controls the money.”
“And possibly reaps the rewards.”
“Exactly.” He leaned back as the ride smoothed out over London’s outskirts and paved roads. “It makes me wonder who might be in a similar position at Kanehall.”
“Businessmen, you think?”
“Possibly.”