Mr. Mallery pulled his horse short. “Look,” he said, pointing.
A red fox sat on a fallen tree. It stared back, its tail swished once, then it turned and loped off.
“Do you hunt them?” Charlotte asked.
“It is a gentleman’s sport. If left alone, foxes breed like rabbits and make their own use of chickens.”
“But they look so smart. How can you kill something that looks as if it knows you and what you want to do?”
“My conscience is clear. Ridding the countryside of foxes is a boon to the Wattlesbrooks’ tenant farmers.”
He probably didn’t really kill foxes. He probably was just speaking as Mr. Mallery the character. She told herself this but didn’t believe it, because she couldn’t imagine that Mr. Mallery was anyone but who he seemed.
“You bewitch me when you go silent, Mrs. Cordial,” he said.
Even when he said stuff like that? And looked at her like that?
“Is it too much? Am I too forward to desire an intimacy with your thoughts?” he said. “I wish you would speak, and jealously, I wish you would speak only to me.”
“I don’t think my thoughts are interesting enough to repeat.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I doubt that.”
“Well, I was wondering who you really are.”
“I am as you see me. I am not a man given to artifice. I am Thomas Mallery.”
“Nephew of the Wattlesbrooks.”
He inclined his head. “Though my estate is in Sussex, this land is a second home to me. I spent many holidays here, exploring the grounds, the house. I know Pembrook Park better than any, I believe. No matter that my grandfather lost the deed to his brother. In ways the law cannot understand, she belongs to me.”
There was such conviction in his voice that Charlotte wondered if he sincerely felt that way, but about Windy Nook. From the photos she’d seen at the inn, he’d been in that cast for ten years.
“I wonder about you as well, Mrs. Cordial. Sometimes at night, I do not sleep for wondering.”
Why did this make her blush? How could she have a genuine, uncontrollable physical reaction to a line from an actor? She laughed at herself, and at him too.
“Clearly we’re thinking too much about each other! But now you must ask me what you’re wondering about.”
His lips held a slight smile. “I dare not ask, or you would call me no gentleman. Yet I do not mind the mystery. I will enjoy uncovering you, layer by layer.”
Again with the blushing. Even if her head knew she was really Charlotte Constance Kinder playing dress-up, her cheeks bought into the whole deal. Naughty cheeks.
Mr. Mallery looked over the scene. “Dismount and come sit with me.”
“I think I’d rather keep riding.”
He raised an eyebrow as if curious why but nicked his mount with his heel and moved forward.
Why was she still afraid? Come on, Charlotte, it wasn’t like he was going to murder her or threaten her maidenhead here in this sequestered, dark, fox-infested wood. He was an actor, and there were Regency rules of etiquette to be adhered to, my lady!
But she rode on. And briefly imagined what might have happened if they’d stopped. Briefly.
They traveled to the inn, where Charlotte dismounted.
“I have some business here. Could you take my horse back, please?”
She reached up, handing him the reins. He took them, holding her fingers for a moment.
“I am your servant in all things.”
She watched him ride away before sighing and going inside. She retrieved her phone, a nervous flutter nudging her stomach. Charlotte had called the kids at James’s house yesterday at the appointed time. There’d been no answer.
Message #1: “Hi guys, it’s Mom … um, Charlotte. I just wanted to check in, see how you are. Maybe you’re all still asleep? It’s not raining at the moment, which is my big news. Anyway, I miss you all. I’ll call again later.”
She’d come back a few hours later to try again.
Message #2: “Hey, it’s me. I’m so disappointed to get voice mail. Beck and Lu, I really want to hear your voices. Hope that everything’s okay. I miss you tons. I’ll call back tomorrow.”
She e-mailed both of her kids as well, typing brief inquiries and I-love-yous from her phone. There were no messages from them of either the voice or the electronic variety. What if they were all hurt or hospitalized with the swine flu, or had fallen into comas after a random dirigible accident? Or what if James didn’t have carbon monoxide alarms in his house and in the night they’d been put under by the silent killer? Dead suddenly like the Grey Cloak nuns? What if there were four corpses snug in their beds?
The third call rang and rang and rang. She’d thought riding with Mr. Mallery made her anxious. It was nothing compared with the pit in her middle when she got voice mail again.
Message #3: “James Kinder, I will return tomorrow morning to check for messages, and I’d like to hear one from you along the lines of ‘We’re not dead, just happen to all be out whenever you call.’ And if I don’t hear from you, I’ll be calling the local police to come check your house for bodies. Please, please call.”
The next morning there was a message.
James: “Nope, not dead. We must’ve left the phones off the rechargers for too long. Just realized you called a few times. Everything’s fine.”
Left the phones off the rechargers? If Charlotte had the power of laser vision, red-hot beams would have shot out of her eyes and burned anything she looked at. As it was, she just glared harmlessly at the houseplant in Mrs. Wattlesbrook’s office. It didn’t even have the good grace to drop a leaf in shame.
Because of the time difference, it was too early to call back, so Charlotte had to comfort herself with the hope that her kids hadn’t been killed in the few hours since James had left the message.
On the way back to the house, Charlotte passed Colonel Andrews, his face glum.
His face did not respond well to glumness. She had to toss a spark on this bundle of sticks.
“Colonel Andrews! I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m completely caught up in your mystery.”
He turned a generous smile on her. “Indeed! I had thought none of our fine guests had taken a shine to it.”
“I can’t believe Mary Francis killed all her sister nuns. But if not, then who did? And how? I wish you’d read more of it tonight.”