blank. And her husband has disappeared. The house where they lived is a shambles. We are of the opinion something happened.’
James had begun to listen more intently as the tale went on, realising they were talking about his mystery lady. He had often wondered what had become of her, had not been able to get her out of his mind, even after he had been to Peterborough and back. Her pale, frightened face haunted him. How could he be sure he had left her in good hands? Was this another occasion for guilt that he had done nothing to help her? Was his pursuit of Smith and Randle robbing him of his common humanity? He had toyed with the idea of calling to see how she fared, but Highbeck was remote and not connected with his own search and he could not be sure she was still there so he had put off doing so.
‘I met the lady,’ he said quietly. ‘I was travelling on the same coach.’
‘You were?’ Lord Trentham leaned forwards, his voice eager. ‘Then you know more than we do.’
‘Not about her husband I do not. I did not know she was married.’ He went on to tell them exactly what had happened and his impressions of the demeanour of the young lady. ‘She was at the inn being looked after by the innkeeper’s wife when I left. I was assured her relatives had been sent for and would take care of her, but I have often wondered if I was right to leave her.’
‘Oh, yes, her aunts, Lady Charron’s sisters, fetched her and she is staying with them at Blackfen Manor,’ his lordship explained. ‘But her husband has disappeared. They think if he could be found, her memory might be restored to her.’
‘What do you know of him?’ James asked.
‘His name is Duncan Macdonald.’
‘A Scotsman?’
‘I believe so, though he has lived many years in England. He is an artist, though not a very successful one. He also plays very deep and I believe the couple were in financial trouble. It might be why he has disappeared.’
‘A cowardly thing to do, to leave his wife to set off alone for her relatives, don’t you think?’ James remarked.
‘Yes, if that is what he did, but perhaps he had disappeared before she left. She might have been going to look for him,’ his lordship suggested.
‘She chose a singularly unattractive helpmate if that was the case. A surly individual in a rough coat and a scratch wig. She seemed terrified of him. Also, he was known to the robbers who held up our coach. And I believe she recognised them as well, although I may be mistaken in that,’ James said.
‘Oh dear, it is worse than I thought,’ said Lord Trentham. ‘Did you by chance learn the man’s name?’
‘Gus Billings, I think one of the highpads called him, but he died in the accident. Could he have been her husband under an assumed name?’
‘Unlikely. I only met Duncan Macdonald once when we attended the same opera and he and Amy came back stage to speak to Lady Charron, but he wore a bag wig and was dressed in a very fine coat of burgundy satin. He was charming enough, had exquisite manners, but there was something about him that made me wary. Amy was, is, a dear girl, certainly not a lady to consort with criminals.’
‘As you say, a mystery,’ James said, turning over in his mind what he had learned, which was little enough. At least he now knew the young lady’s name was Amy. He thought it suited her.
‘You will undertake to investigate, my dear fellow, won’t you?’ his lordship pleaded. ‘Her mother and her aunts are all anxious about her and I promised I would do what I could to help.’
‘Memory is a strange thing,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it shuts down simply to avoid a situation too painful to bear. One must be careful not to force it back. Mrs Macdonald might be happier not remembering.’
‘True, true,’ Lord Trentham said. ‘But if we could discover what is at the back of it without distressing her, then we might know how to proceed.’
James was torn between taking on the commission and continuing the search for his wife’s killers, but that had lasted so long and yielded so little reward he did not think it would make any difference if he set it aside for a week or two. He would do what he could to help, if only to make amends for not doing anything before. ‘If you would be so good as to furnish me with a letter of introduction to the lady’s aunts, I will go to Highbeck and see what I can discover,’ he said. It ought not to take him long and after that he must resume his search for Smith and Randle. He would not rest until they were caught.
Lord Trentham wrote the letter; once this was done and handed to him, James returned to Colbridge House to instruct Sam to pack for a stay in the country, realising, as he did so, that once again he had unwittingly found himself embroiled in uncovering crime.
Amy was just leaving the mill next to the King’s Arms, where she had gone to buy flour to make bread, when two horsemen rode into the yard of the inn and dismounted. The taller of the two hesitated when he saw her and looked for a moment as if he were going to speak. He was broad as well as tall, handsome in a rugged kind of way, with intense green eyes that seemed to take everything in at a glance, including her scattered thoughts. His tricorne hat covered sun-bleached hair, which was tied back with a narrow black ribbon. As with any gentleman who came to the village from outside it, she wondered if he might be Duncan, but when he sketched her a little bow and proceeded into the inn without speaking, she knew it was not the husband she looked for, for surely he would have spoken to her, taken her into his arms, called her by name?
The man had looked slightly familiar, as if she ought to know him, or at least was acquainted with him. Did that little bow confirm it? Or was it simply a courtesy? If only she could remember! She went on her way to make her purchase, intending afterwards to visit Widow Twitch, an old lady who lived in a cottage down a lane on the other side of the village who, according to her Aunt Matilda, had known her since she was in leading strings and was also recognised as a wise woman who had the gift of telling the future. Her advice might be worth listening to.
James had recognised Amy immediately and had been on the point of greeting her, but decided against it. He had wondered if she might remember him, considering he had held her in his arms on the ride from the scene of the accident to the inn. The memory of that had certainly stayed with him. He had spoken to her later and she had remembered his name then, but today, though she had looked at him, there had been no recognition in her blue eyes. Until he had spoken to the Misses Hardwick and ascertained exactly what they wanted of him, he would remain incognito.
He was glad to see that she looked well. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair, which had been so unkempt and tangled, was now brushed and curled into ringlets, over which was tied a simple cottager hat. She wore a striped cotton gown, a plain stomacher and a gauze scarf tucked into the front of it, an ensemble that would be decried in town, but was perfectly suitable for the country. She had filled out a little too, so that she bore little resemblance to the waif he had held in his arms. It was difficult to believe that her mind retained nothing of her past. Would reawakening her memory, even supposing it could be done, fling her back into that world of fear? She had been afraid, of that he was certain.
He did not need to eat, having dined at the Lamb in Ely not two hours before, so he left his baggage at the inn where he had booked rooms for himself and Sam, and hired a horse to take him to Blackfen Manor, leaving his own mount to be groomed and rested. He wondered if he might overtake the young lady, but there was no sign of her as he trotted along a well-worn path bordering fields of as yet unripe barley.
He passed the tower at the gates to the grounds
