As much as he tried to hide his “youthful eagerness,” as Mr. Waverley had labeled his fixed attention to his duties, Jeremy was eager. He was energized by the hunt: ferreting out clues and bringing justice to victims, and this was his first murder. He was on his own, and outside London in an area of the country he had not traveled before. It was the perfect proving ground.
“Yes, indeed…” Mr. Waverley blinked at Jeremy, visibly trying to collect his thoughts.
Another burst of laughter crashed over the threshold, startling them both.
Mr. Waverley lifted his chin in a clipped manner. “You have arrived at a most inconvenient time.” He flapped his hand as if shooing a fly. “This crime should have been solved long since. I have waited and waited for help to arrive. Now you will have to wait as I have a duty to greet my guests. Go. Take a place in West Ravenwood; there are several inns. Come back tomorrow.”
Mr. Waverley stood, pushing his chair back behind him. “This crime needs to be solved quickly or it will never be solved at all. Someone must pay for what they did to my son.”
These proved to be Mr. Waverley’s final words on the subject, for the gentleman marched across the room and out the door without waiting for Jeremy to comment. Jeremy hesitated a moment, and then, with a shrug, he stuffed the paper and pencil back in his pockets, and he stepped into the hall.
His footsteps echoed throughout the grand two-story entrance as Jeremy made his way to the front door. He was about to signal the liveried footman to open it when another set of footsteps caused him to turn. Jeremy scanned the marble entrance hall and then up the twin staircases on either side of the room.
Two young ladies stood on the balcony between the staircases looking down at him—another footman stood nearby, valises in hand.
“The Unicorn and Crown is better than The Black Cat,” the younger girl said. Then she pivoted, disappearing down the corridor with the footman at her heels.
A frown flashed across the face of the girl in the straw bonnet. She tipped her head as she briefly met his gaze.
“Curious,” she said in a near whisper, though her words were clearly audible in the large, empty room. Then she, too, turned and hurried down the corridor.
Jeremy glanced at the footman feigning disinterest by the front door. “The Unicorn and Crown?” Jeremy asked.
“An inn in West Ravenwood, sir,” the man replied helpfully. “It’s a tad more costly, but The Black Cat has bedbugs.”
“Good to know. Thank you…?”
“Darren, sir.”
“Thank you, Darren.” Jeremy stepped out the now-open door and then turned back. “Where might I find the parish constable, Darren?”
“That be Mr. Marley—Constable Marley. And being that he has the haberdashery, he keeps an office in The Pins and Needles on the high street.”
Giving Darren his thanks once more, Jeremy climbed into his carriage and directed Stacks to find the Unicorn and Crown. He would drop off his luggage at the inn and then set off immediately for Constable Marley’s office. If he couldn’t get the details of the case from Mr. Waverley, he would get them from the constable.
* * *
Jeremy arrived at the inn to claim the last available room, and Stacks was relegated to the common space above the stables. After depositing his cases in the room, Jeremy rushed over to the haberdashery only to find that Constable Marley had gone on a delivery and would not be back until morning.
And so it was that Jeremy Fraser had rushed from London, conscious of the ticking clock, worried that he would not arrive in a timely manner, only to sit in a pub, twiddling his thumbs in complete ignorance of why he was there.
“It might not be wise,” Stacks said, pushing his dinner plate away from him. He was a thin man of thirty years or so, with a square chin and a shaggy mop of reddish-brown hair. He had come with the carriage: vehicle, horses, and driver hired for the time it would take to see this case through. Apparently, it was not the first time Stacks had assisted the Runners; he was rather opinionated.
“What might not be wise?” Jeremy asked, glancing around the crowded pub of the Unicorn and Crown. He sighed heavily, wondering if the abysmal day could possibly get worse.
“Not wise to put it about that you be working for the Runners. There be plenty what don’t appreciate such an association.”
Jeremy scrunched up his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Stacks, I really don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Please explain.”
“You don’t know if this be one of those towns what has gone ahead with the enclosures.”
“No, and I’m not sure of the relevance.”
“Well, you see…” Stacks sat back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. He smiled a cat-in-the-cream grin, clearly pleased to be the one explaining the lay of the land to a Bow Street trainee. “Common land is no longer for common folk.”
Jeremy nodded in agreement.
“In places like these—” Stacks glanced out the multi-paned window overlooking the main street. “Most of the land belongs to the big estates. Common people used to hunt rabbits and the like, to help get by in the hard times, but a law were passed against the common use of land; landowners are putting up fences and hedgerows to stop what they say is poaching now. And if you be caught poaching, the punishment be harsh. Prison, transportation—even hanging.”
“And how does that relate to my position as a Runner? I’m not here looking for poachers.”
“Anyone in authority is seen as a threat, Mr. Fraser. A Runner, an officer of the law … he’s dangerous, even if he says he’s trying to solve a murder.”
Jeremy sat up straighter, swallowed in discomfort, and looked at the other customers of the Unicorn and Crown. “But I’m here to investigate a murder, not haul anyone up before a judge because of a brace of hares.”
Unfortunately, Jeremy in his anxiety spoke louder than was necessary, and his voice carried across the room. He sighed deeply when he saw heads turn and the hostile expressions that accompanied the glances.
“They’s not likely to believe you, Mr. Fraser. If I were you, I would not advertise your association with the Runners. It might get you killed.”
CHAPTER THREE
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
The next morning, Sophia paced the entrance hall while her cousin fetched her bonnet. They were off on an errand: Aunt Hazel had mentioned that a pendant was due to be retrieved from the jeweler, and Daphne had been quick to volunteer their help.
Sophia chewed at her lip as she paced. Daphne had yet to say anything about the matter that had brought Sophia racing to Allenton Park. It left Sophia wondering if her concerns for her cousin’s welfare had been misplaced.
Striding back and forth across the hall, Sophia tried to devise a conversation that would lead to the subject of Andrew’s murder and the concerns Daphne had mentioned in her letters. She spun at the sound of an approach above her and watched as Daphne skipped down the stairs, skirts in hand.
Near the bottom, Daphne’s step hitched and she pitched forward. Without a thought, Sophia rushed to the stairs, catching her cousin as she crashed into the handrail. They landed together in an ungainly heap on the floor, thoroughly mussed but unhurt.