She shivered.
He glanced at her, squeezed her hand reassuringly. “It’s actually his weakness. As long as we can keep him at a distance from you three, make sure he can’t get close, he’ll be stymied. Eventually, he’ll try something reckless, then we’ll have him.”
Looking up into his face, into his dark eyes, she saw nothing but supreme confidence. “You’re very sure of all this.”
Charles shrugged, looked down as they walked on.
“I suppose you’re used to it.”
For a moment, he didn’t reply, then he said, “That’s true in a way, but…I was usually in his position.”
Drawing breath, he looked up, met her eyes-and saw not the faintest vestige of shock or consternation. Rather, her expression was a mirror for his own arrogant resolution; she’d guessed the truth and didn’t care.
His lips quirked self-deprecatingly; looking ahead, he conceded, “You’re right. In this instance, it helps.”
They circled the house, then returned to the library, refreshed. Penny sat at the desk and composed a neat list. Halfway through, she put down her pen and wiggled her cramped fingers. “Remind me-why is this necessary?”
“Because once you’ve completed it, Norris and I will verify it as accurate, after which we’ll both sign and date it. Then even if anything subsequently goes missing, we’ll still have proof it was here.”
She considered the reasons why that might be useful, sighed, picked up the pen, and continued transcribing.
When she’d completed the list, Charles took it and, leaving her to enjoy her cup of tea alone, retreated with Norris to the priest hole. She mentally wished them joy. Then Nicholas joined her, looking better than he had; she poured him a cup, and they sat in silence-a more companionable silence than she’d shared with him to date. One benefit of adversity shared.
Half an hour later, Charles returned. He handed the list to Nicholas. “I’d put that somewhere safe.”
Nicholas glanced at it, then nodded. “Thank you.” His gaze shifted to Penny. “Both of you.” He drew in a deep breath, opened his mouth.
Charles dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t bother. We’re all in this together, and aside from anything else, after learning the whole story, I’m dying to meet your father.”
The comment surprised a bark of laughter from Nicholas. He swiveled to face Charles, but Charles, frowning, was moving to the windows that looked out along the drive.
“Visitors?” Penny wouldn’t have been surprised; news of the attack on Nicholas would have percolated through the local grapevine.
Charles didn’t immediately respond. Both she and Nicholas could now hear what he had; horses trotting up to the front steps. Charles started to smile, a smile that grew to unholy proportions as he turned back to them.
“Not visitors-Dalziel’s sent reinforcements.”
Two of them. Charles strode out to the front porch to greet them. Penny and Nicholas followed more slowly.
Charles went down the steps as the pair handed their horses to the grooms who’d come running. The men turned eagerly to meet him; there followed much shaking of hands and slapping of backs, and a few pointed, distinctly jocular remarks Penny suspected she wasn’t supposed to hear.
The newcomers saw her and Nicholas; the trio turned and came up the steps.
“Your man at the Abbey told us you’d left instructions for all communications from London to be forwarded here-we decided, in the circumstances, we qualified.” The taller of the two, a few inches shorter than Charles, smiled winningly at Penny as the three men stepped onto the porch. With fairish, wavy brown hair and hazel eyes, his clear-cut features set in an amiable expression, he was startlingly handsome in a quintessentially English way; he bowed gracefully to her. “Jack Warnefleet.” His eyes twinkled as he straightened. “Lady Penelope Selborne, I presume?”
“Indeed.” She smiled and shook his hand.
“Lord Warnefleet of Minchinbury,” Charles clarified, halting beside him. “And this-”
The second gentleman smiled and reached for her hand. “Gervase Tregarth.”
“Earl of Crowhurst,” Charles added.
Surrendering her hand, Penny instantly placed Tregarth as a fellow Cornishman; he had the typical long planes to his face, the long limbs, and the short, curly hair often found on denizens of the region close to Land’s End. His hair was a soft mousy brown, his eyes an amber shade of hazel, paler in color than Jack Warnefleet’s, also sharper.
Smiling in return, she shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you both to Wallingham Hall.”
They turned to Nicholas; Charles performed the introductions. Standing back, Penny seized the moment to examine Dalziel’s reinforcements.
They were an interesting pair, tall, well proportioned, attractive; presumably, like Charles, they possessed other talents, too. Physically Charles was the most flamboyant of the trio, the one who caught the eye. Jack Warnefleet wasn’t far behind him in that, albeit in very different style, yet watching him greet Nicholas with genial bonhomie, she wondered how much of his lazy, laughing amiability was a mask. Like Charles, she would swear his cheeriness was a facade and, behind it, he was a man with secrets.
As for Gervase Tregarth, his was a quieter, more austere handsomeness. He was altogether quieter; a quality of stillness hung about him that even the fluid grace with which he moved did not disturb. It occurred to her that like the others, he possessed a reserve, a distance he preserved from the world, but in his case, it was part of the cloak he habitually wore.
They were different, yet in many ways alike.
The introductions and exchanges complete, she moved forward to lead them into the house. “I’ll have rooms prepared for you.” She glanced back, met their eyes. “Your luggage?”
Jack looked at Charles. “We weren’t sure of your dispositions-we left our things at the Abbey.”
“I’ll have them brought here.” Charles waved them on.
Penny led them into the library. Crossing to the bellpull, she tugged, then moved to sink down on the chaise. The men gathered chairs about the fireplace, leaving the chaise to her and Charles. When they sat, she asked, “Tea and crumpets, or bread, cheese, and ale?”
They all opted for the cheese and ale. Guessing Jack and Gervase hadn’t eaten since morning, when Norris appeared, she ordered a substantial tray. Charles asked for the luggage left at the Abbey to be fetched.
“So,” Jack said as Norris departed, “what’s been going on down here?”
“All Dalziel told us,” Gervase said, “was that you’d fallen feetfirst into murder and mayhem, and could probably use a little support.”
“Murder certainly,” Charles said. “As for mayhem, that might yet come.” He proceeded to outline events as they’d unfolded, digressing to describe the Selbornes’ wild game. Like Charles, Jack and Gervase were intrigued; they, too, expressed ardent interest in meeting Nicholas’s incorrigible sire.
By the time Charles brought them up to date, the bread, cheese, and ale Norris had quietly supplied had been devoured. Even Nicholas had partaken. Penny thought he looked considerably better.
“The one thing I really don’t like is that business of him smashing the display cases.” Gervase looked at Nicholas. “You said he sounded enraged?”
Nicholas nodded. “He was swearing, and that was before he saw me.”
“Not the usual coolness one associates with a professional.” Jack looked at Charles.
Tight-lipped, Charles nodded; Penny was instantly certain the point had occurred to him previously, but he hadn’t deigned to mention it. “It fits with him being younger than we are, less experienced. Killing the maid, for instance, was an unnecessary act that called attention to his presence and alarmed and alerted the staff of the very house he needed to enter. He didn’t need to do it, but he did.”