‘What the devil does that mean?’ Other than that the situation had changed from annoying to alarming.
‘It means that I do not know what to say, until I have seen for myself the thing that Jenks described to me and your reaction to it. If we are wrong, as I pray we are, then it will be better that I had not spoken at all.’
‘Very well, then.’ Will gave an expansive gesture. ‘Continue to be mysterious. But you might at least tell me where we are going.’ They had been on the road for nearly an hour and he was beginning to fear that the whole of the day would be wasted.
‘It is not much longer,’ his brother allowed. ‘There is an inn a little up the way. The Fox and Hare. We do not stop there often. The ale is watered and the food is mediocre at best. But yesterday, while transporting Miss de Bryun, there was some problem with a carriage wheel and a stop needed to be made. Jenks saw something of interest in the stables and wished our opinion of it.’
‘You want me to see a horse?’ he said. He’d thought last night’s comment had been nothing more than a ruse. ‘I do not wish to buy one, if that is what you have been told. I am not ready to make such a purchase today, at any rate.’
Adam shook his head again. ‘This horse will interest you, I think. But we must go see for ourselves.’
* * *
They pulled into the coach yard a short time later and followed Jenks and the driver directly to the place where the horses were kept. The coachman was shifting uneasily, foot to foot. ‘I thought you would want to know, my lord. I am sure you will think it foolish of us and see the obvious difference.’
‘There is no difference,’ Jenks said flatly. ‘It is what we think it is. But only Lord Felkirk can tell us so.’
‘Can tell you what?’ Will said, his patience growing thin. ‘I still have no idea what you are on about.’
From a stall halfway down the row there came the thump of hooves hitting boards.
‘Careful with that one,’ a stable boy called. ‘We can barely handle him.’
‘I am sure we are up to the task,’ Will said, taking a firmer grip on his stick.
They were standing in front of the animal in question now. At the sound of his voice, there came a frantic whinny.
He knew that sound.
It was impossible. But he could not doubt his own ears. He pushed past the stable boy, dropped his stick and put a hand on the neck of the horse, reaching for his tossing head.
‘Now tell them they are fools and that all black horses look alike.’ His brother’s voice had a plaintive quality to it, as though wishing could give him the answer he wanted.
But to say that would have been foolish. All black horses did not look the same, any more than all blonde women looked like Justine. This black horse looked exactly like Jupiter, because it was Jupiter. He ran a hand on over the horse’s shoulder and felt the height, just as he remembered it.
The spirited horse calmed instantly. It was not because he had any gift for animals, but because the horse recognised his touch, just as it had known his voice.
‘Hello, old fellow. It has been some time, has it not? Did you miss me?’ He turned the face so that he might look into the eyes and the gigantic head gave a nod as if to say, ‘Yes.’
Will stroked the soft, black nose and got another nod of approval and a nudge at his pocket, where the sugar should be.
This was impossible. Many men kept a treat of some kind in their pinks. This was no indication of recognition, just a learned behaviour. As for the rest, he was only seeing what he wished to see and hearing what he wished to hear. It could not be Jupe. Jupiter had died because of the same fall that injured him.
Will walked to the back of the stall, trailing his hands along the smooth back. There was the barely noticeable pattern of white hairs on the flank. He felt under them and found the fine line of the scar from the time they had taken a fall, going over a fence in a hunt. How he had worried over that, walking the young horse home, and fussing over him until the scratch had healed. But there should be other scars, should there not?
Perhaps Justine had been misled about the extent of the injury. The fall in Bath that had laid him low must have done some damage to the horse. He stroked down the back, the withers and the legs, all the way to the hooves, and could find none. Jupe was as sound as the day he’d ridden out on his way to Bath, to see Mr Montague.
Montague.
The scrap of memory appeared, as though it had always been there. He had found the bag in his nursery dresser, searching for a gift for Billy. Just a scrap of silk and velvet that he’d used to hold pretty rocks. But more properly, it was meant to hold loose stones. A jeweller’s bag. And where had he got it?
In the woods.
He gripped Jupe’s neck, now, letting the horse support him as he searched his mind for the rest of the story.
‘My lord?’ Jenks was leaning close now, fearing that his behaviour was a sign of weakness.
Will waved him away. Standing on his own feet again. ‘You were right. This is Jupiter.’
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Adam was speaking now and his voice was surprisingly bitter.
How was he to answer? Did he know what it meant? In truth, he did not. More than Adam knew, perhaps. He knew the facts. He had found a jeweler’s bag in the nursery and pieced together the story of the murder by questioning the oldest servants. A diamond merchant had died and the stones had been stolen. No one could remember more than that.
He had traced the origin of the bag through the monogram on the silk: the entwined M and B of Montague and de Bryun set in an embroidered gold crown. He had gone to Bath, seeking information about the bag’s missing contents.
The woman in the main salon of the store had been too beautiful to be an ordinary shop girl. Her satin gown was too bright for day, and too low, revealing a pale throat hung with emeralds. Her hair swept high on her head, to show ears hung with matching drops. Her fingers were heavy with rings, her wrists circled with bracelets. It was as if a statue had been decorated and come to life as a walking advertisement for the store.
Her face had been just as impassive as a statue’s as well. In her eyes, he had seen far too much knowledge for one so young. The smile she wore was too polite and distant to be anything but ironic.
Montague had come into the room and looked at her, eyes flicking from gem to gem as though counting his possessions. The final intimate sweep of his eyes indicated that his ownership did not end with the jewellery she wore. When he turned to look at Will, there was a faint warning in his expression. One might look at the merchandise, and the woman beneath it, but one must never touch.
And then, to Will’s shock, he had introduced her as de Bryun’s own daughter.
Montague himself had been strangely familiar. He had seen the face before, he was sure of it. But he could not think where. The man had escorted him into a parlour at the back of the shop, where they might talk in private. But he had quickly become irrational over what were simple and innocent questions.
It was clear that Will would learn nothing more than what he already knew. As he turned to go, he saw the woman, standing before him, blocking the door.
And then, pain. The last thing he could remember, before darkness closed over him was those knowing green eyes.
He knew what had happened. But that still did not explain how it had come to this.
‘I said, do you know what this means?’ Adam was shaking his shoulder. ‘She lied to us, Will. I took her into my home. I treated her as family. I encouraged you to trust her.’
If he’d not still been in shock himself, he’d have found