The Lass Wore Black by Karen Ranney

Author:Karen Ranney [Ranney, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780062197641
Google: pzbFL0_gmKgC
Amazon: 0062027808
Barnesnoble: 0062027808
Goodreads: 15709178
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2011-12-31T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 19

It was early afternoon by the time Mark instructed Brody to pull in behind the MacTavish residence. Before he saw Catriona, he wanted to speak to the coachman.

He’d never paid much attention to the bay where the carriage was stored. Now, as he walked to the opening, the smell of paraffin oil and wax was heavy in the air.

Johnstone, the coachman, was short and stocky with broad shoulders, the type of physique that made him think the man would be an admirable opponent in a fight. His face was florid and full, with jowls that nearly obscured his neck. His eyes were brown and unfriendly, narrowing as Mark entered the bay.

In the time he’d been here, he’d seen the man twice, and both times they’d nodded to each other, neither going out of his way to further the acquaintance.

He regretted that lapse now.

The coachman stared at him for a long unblinking moment before returning to his work.

He moved around the carriage, inspecting it. The vehicle was in perfect condition, dust free, the body polished to a high shine. Brody maintained his own carriage with matching diligence.

“Is there only one of you here?”

The coachman looked over at him. “I’ve a stable boy to help me.”

“Does Mrs. MacTavish attend a great many functions?”

“Enough.”

“You drive her to Old Town, don’t you?” He trailed his fingers over the leather of the guiding reins, an action that garnered him a frown.

“If I do?”

He shook his head. “I know a driver. He says that Old Town is dangerous, and he worries about his carriage.”

“I’ve much the same worries.”

“Mrs. MacTavish is a kind woman. Very generous.”

The coachman frowned at him but nodded. “Aye, that she is,” he said, continuing to rub down the driver’s seat of the carriage, even though it was so well polished that he could see the reflection of the timbered ceiling of the carriage house.

“Is that why you came back to Edinburgh after the accident and continue to remain in her employ?”

“I work for the Earl of Denbleigh,” the coachman said. “I came back to Edinburgh because it’s my home. I’d no objection to taking them to London, but I wasn’t going to live there.”

“So you were driving the night of the accident involving Miss Cameron?”

“Aye, I was.”

“How exactly did it happen? Have you any idea?”

“Why would you be wanting to know?”

“Because I’m curious,” he said, giving the man the truth. “It seems to be a mystery to most people.”

The coachman didn’t speak for some moments. He balled up his rag and tossed it on top of a nearby barrel.

“You’ll be solving a mystery for me first. Who are you? My nephew works as a footman for another house and he’s never given the freedom you are.”

Since he was on his way to tell Catriona the truth, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t divulge it to Johnstone, which he did.

“So it’s for Miss Cameron you’re here, then?”

He nodded.

Johnstone’s gaze moved to the left, then to the right, as if seeing the scene in his memory.

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