Petteril's Folly (Lord Petteril Mysteries, #6) by Mary Lancaster

Author:Mary Lancaster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mary Lancaster
Published: 2024-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

AT THE RED LION, NEIL Murray sat in the taproom, staring morosely into his ale.

He was torn.

He really wanted to shake the dust of this place from his feet and bolt for London. He could take the stagecoach from Blanchester this evening. Only, if he did so without seeing the magistrate first, would that cast suspicion on him? Would he have time to lose himself in the anonymity of London? Should he risk going to the magistrate and asking?

On the other hand, he really needed to see Stewart again before he went. He almost regretted pointing Stewart’s bumbling master at his valet’s past. Not quite, for he did enjoy seeing the bastard squirm. Only he couldn’t get at him with Stewart locked in the fastness of Haybury Court. Was he even allowed to leave the house when it wasn’t his day off? How could he live like that?

No, domestic service was not for Neil Murray.

Inns, however, were an excellent hunting ground. One met all sorts at inns, from baronets to pot-washers, all squashed under one roof without the same kind of segregation as one found outside the inn walls. Traveling people were temporarily rootless and much more liable to spill interesting information about strangers.

Which made them much easier to rob.

As Sir Darius Camden had recently discovered. And his sister.

The pretty maidservant breezed into the taproom, greeting the regular drinkers she passed on her way to the common room door. She carried a basket full of laundry which had presumably being drying in the sun. Beneath the basket, in her apron pocket, a corner of paper poked out.

Murray had not made a success of his life by ignoring opportunities, however unlikely they seemed.

He sprang to his feet. “Let me get that door for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Reaching past her, he opened the door with his right hand, while with his left, he twitched the paper from her apron and pocketed it.

He smiled at her. “May I buy you a glass of sherry when you are free?”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m always on duty. Not allowed to consort with the patrons.” She smiled and nodded, all very cool and practised. A girl used to turning away the advances of drunks in her place of work. And yet she used words like consort. She had some education.

He inclined his head, contriving to look both disappointed and understanding. Which he was.

Closing the door behind her, he sat down again, took a sip of his ale and cast a quick glance at the regular drinkers, deep in conversation with young Tucker the tapster. Murray took his booty from his pocket and found a letter addressed to a woman in Wiltshire.

Breaking the seal without compunction, he unfolded it and read it with great interest. He began to smile.

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