‘His grandmother, then?’
‘That is more likely. But see how green her eyes are, not blue like Lord Buckland’s.’
‘They look familiar.’ It was Susan’s turn to wrinkle her brow. ‘No, I give up. Will you show him?’
‘No.’ The negative emerged with more vehemence than Hester had intended. ‘Take it up to my dressing room, please, Susan, and set it up on that shelf next to the dressing table. It will be safe there. No, on second thoughts, ask Jethro to carry it, it is too unwieldy and you’ll need to open doors.’
Hester hardly noticed Jethro’s exclamation of surprise as he came in and carried the picture away, and certainly did not register Susan’s murmured explanations and speculations as she led the way up the stairs. The portrait had affected her deeply, she realised. ‘Guy,’ she murmured out loud, running her fingers along the frayed edge of the empty frame as though touching his hair.
/> It was a glimpse into his secrets and an insight into the reasons he had not felt able to share with her for his interest in the Moon House. It began to explain why he was so determined to buy it, but it did not explain who the woman was or why she had been the focus for such hate.
Susan’s shriek tore through her thoughts and she was on her feet and running for the foot of the stairs before a low- voiced stream of swear words from Jethro and Susan’s furious exclamations reassured her that the two of them were safe.
‘What is it?’ Then she saw without having to wait for their reply. Propped up carefully against the door of her bedchamber was another bunch of dead roses, only this time their stems were caught together with a trailing bow of black satin.
‘Six, of course.’ She edged past Jethro, who was standing in the middle of the landing taking up a considerable amount of room with his hands spread wide to carry the portrait, scooped up the bunch and pushed open the door. All within was exactly as she had left it.
‘I do not think they came in here.’ Hester opened the dressing-room door for Jethro to set his burden on the shelf.
‘But how did they get into the house?’ Susan demanded, checking the windows as though the ‘ghost’ could have scaled the front of the house in broad daylight.
‘Through the front door, I suspect,’ Hester said. ‘I found it open when I showed Lord Buckland out. I assumed you had left it ajar when you all tactfully removed yourselves.’
Susan had the grace to blush, but Jethro protested, ‘I know I shut it behind us-it is too cold to leave doors open.’
‘Well, if this is the Nugents, no doubt they have a key and would have no trouble with an unbolted door.’ Hester went to the window and looked out. It was dark now and the cold panes gave her back only her own reflection.
Then the stable-yard gate opposite opened, letting light flood out, and a rider on a black horse emerged. Hester stared. Who on earth would be riding out on this dark, freezing night? The mist had cleared and the moon was not yet up. Then the horse backed and fidgeted and was brought under immediate control as the rider, a shadow in black, bent to speak to the groom who had opened the gate. Guy, of course. His style was somehow unmistakable. But why-and where?
‘Shall I go and tell his lordship?’
‘No.’ Hester snapped the answer, Of course, this was what Guy had meant when he said the Nugents did not have the monopoly on breaking and entering. He could be walking straight into danger.
‘No. His lordship has gone out-and so must I. Jethro…’ She eyed him up and down in a way that had him backing nervously towards the door, convinced that his usually immaculate clothing was all awry. ‘Yes, they should fit. Go and fetch me a pair of your breeches, a thick shirt and a jacket, if you please, and then saddle up Hector. Use your saddle, not mine. Susan, please find me my riding boots, gloves, my whip and a dark shawl.’
‘Saddle Hector. Miss Hester? Will he stand to be ridden?’
‘So the man who sold him to me said. I shall doubtless find out. Susan?’
‘You mean to ride him astride? What will Miss Prudhome say?’
‘Nothing to any effect if she is still dozing by the drawing- room fire and you do not wake her. Now hurry and get those clothes from Jethro.’
It took perhaps twenty minutes before Hester was standing in the yard, tying the shawl around her shoulders in an attempt to find some extra warmth. Hector seemed to take being saddled well, but Jethro was still protesting.
‘But, Miss Hester, you can’t ride astride and how am I going to keep up?’
‘I rode astride in Portugal, and you, Jethro, are staying here to look after Miss Prudhome and Susan. Now, give me a leg up.’
‘Where are you going’?’ Susan wailed as Hester turned Hector’s head to the gate and urged him into a trot.
‘Winterbourne Hall.’
The trot soon turned into a walk, for the road was far too dark for her to make out more than a trace of the verge, but the cob seemed both happy to be ridden and confident to stride out in the dark. Even so, the way seemed endless and Hester was beginning to lose sense of both time and place when she reached the barn that she remembered from her visits to the Hall.
It loomed, a dark bulk beside the road, and Hector slowed, turned his head towards it and whinnied.
‘Shh!’ Then another horse answered from the barn. Hester slid down from the saddle and led Hector in. Sure enough there was a shape of a large, dark animal tethered inside. She tied Hector up beside it, leaving the two to exchange cautious sniffs, and made her way out.