Too tired and frustrated to care any longer, Griff nodded his understanding, not surprised when the man’s frown relaxed and he scurried off.
“What do you suppose he thought I’d do?” he mused aloud. “Punish him for his initiative?”
He became aware of a sudden lull in the conversation at the table next to his. A well-dressed, elderly gentleman leaned his way. “Sounds like you’re having a spot of bother, old chap.”
“Buckled wheel,” Griff replied, thinking the gent looked vaguely familiar. “I’m stranded here until it can be fixed.”
“Far to go, have you?”
Griff wasn’t one to discuss his business with strangers, but he had nothing else to do. “Actually, I came from Clifton Heights to see the Earl of Farnworth, but my timing was off. He’s taken his family to the races at Chester.”
His neighbor slapped his thigh. “Thought I recognized you. You’re the Earl of Pendlebury. Allow me to introduce myself. Bertrand Coleman, Baron Whiteside,” he said extending a hand. “Farnworth’s my neighbor.”
“Of course, sir,” Griff responded, shaking the baron’s hand. “I’ve seen you in the Lords on occasion.”
“My tailor,” Whiteside said, cocking his head toward his companion. “Mr. Carr.”
Griff offered his hand. “Griffith Halliwell. How do you do?”
“I’m well, sir, and you?” the diminutive man declared, accepting the gesture.
“As well as can be expected,” Griff muttered.
Carr preened. “I see by the cut of your clothes you have excellent taste, sir.”
The baron chuckled. “Mr. Carr has a first rate establishment here in Preston. Outfits all us titled chaps.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” Griff replied, though he couldn’t imagine ever purchasing clothing in Preston—not when he had an excellent tailor in London who was always abreast of the latest fashions, even after Brummell’s flight to France.
“So, you say Gabriel and his troops have gone off to the races,” Whiteside said. “I didn’t know they were interested in that sort of thing.”
“I don’t know him all that well. Perhaps it’s just a day out,” Griff suggested with a shrug. However, something about the earl’s family taking a sudden interest in thoroughbred racing niggled. He recalled Farnworth looking quite bored when Griff had told him about Pendlebury Stables and his plans to buy another thoroughbred. That memory was bothersome. Had Farnworth relayed the information to Lady Susan? He wouldn’t put it past the harridan to…
He suddenly realized Whiteside had asked him a question. It brought him back to the inn. After all, what could a bluestocking do to upset his plans? “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t…”
“You must come to stay at Withins Hall,” the baron insisted as he stood. “Can’t have you bedding down in this place. The ale is passably good, but I hear the accommodations leave a lot to be desired. My carriage awaits.”
“Very good of you, sir. I wasn’t looking forward to staying here,” he replied, glad of the opportunity for a more comfortable night’s rest and perhaps a chance to learn more about the devious Lady Susan Crompton.
Carr offered his hand again, bowed and took his leave.
Griff went to speak to the landlord. He left a message for Frederick, paid for his footman’s food and accommodations, then retrieved his bag.
Upon reaching the yard behind the inn, he was surprised to see a young woman dressed in filthy rags pulling on the baron’s sleeve. The carriage driver stood at his perch, brandishing his whip and shouting threats at the beggar. Scowling, she loped off as Griff approached.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked.
“Right as rain,” Whiteside replied, though his ruddy complexion had turned ashen. “Only Tillie.”
Puzzled, Griff assisted the baron into the carriage and climbed aboard. He’d been importuned by many a beggar in the dodgy parts of London, but couldn’t say he knew any of them by name. Things were obviously different here in the north.
Productive Conversations
The noisy atmospherein the crowded dining room of Chester’sPied Bullechoed Susan’s excitement. Punters told and retold stories of wins and losses. Susan longed to boast of her winnings, but that was between her and Oscar. Ladies didn’t place wagers. The most pleasing aspect of the windfall was that she’d picked out winners even before Oscar revealed his choices. She’d preened with pleasure when he’d told her she had an eye for good bloodlines.
The landlord ushered them to a reserved table. Throughout the meal—a wholesome, if overly salty, pigeon pie with mashed potatoes and parsnips—she and Patsy chatted excitedly about the races. It was apparent the child was as taken with the sport as Susan.
Gabriel seemed to have enjoyed the day and confirmed that he and the retired jockey had agreed on arranging a meeting with the thoroughbred’s owner the next morning. Susan assumed he’d also won a goodly amount of money.