A light drizzle began as she dismounted with the aid of a groom outside Thicketford Manor’s stables. She hurried to the front door, relieved to see Frame ready to welcome her, the door already open. “You must be the world’s best butler,” she told him for what was probably the hundredth time.
The man who’d served the Earls of Farnworth since before she was born cracked a hint of a smile. “The lack of a porte-cochère keeps me on my toes, Lady Susan. I wouldn’t want you exposed to the elements any longer than necessary.”
“Indeed,” she replied as he took her cloak, hat and gloves.
“Lady Emma is in the drawing room,” Frame informed her, handing the outerwear off to a maidservant.
Her friend greeted Susan warmly when she entered the drawing room. “Just in time for tea,” she exclaimed with a smile.
It was a pleasant ritual they followed almost every day. Susan had always enjoyed a firm friendship with Emma, her late brother’s widow. She considered it a blessing that her friend had fallen in love with and married the stalwart fellow who’d inherited her brother’s earldom. Some might turn up their aristocratic noses at the unique arrangement that had allowed the current earl’s mother to reside in the dower house with the late earl’s sister, but it had worked out perfectly as far as Susan and Rebecca were concerned.
She was very glad she’d returned to the Farnworth estate after her brother’s death. Her late father’s ultimatum forced her to leave. While he was alive, he’d refused to sanction his daughter’s interest in anything other than bearing children and organizing menus.
“Is Gabriel joining us?” she asked, accepting the cup of tea Emma passed. “I want to ask his opinion.”
“I sense this has something to do with the marchers who were arrested.”
“Yes. I plan to attend the trial.”
“I had a feeling you might,” Emma’s husband said as he entered the room.
“Someone has to speak on their behalf.”
Gabriel shook his head as he accepted his cup of tea. “I understand your outrage, but I doubt they’ll allow a woman to speak.”
She didn’t censure him for his remark. Earl Gabriel Smith championed her right to become involved in social issues, but it was nonetheless infuriating that he was probably right. “Perhaps a letter from you…”
He rolled his eyes. “I really shouldn’t interfere in another earl’s affairs.”
Susan snorted. “I doubt Pendlebury will even put in an appearance. Too busy with his damned horses.”
Trial
Loath as hewas to travel by public transportation, Griff heeded the advice of his butler. As Potts rightly pointed out, there were several perfectly fine carriages stored at Clifton Heights, and it would be foolish to risk his own expensive horses on the trek north.
Potts arranged a seat on a Royal Mail coach. “More expensive than the private coaches, my lord, but a good deal faster and fewer passengers. Less likelihood of the conveyance overturning.”
Upon boarding the black and maroon mail coach, Griff was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the interior. Three well-dressed elderly gentlemen were to be his traveling companions. They were clearly unacquainted and the gruff greeting each gave seemed to indicate a desire not to engage in small talk. Since Griff intended to sleep for most of the sixteen-hour overnight journey, that suited him fine.
Frederick sat outside next to the driver, but Griff paid no attention to the two passengers climbing to sit on the bench behind them.
Armed with a blunderbuss and two pistols, the guard, impressive in his immaculate maroon and gold post office livery, sat at the rear, next to the mail box locked in the boot.
Griff settled into his seat, fully intending to stay there until they reached Manchester, unless nature called at one of the stops or the passengers had to alight when the coach encountered a steep hill. The weather promised to be fair so he didn’t foresee a problem with the roads, which Potts assured him were improving by the day. Traveling at night also meant less traffic.
All in all, the roads weren’t too rough, although Griff only managed to doze as they made their way north. Fresh horses were supplied every ten or fifteen miles; frequent stops to deliver and pick up mail interrupted his sleep, although, sometimes, the guard simply flung the mailbag from the coach and snatched another from the postmaster without the coach stopping at all.
His three companions snored loudly no matter what was going on outside. Despite the disturbances, Griff enjoyed the experience. He admired the efficiency of the whole operation and was pleased Potts had arranged this mode of transportation.
He was awake when light filtered into the coach. One of his fellow passengers scowled when Griff rolled up the leather window covering, but he paid no mind. Dawn was breaking over what he assumed were the hills and dales of the rugged Peak District. The sight moved him more than it should have. It was a sign they’d traveled far from the lush, rolling downs of the south, and he felt an odd sense of belonging.
Upon arriving atThe Punch Bowlcoaching inn in Manchester, he settled into a reasonably clean room and dispatched Frederick to his solicitor’s office with a message letting him know he was at the inn.
He dozed off in the room’s easy chair and napped for most of the afternoon. Rowbotham’s reply arrived two hours later, expressing doubt Griff would be called to testify since it was the Crown bringing charges.
The evening meal of liver and onions was palatable, but his mattress turned out to be lumpy. Tossing and turning all night, he wished he’d gone on to Clifton Heights, but it was located further from the court.
Breakfast turned out to be the usual Lancashire mixed grill—bacon, fried kidneys, eggs and black pudding—served by a buxom lass who assured him with a wink it would put hair on his chest. Swatting her bottom, he countered that he’d be pleased to show her his chest, and other parts of his anatomy—if only he didn’t have an appointment elsewhere.