Page 75 of Almost a Bride
She couldn’t bear the sympathy in the old man’s eyes.
“My lady,” he said softly, “will you tell me everything?”
She thought of the pouch that incriminated Spencer, of the dead body—of her own glad surrender.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said, feeling only weariness as she tried to smile. Suddenly the thought of daily facing all the cottage’s memories seemed too much for her. “Very well, I’ll come back with you to Wakesfield. I know you’ll only worry if I don’t.”
Francis waited as she gathered a few belongings and then shut the door firmly behind her.
~oOo~
Later that afternoon, Roselyn worked alone in Wakesfield’s kitchen, preparing mutton for dinner while Margaret and Charlotte worked in the garden. She kept her mind blank but for thoughts of the baking she had yet to do for her customers.
She heard the echo of a loud knock from the front hall, and wiped her hands on a towel as she moved through the dining chamber. When she opened the front door, she almost took a step back in surprise. A man stood there, dressed in a fashionable embroidered doublet, with padded trunk hose bulging at his hips. In one hand he held a riding whip, and nearby was a well-lathered horse, its head hanging.
She had never seen him before, and suddenly remembered the murmurs in the village about a stranger.
“Is your master at home?” he asked shortly.
She gave him a polite smile. “The viscount is not in residence, sir. Would you care to speak with his bailiff, Francis Heywood?”
He didn’t return her smile as he brushed past her and stepped inside. “See to it.”
She found Francis in his office, then bobbed a curtsy to the two men before leaving the front hall. But in the dining chamber, she put her back against the wall and remained to listen.
“How may I help you, sir?” Francis asked.
“I understand a dead Spaniard was found in the village.”
Roselyn winced and closed her eyes. The man didn’t even introduce himself first, just got right to the point. Something was terribly wrong.
“Surely the soldiers at the garrison would be of better help to you than I, Sir…” Francis trailed off.
“I’m asking everyone, Heywood. How do you know the body was that of a Spaniard?”
“By the weave of his garments. He wore the clothing of a Spanish seamen. Other than that, there wasn’t much left to identity.”
“There was only one Spaniard?” The man’s voice was impatient now.
“Only one body was found.”
“That you know of.”
His low voice made Roselyn shiver, and she held her breath.
“Is there something you wish to say, sir?” Francis asked slowly.
“There have been reports that a Spaniard might have lived.”
“Surely that would be difficult to hide.”
“Perhaps. But a good spy could blend in.”
She tilted her head back against the wall and squeezed her eyes closed. Could this be confirmation that Spencer was the traitor? Had he been in hiding because he knew they were after him?
She thought again of the Spaniard who had died before he could talk.
“I will continue the search,” the stranger said. “What is the name of the next village to the south?”
