Page 28 of Winterset
But Mr. Jennings had abandoned his family days before his father’s death. He had to have known it was coming. How could he not? But he could not even be bothered to open his brother’s letters.
How cold. How cruel.
I could not,would not, trust Mr. Jennings.
Consideration done, I refolded the letter and placed it back inside the drawer with the other unopened letters.
My mind was made.
No matter what Mrs. Owensby or Bexley thought, I wouldnevercome out of hiding to Mr. Oliver Jennings. I would do whatever was necessary to drive him from the premises. Simple pranks like tallow candles and overboiled beef weren’t enough though. I needed to give him a better reason to leave.
But what more could I do?
As Mrs. Owensby had said, he seemed in no hurry to leave; in fact, his list of repairs made it clear he planned to stay.
I had to change that.
I scanned the list again, trying to conjure up a plan to drive him away, and my gaze snagged on one line:
Vanquish ghost
Perhaps Mr. Jennings was more frightened of thefantasticalthan he seemed.
What if I played into his fears? I could pretend to be a ghost and haunt him. Mrs. Owensby had planted the seed in his mind. I only needed to water the idea to bring it to life. It was mad, but it just might make him leave.
I picked up the quill pen and drew a line through each renovation I disagreed with, making the thickest, darkest line acrossVanquish ghost.
Oliver
The postmaster was no helpat all.
I sighed as I exited his office and stalked to where Charlie stood in the lane with our horses.
“Did you learn anything to help you locate Mr. Moore?” Charlie asked.
“Not a thing.” I swung up into my saddle, and we started for Winterset. “Apparently, each of my letters was retrieved from the postmaster by a different man, and the postmaster had not recognized any of them. Whoever this Mr. Moore is—perhaps he is not even one man but many men—is clever and careful.
“As soon as I informed Mr. Moore that I was returning to England to take up residence, he disappeared. My last letter with instructions to ready the manor was not even collected. The postmaster had to have it delivered to Winterset.”
“I’m sorry, Granger.”
“As am I.”
“At least the tenant cottages are in good condition,” Charlie said, attempting to cheer me.
“Truly,” I said. It was a small miracle that the structures were sound, the lanes that led to the cottages were clean, and most importantly, the inhabitants were healthy. “I am more than grateful, but what about the manor? What about Mr. Moore and my money?”
“You must forget Mr. Moore,” Charlie said. “You have followed the only lead, and he is gone. Dwelling on the past will not profit your future.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, you might be right,” I said.
“Of course I am right.”
I gave him a long look. Charlie was not usually so vehement. “For as certain as you are of your own opinions, Charlie, you should have been born a duke.”
“I was. Didn’t I tell you?” Charlie quipped.
“No.” I laughed lightly. “I daresay you did not.”
