Page 46 of The Time for Love
Sophy pointed in the other direction. “Follow the drive around to the stables.”
Martin obliged, keeping the horses to a walk to minimize the sound of the wheels on the gravel and the clop of the horses’ hooves. He saw no reason to advertise their arrival. Without having to be told, the three horsemen following—Roland, Figgs, and Tunstall—veered onto the verge, muffling their horses’ hoofbeats.
They rounded the house, and Martin followed Sophy’s direction past a screening line of trees to the long, low stable block that lay nestled in a dip beyond. There was a lamp burning in the stable, and an old man, rather short but broad of beam and heavy fisted, came rolling out of the open stable door. He watched as Martin steered the horses into the yard and halted the curricle before the stable.
Sophy pushed back the hood of her cloak and quickly climbed down. “It’s me, Old Joe.”
“Miss Sophy!” The man’s undeniably old face creased into a beaming smile. “You’re a fair sight for sore eyes an’ all.”
The man’s smile faded as he took in Martin and Oliver, descending from the curricle, and Figgs, Roland, and Tunstall, who had followed the curricle into the yard and were dismounting. The old man looked at Sophy and volunteered, “Young Charlie’s here, in case you don’t know. He didn’t say aught about you coming up.”
“We followed him, but he doesn’t know that.” Affectionately, Sophy gripped the old man’s arm. “These”—she waved at Martin and Oliver—“are friends of mine. Mr. Cynster and Mr. Coulter. They’ve been helping me with difficulties at the works.”
“Oh, aye.” Old Joe nodded deferentially to Martin and Oliver, but his gaze quickly shifted to Martin’s horses, which Figgs had hurried to take charge of. Old Joe looked at the horses approvingly. Almost covetously. “Nice beasts, those. Nothing like the nag Young Charlie rode in on.”
Sophy introduced Figgs, Roland, and Tunstall as Martin’s men.
Martin instructed the three to help Old Joe stable the horses, and grateful, Old Joe said he’d take the three men up to the house afterward. “I’ll see they get a bite to eat and get bedded down for the rest of the night.” He looked at Sophy. “But you’d best get up to the house yerself. The Elliots will have heard the wheels and be out looking to see who’s come.”
Sophy patted Old Joe’s arm, then waved Martin and Oliver toward the house. They fell in on either side of her as she led them along a path through the trees.
They stepped out of the trees’ shadows into a neatly tended kitchen garden. Farther ahead, beyond the garden bed closest to the house, a tall, thin man in butler’s garb stood holding a lighted lamp and squinting toward them.
Sophy waved and hurried on. “It’s me, Elliot.”
“Miss Sophy!” The relief in the man’s voice carried clearly.
“Oh, miss!” The exclamation drew their gazes to a round, buxom woman who, hands tightly clasped, had been peering out from the kitchen step. “We’re so very glad to see you.”
There was a smile in Sophy’s voice as she called, “I’ve brought you some gentlemen to feed, Mrs. Elliot. Not for supper, but for breakfast tomorrow.”
“That’s lovely, miss.” With reassurance at hand, Mrs. Elliot drew herself up and wrapped herself in dignity. “But in case you didn’t know, we’ve already got your cousin Charlie here, and he’s staying, so he’ll want to be fed as well.”
“Yes, I know. It’s Charlie I’ve come to have a word with. But first.” Sophy waved at Martin and Oliver and introduced them to Elliot, the butler-cum-caretaker, and Mrs. Elliot, the housekeeper.
Sophy described Martin and Oliver as friends who were helping her with the business, which resulted in them being enthusiastically welcomed.
“Mr. Charlie’s in the library, miss,” Elliot said. “I just lit the fire in there, and what with its popping and crackling, I doubt he would have heard the carriage arrive. He seems in something of a funk.”
“Does he, indeed?” Determination gleamed in Sophy’s eyes as she glanced at Martin. “I believe we should go and inquire of my dear cousin what’s so troubling him.”
Martin hadn’t previously seen her so aggressively intent. He waved into the house. “Lead on.”
Mrs. Elliot stepped out of the way, and Sophy led them inside. She walked briskly through a large country kitchen and along a tiled corridor, but paused before pushing through the swinging door at the corridor’s end. She glanced past Martin and Oliver at Elliot, who had followed close behind. “If we need anything, we’ll ring.”
“Yes, miss.” Elliot turned and drifted back.
Sophy faced forward and, with a militant set to her chin, pushed open the door and walked on into a pleasant, tiled front hall. She led the way around the base of the main stairs and down another long corridor that ran the length of that wing. A thick runner muffled their footsteps.
On reaching the door at the corridor’s end, she paused, drew in a deep breath, then opened the door and swept in.
Martin followed at her heels, and Oliver was just behind him. They crossed the threshold in time to see a younger gentleman, with a glass of brandy held loosely in one hand, lounging at his ease in a chair angled before the recently lit fire, look toward the door in sudden trepidation—nay, in fear.
He saw Sophy bearing down on him, and surprise and confusion overwrote the fear. “Sophy!” He set the glass down on a side table and rose, gaining his feet just as Sophy reached him.
“Don’t you ‘Sophy’ me!” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “What were you doing trying to get into the steelworks’ main office?” She folded her arms and rapped out, “Answer me, Charlie! Now!”
Charlie jerked as if she’d physically struck him. “Ah…” He glanced at Martin and Oliver, who were coming up to flank Sophy, but Charlie quickly refocused on the more dangerous personage directly before him. He eyed her warily.
