Page 44 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
She chuckled. “You just witnessed Miss Flibbertigibbet in action.”
“Ah—I see.” He replayed the curate’s words, then offered, “From what the curate let fall, I suspect The Barbarian hasn’t passed this way.”
“He hasn’t. The men were adamant, and they most certainly would have noticed. They struck me as the sort to grasp any excuse to pause in their work.”
Nicholas didn’t sigh, but he sensed she did, inside at least. “Let’s head back to the inn. Perhaps one of the others has had better luck.”
As they rode on in companionable accord, he reflected that their adventures of the morning in pursuit of The Barbarian had got them past the awkwardness of rediscovering how to interact in the wake of that startling—amazing, searing, mind-numbing—kiss.
He hadn’t forgotten it and doubted she had, either, but they hadn’t had time to dwell on it; the succession of events had kept them moving forward, and any tension between them had dissipated.
They reached the Turk’s Head to find that none of the others had returned as yet. Given the time, those having to venture farther afield would likely have stopped for a bite to eat somewhere.
Accepting that, they called for a late luncheon, which they consumed in the private parlor.
Addie reined in her impatience and told herself she had to eat, to keep up her strength for what was plainly going to be a far longer and more wearying chase than she’d anticipated.
She tried to look on the bright side—or to find a bright side to look upon—but in that, she wasn’t all that successful.
Beside her, Nicholas ate calmly, methodically working his way through the platters.
She viewed his stoicism with mixed feelings; one part of her resented the way he could remain so steady and steadfast and not fall prey to incipient despondency as she did, while another increasingly larger part of her was grateful for his rocklike solidity. He was fast becoming the anchor for their entire company and for her in particular.
The serving girls were clearing the last of the empty plates when a stir outside the door was followed by Rory, Jed, and Mike looking in.
Addie beckoned. “Come and share your news.”
Rory led the other two into the room. “Not much to share. None of us found anyone who’d seen The Barbarian being led past.”
“Nor us, either.” Dickie came through the open door, followed by Young Gillies.
As Young Gillies held the door for the last of the serving girls, then shut it behind her, Dickie sighed and came forward to claim one of the chairs at the table.
Addie glanced at the clock. It was already after three.
Dickie looked across the table at Nicholas. “So we’ve wasted another day with nothing to show for it.”
Nicholas held her brother’s gaze and arched a brow. “Not quite.” He rose and fetched the map they’d used the previous evening for their planning session. He unrolled it over the table, and Addie and Dickie weighed down the corners with the various pots of condiments the serving girls had left.
The grooms and stablemen gathered around as, still standing, Nicholas looked down at the map. “Let’s see what we’ve learned.”
He pointed to the Burton road. “At the carters’ yards, we found two independent witnesses who are certain The Barbarian did not pass that way. So he wasn’t taken out of town on that road.” His finger shifted to the Riseholme road leading directly north from the town. “And here, we found a work gang with a cleric supervising, and no one in the group had seen any such horse go past, and as they were digging out a culvert right by the road, they would have noticed.”
Nicholas straightened. “So now we know that the horse was definitely not taken out of town along those two roads, either by the thief or anyone else.” He glanced at the others and arched a brow. “What did you learn along the other roads?” He pointed to the road that led southwest. “What about this one—the Tritton road? Jed, that was you, wasn’t it?”
Jed bobbed his head and reported that he’d found a livestock yard out along the road with lads manning the gates. “They was perched on the gateposts, watching everyone go back and forth. They said they’re there every workday, and they haven’t seen any horse like The Barbarian.”
Nicholas shifted focus to the roads heading east, then northeast. One by one, each road was reported on and accounted for by one or other of their party.
Finally, they came to the road on which their party had ridden into town. Dickie, who, with Rory, had searched along there, said, “We retraced our steps via Melville Street and across the bridge over the Witham, then followed the road around the common. Beside the road there, we came across a team of woodcutters, cutting and trimming felled trees. They were absolutely certain The Barbarian hadn’t passed them, and they’d been in that spot since Thursday morning.”
“But they weren’t there when we rode past yesterday afternoon,” Rory said, “else we would have asked them then, but apparently, they were on the road itself, delivering some of the wood they’d cut and dressed to a depot along the road closer to the town. Long story short, when we put everything together, they were somewhere along that road—either beside it where they were cutting the trees, or on the road itself in their dray, or at the depot, which is right by the roadside—since Thursday morning until now.”
“And,” Dickie concluded, “they hadn’t seen The Barbarian at any time, going into or out of town. It seems certain that if he had passed them, they would have noticed.”
Adriana pulled a face. “That sounds definite enough.”
Rory glanced at the others. “A bit farther along, that road forks, one arm being the road we came up on and the other heading down to Sleaford.” He looked at Nicholas. “Seems the thief didn’t go either way, up or down. Not if he didn’t pass those woodcutters.”
