Colin sighed and muttered, “Of course he did . . .”
“What was that?” Thora asked sharply. “I will not hear a word against Walter Talbot.”
“I would not dare, believe me.” Colin shook his head. “You save your criticism for me. ‘Colin, you charged Mr. Sanders the wrong fare. Talbot always charged him the lower rate.’” He repeated her words in an uncomfortably familiar tone. “‘Colin, why must you make two trips? Talbot could carry half a dozen valises at once.’ ‘Colin, why on earth did you put Mr. Peterson in room four? I’ve told you we always put him in number six.’”
“Well, it’s true,” Thora defended. “He snores unbelievably, and there’s a linen cupboard there to muffle the sound. That was Talbot’s idea too.”
Colin threw up his hands. “Talbot this. Talbot that. I get it. He was the perfect head porter and manager. And I will never be half as good. No one shall. You will never be happy with any other man.”
Thora blinked, taken aback by the outburst from the usually mild-mannered young man.
Colin stalked out, and a moment later Bertha Rooke appeared in the doorway, a knowing light in her eye. She’d no doubt overheard everything.
She leaned her bulky shoulder against the doorframe and said, “He’s right, you know. You’re too hard on him. Isn’t his fault he’s not Walter Talbot. God made only one, and we are not likely to see his equal again.”
Thora rose. She’d had enough. But before she could send the impertinent cook away, Bertha held up a beefy palm and cut her off.
“I know it’s not my place, but I also know from Sadie and Martha Bushby that you’ve been spendin’ a fair deal of time with our Mr. Talbot lately. Gettin’ his hopes up again. If you’re never going to accept him, tell him so in no uncertain terms, so he’ll give up waitin’. Then someone else might have a chance with him. There aren’t enough men to go around since the war, and certainly not good, hardworking, respectable men like Walter Talbot.”
“I did tell him.”
Bertha frowned. “What? You refused him?”
She nodded.
“Thora Bell! I thought you were cleverer than that.”
“Bertha Rooke, watch your tongue.”
“Go ahead—give me the sack if you want. None of us will have a job here for long, so why not speak my mind if it might do some good? Though it appears I spoke too late.”
“Yes, you are too late, so go about your own business and leave me to mine. We don’t want supper to be late as well.”
The cook went off in a huff, but Thora felt no triumph for putting her in her place.
Instead her stomach soured and churned with the realization that Colin and Bertha were probably right. Is it too late?
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
They were not ready, but Saturday morning dawned anyway. As the sun spilled its light over the inn rooftop and into the courtyard, Gabriel Locke and the ostlers were already up and practicing again.
Jane came out to watch, antsy and nervous as the contest drew closer. The men completed another change and looked expectantly at Gabriel.
He frowned down at his pocket watch. Tension emanated from his taut stance and dark glower.
Jane waited, fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms. “Well?”
“Still not good enough.” He looked at the men. “You have improved—don’t mistake me—but we still have not mastered it.”
Tuffy rubbed the back of his scrawny neck. “Show me again, Gable. If I see you do it just one more time, maybe I’ll get it right.”
“Very well.”
They ran through it again, Gabriel demonstrating Tuffy’s role. He worked with impressive speed. Tuffy watched, head bobbing, eyes alight trying to follow his every move, knobby hands mimicking his actions.
Afterward, Gabriel called to his team, “Take a rest, lads. We’ll start again in ten minutes.”
Tall Ted and Joe nodded and slogged across the yard to the water pump.
Jane planted her hands on her hips. “Now is not the time to rest. The contest is this afternoon!”
“I know it is, Jane,” Gabriel snapped. “Your reminding us of that fact every five minutes is not helping.”
Jane reared her head back at his sharp tone. Clearly nerves and tension were running high all around.
“Gable, why don’t you take my place in the contest?” Tuffy said, walking near. “I don’t mind, and you’re so much faster. I’m getting too old for sport like this.”
Gabriel clapped his shoulder. “You’re the ostler, Tuffy. You can do it.”
Jane said quietly, “You are a Bell horseman, Mr. Locke. It wouldn’t break any rules.”
Gabriel shook his head. “I am only the trainer.”
The Royal Mail arrived, and as the men hurried to change an authentic mail coach, Jane backed out of the way, wishing there was more she could do to help. The roles she, Colin, Mrs. Rooke, and Bobbin would play were relatively easy, and their times were already good. It would all come down to the horsemen.
Patrick came out, and after taking care of his duties, approached Jane and handed her a letter. “This came for you.”
“Thank you.” Jane did not recognize the feminine handwriting. The sender had written the direction very poorly indeed. But her own name was clear enough.
Jane unfolded the page, and unfolded again. Secured within was a small newspaper clipping, accompanied by a few handwritten lines.
After your visit, I began digging through Goldie’s piles of old newspapers (She doesn’t throw anything away!) to see what, if anything, had been reported about Mr. John. Here’s all I found. I thought you’d want to see it.
—Hetty
Jane held up the clipping and read.
Fatal Carriage Found
A carriage matching the description of one involved in a collision in May, which resulted in the death of one man, a John Bell of Ivy Hill, Wilts., was found abandoned in the woods near Epsom. Authorities traced it to a local inn. The driver had hired the carriage earlier that day, paid cash in advance, then failed to return the vehicle. He has not been found or identified. Authorities suspect he may have given the innkeeper a false name. Anyone with information about the driver is asked to come forward.
Jane’s stomach twisted, her thoughts confused and alarmed. She looked up to find Gabriel watching her.
“What is it?” he asked.
She walked toward him and handed him the clipping. “They found the carriage that killed John. Abandoned in the woods.”
He said nothing as he read the clipping. His silence drew her attention, and she studied his face with growing suspicion. “You already knew, didn’t you.”
“I . . . heard something about it in Epsom, after you left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “They still haven’t found the driver. There really wasn’t anything new to tell.”
“Nothing new?” she asked incredulously and snatched back the clipping. “It says the driver hired the carriage under a false name that very day.”
He nodded. “Several witnesses had described the coach, and after it was found, they were able to identify it as the one involved in the accident.”
“Accident? You want me to believe that a man hired a carriage under a false name and then just happened to run into my husband at speed sufficient to kill him?”
He momentarily met her gaze, then lowered his eyes. “He may have hired the coach for some other nefarious purpose and John simply got in the way when he made his escape.”
She slowly shook her head, temper sparking. “No, that isn’t what you think happened. I can see it in your face. You think someone intentionally killed John, don’t you.”
He winced. “No one knows for certain. But it is possible.”
“How long have you suspected? This clipping isn’t dated, but it’s not recent.”
“I heard rumors shortly afterward, but nothing concrete.”
“Then wh
y did you let me believe otherwise?” She waved the clipping. “Why must I learn this now, more than a year later, from a relative stranger?”
Gabriel glanced across the yard and noticed the ostlers were looking their way. “Shh . . . lower your voice, Jane.”
“I will not! I find out my husband was not killed in an unfortunate accident but may have been intentionally run down, and I am supposed to be quiet?”
He laid a hand on her sleeve. “Hush.”
She jerked her arm away. “Don’t hush me, Mr. Locke. You have no right. I thought I could trust you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wouldn’t have brought John back. And I thought it would only add to your pain.”
She remembered in Epsom, when he’d said he felt guilty about John’s death, as if it had been his fault. Surely Gabriel had nothing to do with it. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
His jaw tensed.
“Who would want to hurt a small-town innkeeper, and why?” she demanded, her eyes locked on his.
He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face. “We don’t have time for this now, Jane. Let’s deal with it later. At the moment, you should be making sure you, Colin, and Mrs. Rooke are ready to do your parts.”
Jane shook her head. “Has this something to do with John’s loan—the missing money? Are you keeping secrets about that too?”
“There is no missing money!” Gabriel growled.
Jane recoiled as though she’d been slapped. Across the yard, Tall Ted, Tuffy, and Joe turned abruptly and gaped at them.
Gabriel grimly led Jane into the stable block and lowered his voice. “Jane, I don’t know where you got the idea that John hid that money somewhere, but it isn’t true. He spent it. Every last farthing. Gambled it away on horse races.”
Jane sucked in a breath. “What . . . ?”
He nodded tersely. “That’s what took him to Epsom. As well as Newmarket and Brighton and Bath.”
“But . . . he came to see you. About buying horses.”
“Initially, maybe. But then we decided to attend the races together. John knew I had a good eye for horses, and bet as I did. We both made money at first, and it went to our heads. After that, John kept seeking me out at different races, wanting my help in picking the horses to bet on. Some of my picks won, some didn’t—I am no fortune teller. John began losing money. A lot of money. I lost too, but eventually stopped wagering. I tried to convince John to stop as well. But he was certain he would recoup his losses if he just had more funds, and neither you nor his mother would have to be any the wiser. When the loan money was gone, he borrowed more from the wrong man. A man who does not forgive unpaid debts.”
“Are you saying this man killed John?”
“I can’t prove it, but it seems likely.”
“Who is this man?”
“I don’t know his name. Just his type.”
“But why kill John? Now he will never get his money back.”
“My guess is, when he realized he would probably never get paid, he retaliated. To send a message to other debtors, I imagine. Pay up or pay fatal consequences.”
“But you were John’s friend. Could you not help him?”
Pain flashed across his face. “I tried, but John would not heed me. I warned him not to return to Epsom. That it was dangerous. But he went anyway. I asked for the name of the gullgroper who’d loaned him the money and how much he was in for, but John refused to tell me—refused my help. He was a proud man.”
“Proud?!” Jane bitterly spat out the word.
“Jane . . .” He laid a consoling hand on her arm. “John was not a bad man. He was just . . . weak in this one way.”
Jane shook her head. “And you knew all the while, and didn’t tell me? All this time, questioning Blomfield, and searching, and wondering, and trying to save this place for John’s sake, when he was ready to gamble it all away?”
“You’re not saving it for him, Jane. You’re saving it for yourself, and all those who work for you.”
Jane jerked away from his hand. “You should have told me the truth. Instead you lied and pretended to be someone you’re not. A simple farrier with his own Thoroughbred, a fine watch, and a bank account in Wishford? How stupid I am.”
“You were already grieving. I thought the truth would make things worse. Why do you think I’ve been wracked with guilt and got out of racehorses altogether? Why do you think I came here to help?”
“Help?” She snorted, shaking her head. “You’re too late to help—John is dead. And if your help comes in the form of lying and deceit, I don’t want it. I don’t want a man I can’t trust living on my doorstep.” Another thought struck her. “How do I even know any of this is true, when you lied about everything else?”
Jane whirled and ran to the lodge, slamming the door behind her and securing the new lock Gabriel had installed himself. Irony struck her, for one brief second overriding her shock and grief. Thing probably doesn’t even work. . . .
Then in the next moment, another wave of horror washed all other thoughts aside. She sat on the edge of her bed and hid her face in her hands. Emotions pummeled her. Betrayal. Disappointment. Anger. Humiliation. Her husband—a gambler. A liar. A deceiver. What was wrong with her that she was drawn to the wrong men? Men she could not or should not trust? She’d been on the cusp of trusting Gabriel Locke, only to discover he was a liar too.
Someone knocked at her door, but Jane didn’t answer. Instead she lay down and pulled a pillow over her head.
Sometime later, Jane awoke, realizing she had cried herself to sleep. She rose and washed her face. As she patted it dry with a towel, she resisted the urge to bury her face in it and go back to bed, to stay hidden in the lodge and avoid everyone, especially Mr. Locke.
But now that the worst of the shock had faded and heated anger had cooled, she admitted to herself that Mr. Locke’s revelation about where the money had gone was all too believable.
Jane inhaled deeply and steeled her resolve. She didn’t need to hide her face, she told herself. Hopefully no one had overheard what John had done, and the likely truth of how he had died. She would deal with Gabriel Locke later. How, she did not know. But first, they had to get ready for the contest.
Mr. Locke had been right about one thing. She wasn’t trying to save the inn for John. Apparently, she had to save it from John, for the sake of all who depended on The Bell.
Jane walked outside and looked around the yard, frowning at the lack of activity. Why were they not practicing? Where was Gabriel Locke?
The men stood around, Tall Ted leaning against the stable door. “Gable’s gone, ma’am.”
“Gone?” Jane asked, heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean he’s gone?”
“After you and he had your . . . em . . . disagreement, he packed up and left.”
“Dash it,” Jane breathed.
Young Joe shook his head. “Not like Gable to run off. Musta been some fight.”
Ted pulled a face. “I don’t see how we’re going to win without him.”
“We can’t,” Tuffy said. “We’ve got no chance without him.”
“Of course we can,” Jane said desperately. “You’re the ostlers.”
Ted’s eyes downturned. “But he’s our leader.”
Oh, what have I done? Jane silently lamented, gripping her hands. He’s the one who lied or at least withheld the truth, she reminded herself. I won’t go chasing after him. I won’t.
Patrick came out of the inn and stood on the back porch, arms crossed. “The contest begins in one hour, Jane.”
“Thank you, Patrick, for that helpful report.” She gave him a sour smile, then turned to Tuffy. “Did you see which way he went?”
“Aye, ma’am. Toward Wishford.”
Jane huffed. Of course. It was always Wishford.
She had not intended to send Gabriel away. She had been shocked and angry, but primarily with John. She had not really meant it when she’d said
she did not want him there.
Jane paced. Through the archway, she noticed activity in the High Street. The Fairmont team was beginning to assemble. Around her, the ostlers and postillions stuffed hands into their pockets or shifted, exchanging grave looks.
Jane turned to the slight postillion—young, but an excellent rider. “Joe, take our fastest horse, and use the bridle path to cut across the meadow to reach the Wishford Road. Find Gabriel and ask him to return directly.”
The young man’s eyebrows rose. “I couldn’t. Our fastest horse is Athena, and she don’t like me.”
Tall Ted stepped forward and said gently, “Why not go yourself, Mrs. Bell, and ask him soft-like? I know he’ll come back then. Gable is a true gentleman that way.”
A gentleman? Jane inwardly fumed, who lies and pretends to be someone he’s not? But she stifled the words, remembering these men looked up to Gabriel as their leader. To win, he would need the full confidence of his men.
She paced again, thinking, I will not beg him.
“Forty minutes, Jane,” Patrick said with a sly, satisfied smile. “Unless you prefer to concede now and have it over and done.”
Jane bit her lip to stem the tears burning her eyes. She was tempted to throw up her hands. Why bother to try with so many men against her: Mr. Drake, Mr. Blomfield, Mr. Hightower, Patrick, and now Gabriel as well?
Out of the inn stepped a timid Alwena, followed by Cadi, Dotty, and Mrs. Rooke, face lined in concern. Then came Ned, the potboy, and Bobbin. They all stood, solemnly. Looking at her. Waiting for her to make a decision. To save them.
“Oh, very well!” Jane exclaimed. “I’ll go. Saddle Athena quickly.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The ostlers leapt into action. Even old Tuffy moved with surprising speed to help saddle and bridle the horse. They clearly believed their fate rested in Gabriel’s capable hands. And at the moment, Jane could not disagree.
A few minutes later, Tuffy led out Athena, her ears back and eyes wide at the gathered crowd and commotion. Jane briefly held her head and whispered, “Don’t fail me now, girl.”