have let you walk, I imagine. I’d just dropped in here to say hello to Harry when we heard the shots.”
“And I take it you didn’t see a motorcar coming the other way?”
“No, but we cut across past the shearing shed from here,” Simpson said. “If they took the other lane…” He frowned. “We’d better let Wil know what’s happened, and inform the police I suppose.”
The gentle but persistent tapping woke him eventually. Reluctantly Rowland opened his eyes. It was barely light. It had been a late night, explaining the events to Wilfred and then the police, who seemed amused that he was reporting an assault upon his dog.
“Did the dog bark often at night? We find that disgruntled neighbours can often take matters into their own hands.”
Too tired to argue with what he concluded was the force’s most dim-witted constable, Rowland had let it go.
“Uncle Rowly, it’s me, Uncle Rowly.”
“Come in, Ernie.”
Wilfred’s elder son was still in his pyjamas.
“I came to check on… Lenin,” he said, whispering the dog’s name as if it were a profanity. Ernest tiptoed over to the chaise longue on which the injured hound had been settled.
“What are you doing out of bed, Ernie?” Rowland asked, as the boy scrutinised the dog anxiously.
“Is he alive, Uncle Rowly?”
“Of course—he’s just asleep.”
“I was worried,” Ernest said, climbing onto Rowland’s bed. “I heard Aunt Lucy crying and then Mummy started crying too.”
Rowland groaned. “That probably wasn’t about Lenin, Ernie.”
“Was it about you, Uncle Rowly?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you get shot too?”
“No, not this time.”
“Have you fallen out with Aunt Lucy?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Realising that going back to sleep was probably not an option, Rowland sat up. “Would you keep an eye on Lenin while I get dressed?” he asked his nephew.
Ernest nodded, slipping off the bed to take up a vigil beside the slumbering hound. By the time Rowland had showered and dressed, the Sinclairs’ nanny was searching for her missing charge. Charlotte de Waring had joined the Oaklea household only recently, after the family returned from abroad. Knowing his brother’s preference for a certain moral severity in his staff, Rowland assumed that Kate must have selected the pleasant, loquacious young woman.
He watched, amused, as the nanny tried valiantly to invoke some sense of authority and control. “Ernest!” she exclaimed when the boy emerged from his uncle’s room. “Whatever are you thinking going visiting in your pyjamas?”
“Uncle Rowly was in his pyjamas, too!” Ernest replied.
“It was five in the morning!” Rowland protested. “I was asleep.”
“Why, you cheeky devil!” The nanny folded her arms in a manner designed to appear stern, and scolded Ernest in a tone too kind to have any disciplinary effect at all. “You can’t be calling on a gentleman at that time!”
Rowland laughed. “Ernie was just keeping an eye on Len while I dressed,” he said. “It was very thoughtful of him.”
Ernest nodded solemnly.
Nanny de Waring’s round, wholesome face softened. “Oh, yes… how is the poor creature, Mr. Sinclair? Mrs. Kendall has cooked up some bacon for its breakfast, I believe.”
“I’m sure Len will make a complete recovery, Miss de Waring, particularly if there’s bacon involved.” Rowland moved back so she could see the hound. The nanny stepped past him to the chaise and knelt to fuss over the patient.
Lenin played his part, lifting his muzzle weakly to offer her a feeble lick.
“Poor, sweet puppy,” she said stroking his head softly. “Who would do such a terrible thing?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea, Miss de Waring.”
“Well, I must say that I can’t think of anything more wicked than trying to murder an innocent animal!” The nanny placed her hands on her hips. “I hope they catch the scoundrel, Mr. Sinclair. Lord knows what he’ll shoot
“And I take it you didn’t see a motorcar coming the other way?”
“No, but we cut across past the shearing shed from here,” Simpson said. “If they took the other lane…” He frowned. “We’d better let Wil know what’s happened, and inform the police I suppose.”
The gentle but persistent tapping woke him eventually. Reluctantly Rowland opened his eyes. It was barely light. It had been a late night, explaining the events to Wilfred and then the police, who seemed amused that he was reporting an assault upon his dog.
“Did the dog bark often at night? We find that disgruntled neighbours can often take matters into their own hands.”
Too tired to argue with what he concluded was the force’s most dim-witted constable, Rowland had let it go.
“Uncle Rowly, it’s me, Uncle Rowly.”
“Come in, Ernie.”
Wilfred’s elder son was still in his pyjamas.
“I came to check on… Lenin,” he said, whispering the dog’s name as if it were a profanity. Ernest tiptoed over to the chaise longue on which the injured hound had been settled.
“What are you doing out of bed, Ernie?” Rowland asked, as the boy scrutinised the dog anxiously.
“Is he alive, Uncle Rowly?”
“Of course—he’s just asleep.”
“I was worried,” Ernest said, climbing onto Rowland’s bed. “I heard Aunt Lucy crying and then Mummy started crying too.”
Rowland groaned. “That probably wasn’t about Lenin, Ernie.”
“Was it about you, Uncle Rowly?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you get shot too?”
“No, not this time.”
“Have you fallen out with Aunt Lucy?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Realising that going back to sleep was probably not an option, Rowland sat up. “Would you keep an eye on Lenin while I get dressed?” he asked his nephew.
Ernest nodded, slipping off the bed to take up a vigil beside the slumbering hound. By the time Rowland had showered and dressed, the Sinclairs’ nanny was searching for her missing charge. Charlotte de Waring had joined the Oaklea household only recently, after the family returned from abroad. Knowing his brother’s preference for a certain moral severity in his staff, Rowland assumed that Kate must have selected the pleasant, loquacious young woman.
He watched, amused, as the nanny tried valiantly to invoke some sense of authority and control. “Ernest!” she exclaimed when the boy emerged from his uncle’s room. “Whatever are you thinking going visiting in your pyjamas?”
“Uncle Rowly was in his pyjamas, too!” Ernest replied.
“It was five in the morning!” Rowland protested. “I was asleep.”
“Why, you cheeky devil!” The nanny folded her arms in a manner designed to appear stern, and scolded Ernest in a tone too kind to have any disciplinary effect at all. “You can’t be calling on a gentleman at that time!”
Rowland laughed. “Ernie was just keeping an eye on Len while I dressed,” he said. “It was very thoughtful of him.”
Ernest nodded solemnly.
Nanny de Waring’s round, wholesome face softened. “Oh, yes… how is the poor creature, Mr. Sinclair? Mrs. Kendall has cooked up some bacon for its breakfast, I believe.”
“I’m sure Len will make a complete recovery, Miss de Waring, particularly if there’s bacon involved.” Rowland moved back so she could see the hound. The nanny stepped past him to the chaise and knelt to fuss over the patient.
Lenin played his part, lifting his muzzle weakly to offer her a feeble lick.
“Poor, sweet puppy,” she said stroking his head softly. “Who would do such a terrible thing?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea, Miss de Waring.”
“Well, I must say that I can’t think of anything more wicked than trying to murder an innocent animal!” The nanny placed her hands on her hips. “I hope they catch the scoundrel, Mr. Sinclair. Lord knows what he’ll shoot
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