Death at Dawn by Caro Peacock Page A

be holding a reception or ball in the next few weeks, and it would be very useful to us to know the guest list in advance. You will also inform me of the comings and goings of Sir Herbert himself and his family.’
    ‘How am I to inform you?’
    ‘Wait here for two days. Either I shall come and see you again, or instructions will be sent to you.’
    As the candle flame steadied, I saw satisfaction on his face – and was pleased to be able to erase it instantly.
    ‘I said there were two conditions.’
    ‘What else?’
    ‘I have inherited a mare from my father. If you can arrange and pay for her stabling at some place convenient to Ascot, I shall do as you suggest. If not, then I refuse your proposition.’
    ‘A governess with a horse?’
    He almost lost his self-possession. You could see him grabbing at the tail of it like some small animal bolting, and wrestling it back under his black jacket.
    ‘A spy with a horse,’ I said. ‘That’s different.’
    He thought about it for half a minute or so.
    ‘Very well, I accept your condition. If you will let me know where the mare is, I shall arrange …’
    ‘No. Find a stables and I’ll make the arrangements.’
    We glared at each other. Then he said, ‘Three days, in that case. Do not move from here. For necessary expenses…’
    He picked up his hat from the wash-stand, clinked something down in its place, and went. As the door closed behind him I saw a handful of coins glinting in the candlelight. Ten sovereigns. I sorely needed them, but it was some time before I could bring myself to pick them up.
    *
    Three days passed. When he’d ordered me not to move, I don’t know whether he meant the town of Dover or my room at the inn. It didn’t matter in any case, since I had no intention of staying imprisoned. I slept, ate, walked by the sea, slept and ate again. The landlord had become polite now that I’d paid my reckoning to date and let him see the flash of sovereigns in my purse. Chops and cutlets, eggs, ham and claret were all at my disposal, so I made the best of them. I was like somebody cast up on a sandbank, with stormy seas in front and behind; it may have been only a short and precarious rest, but it was precious for all that. In my wandering round the town I kept an eye open for Trumper but saw no sign of him and hoped he was still on the far side of the Channel. Several times I was tempted to take the road out of town and visit Esperance and Amos Legge, but made myself defer that pleasure until I had news for them. It came on Saturday evening. A knock at my door and the landlord’s voice.
    ‘Letter for you, miss, just come.’
    I opened the door only wide enough to receive it and took it over to the window. The paper and the writing were stiff and formal, like the man who’d sent it, the message very much to the point.
    Miss Lane ,
    The mare may be sent to the Silver Horseshoe livery stables on the western side of Ascot Heath. The manager of the stables, Coleman, has agreed to pass on your letters to me, which should be addressed to Mr Blackstone, care of 3 Paper Buildings, Inner Temple. You will present yourself at 16 Store Street, near the new British Museum, on Monday. Ask for Miss Bodenham and act according to her instructions .
    Early on Sunday morning I walked to the stables in sweet air between hay fields, with choirs of skylarks carolling overhead. Amos Legge was looking in at Esperance, leaning over the half door. He turned when he heard my step and gave a great open smile that did my heart good because it was so different from the man in black.
    ‘Just given Rancie her breakfast, I have.’
    She was munching from a bucket of oats and soaked bran, the black cat looking down at her from the hay manger.
    ‘I’ve found a place for her,’ I said.
    I’d expected him to be pleased, but his face fell.
    ‘Where’s that then, miss?’
    ‘The Silver Horseshoe, on the west side of Ascot Heath. You can take her there in the bull’s cart, then