upon his private preserve. If he knew we had someone gathering information here behind his back, so to speak, he would be most displeased.”
Reluctantly, I agreed to say nothing.
“Hush now, I hear him coming. Not a word.”
“No sir, not a word.”
FOUR
In which Clarissa
proves herself a
reliable witness
T he conveyance in which we were taken to Sir Simon’s manor house was of an unusual, probably local design, the like of which I had never seen in the streets of London. It was a bit like a hackney coach, though so much smaller and lighter that only two could fit comfortably in its interior. As a result, there was naught for me but to take a perch upon the box beside Will Fowler.
From my brief acquaintance with the man, I deemed him one of good disposition and a ready tongue. Yet the grave nature of his errand had saddened and silenced him so that in spite of my best efforts, I was able to get little from him. Nonetheless, the little I did get surprised me much. As I now recall, we were well out of town when I made what must have been my third or fourth attempt to draw him out. He had up to then left my questions hanging unanswered inthe air, or at best responded with a gesture—a shrug or a shake of his shaggy head.
He had the horses moving along at a good pace so that it seemed we must be near the end of our journey. I expected the unmarked driveway into the great house to appear after the next turn of this winding road—or surely the next one after that. It was then, holding on to the seat grip for dear life, that I asked him (for the second time, I believe) who it was had been found dead.
Again he shrugged, but this time he added: ”One of the new men Sir Simon took on. Don’t know his name.”
“It’s certain he was murdered? Couldn’t have been an accident?”
“What kind of an accident leaves you with your throat cut?”
“Well … yes,” said I, in something less than a shout. ”I suppose it was murder then.”
“Course it was!” said he peevishly, punctuating his declaration with a rather fierce glance.
“Who found the body?” I was certain I hadn’t asked that before.
He said something then, but it was quite lost in the rattle of the wheels and the pounding of the horses’ hooves.
“What was that?”
He put his face to my ear and shouted: ”It was me—but the girl—I an’t sure of her name—she was also there.”
“You mean Clarissa?”
“Aye, that’s her. We was out—” He broke off and nodded ahead, reaching out at the same time to ease back on the brake. Then, taking the reins in both hands, he hauled them in. As we slowed sharply, I recognized the turn into the driveway just ahead. He made the turn with room to spare.
Clarissa! I reflected. Now, that was an astonishment. Had I but accepted Will Fowler’s invitation to tour the house and grounds, I would almost certainly have beenpresent at the discovery of the body. Indeed, I might even have been the one to find it, rather than she.
“You’ll hear all about it, I’m sure,” said he to me.
“I’m sure I will.”
Then, of a sudden, we came round a bend, with a meadow on our right, a fenced wood upon our left, and a male figure did leap from the wood into the road and begin waving his arms at us rather frantically. Fowler pulled back hard upon the reins, slowing the horses, and almost simultaneously gave another hard tug to the brake. Though it looked for a moment as if we might run the poor fellow down, we did manage to come to a halt just in time to save him (though I, reader, was nearly catapulted forward onto the neck of one of the lead horses).
“You all right?” asked Fowler.
I assured him I was. ”But … but what is the meaning of this? Who is this man?”
“I know not,” said he with a shake of his head.
Then did two more men emerge from the brushy wood; one of them I recognized as Sir Simon Grenville; the other was quite as unknown to me as the man in the driveway.
“Those two men
Reluctantly, I agreed to say nothing.
“Hush now, I hear him coming. Not a word.”
“No sir, not a word.”
FOUR
In which Clarissa
proves herself a
reliable witness
T he conveyance in which we were taken to Sir Simon’s manor house was of an unusual, probably local design, the like of which I had never seen in the streets of London. It was a bit like a hackney coach, though so much smaller and lighter that only two could fit comfortably in its interior. As a result, there was naught for me but to take a perch upon the box beside Will Fowler.
From my brief acquaintance with the man, I deemed him one of good disposition and a ready tongue. Yet the grave nature of his errand had saddened and silenced him so that in spite of my best efforts, I was able to get little from him. Nonetheless, the little I did get surprised me much. As I now recall, we were well out of town when I made what must have been my third or fourth attempt to draw him out. He had up to then left my questions hanging unanswered inthe air, or at best responded with a gesture—a shrug or a shake of his shaggy head.
He had the horses moving along at a good pace so that it seemed we must be near the end of our journey. I expected the unmarked driveway into the great house to appear after the next turn of this winding road—or surely the next one after that. It was then, holding on to the seat grip for dear life, that I asked him (for the second time, I believe) who it was had been found dead.
Again he shrugged, but this time he added: ”One of the new men Sir Simon took on. Don’t know his name.”
“It’s certain he was murdered? Couldn’t have been an accident?”
“What kind of an accident leaves you with your throat cut?”
“Well … yes,” said I, in something less than a shout. ”I suppose it was murder then.”
“Course it was!” said he peevishly, punctuating his declaration with a rather fierce glance.
“Who found the body?” I was certain I hadn’t asked that before.
He said something then, but it was quite lost in the rattle of the wheels and the pounding of the horses’ hooves.
“What was that?”
He put his face to my ear and shouted: ”It was me—but the girl—I an’t sure of her name—she was also there.”
“You mean Clarissa?”
“Aye, that’s her. We was out—” He broke off and nodded ahead, reaching out at the same time to ease back on the brake. Then, taking the reins in both hands, he hauled them in. As we slowed sharply, I recognized the turn into the driveway just ahead. He made the turn with room to spare.
Clarissa! I reflected. Now, that was an astonishment. Had I but accepted Will Fowler’s invitation to tour the house and grounds, I would almost certainly have beenpresent at the discovery of the body. Indeed, I might even have been the one to find it, rather than she.
“You’ll hear all about it, I’m sure,” said he to me.
“I’m sure I will.”
Then, of a sudden, we came round a bend, with a meadow on our right, a fenced wood upon our left, and a male figure did leap from the wood into the road and begin waving his arms at us rather frantically. Fowler pulled back hard upon the reins, slowing the horses, and almost simultaneously gave another hard tug to the brake. Though it looked for a moment as if we might run the poor fellow down, we did manage to come to a halt just in time to save him (though I, reader, was nearly catapulted forward onto the neck of one of the lead horses).
“You all right?” asked Fowler.
I assured him I was. ”But … but what is the meaning of this? Who is this man?”
“I know not,” said he with a shake of his head.
Then did two more men emerge from the brushy wood; one of them I recognized as Sir Simon Grenville; the other was quite as unknown to me as the man in the driveway.
“Those two men
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