*
‘Tamsyn, there is a carriage at the gate,’ Aunt Rosie called. ‘And a gentleman on a horse. Who on earth can it be?’
She jammed the rest of the flowers into the vase with more haste than care, whipped off her apron and threw open the front door. And there was Cris, who only ten minutes before had been upstairs while she had been filling vases at the foot of those stairs the entire time. She shot him a questioning glance as she approached, blinked at the sight of shirtsleeves and loose neckcloth, and blinked again when she saw the man dismounting from a raking bay horse. Presumably she was not dreaming and transported into some Minerva Press novel, so this was not a dashing gentleman highwayman. She took a deep, appreciative breath. Goodness, but he certainly looked like every fantasy of such a romantic character.
‘Mrs Perowne, may I introduce my friend, Mr Gabriel Stone.’ Cris gave her a very old-fashioned look as though he knew exactly what she thought of the newcomer. ‘I wrote to him on a business matter and did not make myself clear that posting the information would be sufficient.’
Mr Stone doffed his hat. ‘Mrs Perowne, my apologies for the intrusion. Just as soon as my coachman can work out how to turn the carriage on this track, we will be on our way.’
‘Mr Stone.’ She inclined her head in response to his half-bow. ‘Are you in haste, sir?’
‘No, ma’am, not at all.’
‘Then you must stay. If your man takes the carriage further down he can turn where the lane opens out to the beach. Then the stable yard is just up behind the house. Oh, I see Mr Defoe is already organising him.’
And Mr Defoe wants you to stay, now you are here. I wonder just what that matter of business is.
She turned towards the house, inviting the intriguing Mr Stone to follow her as Cris strode across the lawn to rejoin them.
‘If Miss Holt and Miss Pritchard are able to come to the door, I have a small gift for Miss Pritchard. I will go and fetch her a chair out to the porch.’ He was gone before she could ask what possible present could necessitate Aunt Rosie coming outside.
It took a few minutes for Michael to carry out a chair and for Aunt Rosie to be settled on it and introduced to Mr Stone. There was the sound of feet on the stones of the lane and then, completely incongruous in the wilds of the Devon coast, two burly men appeared carrying a sedan chair between them. Cris opened the gate and they marched across the lawn, deposited the chair in front of Aunt Rosie, opened the door between the shafts and whipped off their hats.
They were certainly an imposing pair in their dark-blue coats, black tricorns and sturdy boots. The sedan chair gleamed and the seat was deeply padded. ‘Would you care to try it, ma’am?’ the black-haired man enquired in a broad Irish accent.
‘Why…’ For a moment Aunt Rosie seemed lost for words. ‘Why, yes, I would. But we have no city pavements here, you will find it hard going.’
‘We’re from Bath, ma’am, and that has hills as steep as you’ll find anywhere and cobbles like walking on ice. We’re strong lads, that we are. We won’t drop you, ma’am.’
‘You brought them here?’ Tamsyn asked Mr Stone as they watched Michael and Cris help Aunt Rosie into the chair. He nodded as the men picked up the poles and set off smoothly around the lawn, then through the gate and off up the hill.
‘I’ll be able to go with her on my mare.’ Aunt Izzy ran across the grass and took Cris’s arm as he stood watching the chair’s progress up the lane. ‘We can go for picnics and Rosie can visit our friends again and go up on the clifftops. Oh, thank you, Mr Defoe.’
‘Mr Stone brought them,’ he said with a smile.
‘But you sent for them.’ Tamsyn joined them at the gate. ‘How long can they stay?’
‘The chair is yours to keep. Seamus and Patrick will stay until they’ve found you a pair of local men to train in their stead.’ He looked down at her, his face austere again. ‘They are very reliable
men, I can vouch for them. Very strong, honest. No harm will come to your aunts with them around.’
The chair was returning and Aunt Izzy ran out to join it. Tamsyn hardly noticed her going. ‘You sent for bodyguards,’ she said as the realisation struck.
‘That is a side benefit. I thought of the sedan chair when your aunt was saying how difficult it was to get around, then I remembered these two. Will it be a problem feeding them? They probably eat like bullocks.’
‘No, not at all, and there is space in the living quarters over the stables. But, Cris, you don’t truly believe we are in danger, do you?’
Mr Stone, who had strolled over to the wall to watch the progress of the chair, remarked, ‘Rider coming. Looks military.’
Cris joined him, leaving her question unanswered. The horseman reined in, his way blocked by the sedan chair, and even at that distance Tamsyn could see the colour in his face and the angry set of his mouth. He did not like being held up and neither did he seem to enjoy being stared at.
The chairmen came back into the garden, took the chair right up to the seat and began to help Aunt Rosie out. She and Izzy immediately broke into animated conversation, then fell silent as the stranger dismounted at the gate and strode in.
Around her Tamsyn was conscious of the men closing up. The two chairmen were standing in front of her aunts like a solid wall of muscle. Cris and Mr Stone flanked her. This was ridiculous. It was only one man, apparently on official business judging from his dark-blue tailcoat with insignia on the high collar and the naval sword at his side.
‘Sir?’
He halted in front of her and made a sketchy bow, lifting his tall hat as he did so. ‘Ma’am. I am looking for the householder.’