They both gave their attention to the wider conversation, just as it broke up.
Exchanging nods, smiles, and wishes to meet again soon, they parted. As Charles steered her into the crowd, Penny sank her fingertips into his arm. “What did you learn?”
“If Carmichael isn’t seriously considering offering for Imogen’s hand, then he’s the best actor I’ve ever come across. Incidentally, although she didn’t say so, Mrs. Cranfield was grateful to you for distracting Harriet. I gathered Harriet isn’t pleased that Imogen has found such a suitable parti.”
“That’s Harriet. It’s not as if Netherby’s anything to sneeze at, not for the Cranfields.”
“Indeed. However, I think we can drop Carmichael to the bottom of our list of likely murderers. While it’s possible he’s using his pursuit of Imogen as a cover for more nefarious activities, Mrs. Cranfield implied he’d been dangling for nearly a year, albeit at a distance.”
“Ah…that would explain Imogen’s distraction. She’s been dithering on the edge of happiness for months, certainly since late last year.”
Charles nodded and guided her on. A moment later, he said, “There’s Swaley, coming out of the Guildhall.”
From within the milling crowd they watched as the neat, severely garbed Swaley paused on the steps. His gaze was on the crowd, but he didn’t appear to see them. Then, as if making some decision, he went smartly down the rest of the steps and briskly headed down one side of the square.
“I wonder where he’s off to?”
A rhetorical question; they followed him at a decent distance. Both tall, they had little difficulty seeing over heads as without haste they weaved their way to the crowd’s edge.
Swaley continued down the street toward the river.
Charles lifted Penny’s hand and wound her arm more definitely with his. If Swaley glanced back, he would see the pair of them ambling like lovers stealing away to stroll beside the river.
Swaley never looked back. He marched down to Quay Street and turned along it. They reached the corner just in time to see him pause and look up at another imposing building, then enter it.
They halted. “Well, well,” Charles murmured. “That explains Swaley, and also his reluctance to discuss his business in our fair neighborhood.”
The building Swaley had entered had originally housed the old Stannary courts from where the laws governing tin-mining in the surrounding districts had been administered for centuries.
“All the records are still there, aren’t they?” Penny asked.
“Indeed. I heard that some older mines to the west thought worked out have been reopened using new techniques. Swaley’s presumably interested in scouting out the nearer claims.”
They turned and started back to the market square.
“I wonder if Lord Trescowthick knows of Swaley’s interest?”
Charles shrugged. “Swaley went to the Guildhall first, rather than direct to the old courts, which suggests he hasn’t inquired of his host.”
Regaining the square, they paused to take stock, scanning the heads.
“If Swaley’s interest is in reopening tin mines, he seems an unlikely candidate for murdering Gimby.”
“True.” Charles resettled
her hand on his sleeve. “I can see the Essingtons—not her ladyship, thank heaven—and Yarrow is with them.”
He steered Penny toward the group clustered before a stall selling embroidered linens.
“Mr. Yarrow’s convalesence seems to be progressing well,” Penny murmured. “I wonder if he rode over?”
She asked him. Once they’d met and exchanged greetings, she mentioned that she and Charles had ridden over from Wallingham, commented on the lovely ride, and used the moment to inquire if Mr. Yarrow, too, had enjoyed the journey that day.
His hard hazel eyes held hers. “Sadly, no. I fear I’m still less than at full strength. But perhaps, later in my stay, you might consent to show me the beauty spots of the area? I understand you remain here throughout the year?”
Too late, the quality of Yarrow’s intent gaze registered; Penny inwardly cursed, but had to answer, “Yes, of course. There are many wonderful places…I recall Lady Essington mentioned your home was in Derbyshire. Will Mrs. Yarrow be joining you?”
Yarrow glanced down. “I regret my wife passed on some years ago. I have a young son.” He looked up, surveying their surroundings. “After this last bout of ill health, I’m considering relocating to this district. I hear the grammar school is well regarded?”