A Forgotten Murder (Medlar Mystery 3)

“I don’t need anything,” Puck managed to say. Her face was crimson with pleasure and embarrassment.

“How about a place to hide from your mother?”

At that delightful thought, Puck’s laugh rang out.

“I heard that!” Byon called from around the corner, then he tried—and failed—to replicate her laugh on the piano.

“Go!” Nicky said, and Puck began running.

She had a way to get to the stables so no one could see her from the house. She knew her mother kept watch. If Puck were seen, she’d be given more household chores to do. And if she said that she had to run an errand for Nicky, her mother would demand to see the papers Puck carried. Her mother would read them, then she’d talk to Nicky about them, then...

Puck didn’t want to follow that train of thought. If someone else got hold of the papers, she’d never be trusted again—and she liked being trusted. Liked having a job to do besides chopping onions.

She heard Nicky’s father before she saw him. She knew she was supposed to call him “my lord” but she’d never been able to make herself do it. When she was a toddler, she’d called him Bertie and he’d liked it. Her mother had forbidden her to continue using the name, but Puck hadn’t stopped. Around other people, she referred to him as “Nicky’s father.” In the evenings, when the man was mellow from too much drink, she still called him Bertie.

Diana and he were together, as usual. Both of them were horse mad.

One night Byon had done a parody of the two of them talking. It consisted of snorts and lip flutters and pawing at the earth. It ended with the stallion trying to mount the mare, but she was too strong for him. She much preferred the young stallion, who was played by Nicky.

They all applauded and laughed hard at the little play. It was Nadine who asked if Nicky was playing himself as the winning stallion or was it the dark, handsome groomsman?

Nicky had not liked that! It took work on Byon’s part to talk him back into a good mood.

Puck wasn’t supposed to have seen any of that. The parody had been played well past her bedtime, but it had been put on in the central hallway and there was a balcony running around the top, a place where she could easily hide. Puck sometimes wondered if Byon put his plays on there because he knew he had a wider audience. She wasn’t the only one who hid in the shadows to see his entertainments.

At the stables, she stood in the shadows and listened.

“He’s beautiful,” Diana said as she stroked the horse’s nose. She had a deep, throaty voice. She was midheight, sturdy, all muscle as she liked to say. Her hair was short and blond, and she was pretty, but in a “best pal” way. Nothing about her was like Nadine, which was probably why they were good friends. No competition.

“He is gorgeous!” Bertie said. “I wish

penny-pinching Clive could see that. Wish he could understand that a person has to spend money to make it. This boy is going to win! I can feel it.”

“You’re probably right,” Diana said. “He certainly has the proportions of a winner. Those legs are magnificent.”

Bertie gave a loud sigh. “Bringing you here is the best thing that son of mine has ever done.”

“Nicky is a good man,” Diana said. “He—”

“Spare me,” Bertie said. “My son only cares about the next song that fancy boy writes. Do you know where he’s from?”

“You mean Byon?” Diana asked. “In spite of his posh accent, I think he probably came from the same place I did. The slums of London.”

“I believe you’re right.” Bertie chuckled smugly. “But at least you don’t pretend to be someone else. He’s a liar.”

“Aren’t we all?” Diana stroked the horse. “So when do we race him?”

“In six weeks.”

“Then we have a lot of work to do to get him ready.”

“You and Sean?” Bertie’s voice was soft, sounding like love. He never spoke of his son in that tone. “Look at the time. I must go.” Bertie left.

When it was quiet, Puck stepped into the light. She didn’t like to think of her special spots as hiding places. To her, they were small areas of safety.

Acting as though she’d just entered, she went to Diana. Of course she was in a horse stall, pitchfork in hand. Byon said Diana put horse urine in tiny bottles and used it as perfume—and Nicky’s father had been so enraptured that he was planning to deed her half his kingdom. His thinly veiled meaning was that Bertram was going to give her his son.

Diana didn’t ask what Puck was holding out to her. She stabbed the fork upright and quickly read the papers. She took a pen out of her shirt pocket, made a couple of corrections, and handed the document back to Puck. “Get this to Clive ASAP. It should go out today. What are they up to?”