Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (best books for 20 year olds TXT) 📕

know what to think. And what with you visiting friends.’

‘What? I did not...’ He paused. ‘What friends?’

‘My poor lamb,’ Marta repeated, not answering his question. ‘I just did not know what to do. At my wits’ end, I was.’

‘I am here now,’ he said bracingly. ‘I can help.’

‘I hope so. But Mrs Ludlow thinks—’ She stopped herself, her eyes round and her lips pressed into a tight line, as though to force herself into silence. Indeed, she did not seem entirely sensible. All colour had drained from her face except for her eyes, red rimmed from crying. Her hair was in wild disarray and her hands were clasped together while her teeth worried at her upper lip.

‘Perhaps if you tell me what is happening...’

‘Not here.’ Marta rolled her eyes towards the butler in a manner which made him worry again for her sanity.

‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I take your point. Besides, I need to bathe. Marta, you must calm yourself. Please go to the library and wait for me. I will talk to you before going to the magistrate and I am certain we can sort the matter out.’

His firm tone had the desired effect. The woman’s breathing slowed somewhat. She nodded, taking out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

‘Northrupt.’ He turned to the butler, inordinately pleased that he had recalled the man’s name. ‘Perhaps we can arrange for a calming cup of tea to be served in the library? And get Banks to come up to my bedchamber immediately.’

His valet proved more coherent, but no more enlightening. Sam peppered Banks with questions while he prepared the bath, but the answers were not entirely helpful.

‘You had given me the evening off, sir,’ Banks explained.

‘Very generous and not particularly good timing,’ Sam muttered, throwing the tattered cravat and soiled shirt into a corner.

‘You wanted me to see if I could find any local gossip about Mr and Mrs Ludlow. You were worried about Mrs Ludlow.’

‘And?’

‘I went to the tavern. Apparently, Mrs Ludlow hardly leaves the house. Mr Ludlow, on the other hand, leaves the house frequently. He spends much time drinking, gambling and spending.’

‘Any rumours about criminal activities?’

‘I am afraid the locals are somewhat tight-lipped on that subject,’ Banks said.

‘So Jason is currently presumed dead. What did they make of my own disappearance?’

‘Nothing, my lord. No one knew you had disappeared. Mr Northrupt merely told me as how you was up early requesting a horse to visit friends.’

‘But I was not up early. I never went to bed.’

‘No, sir, I did not realise that until yesterday morning. I will admit I drank too much and overslept, which as you know is not my wont, but you had been kind enough to say that you wouldn’t be needing me early. When I arose, Mr Northrupt said you had gone riding. I was distressed by this, given that I had not provided you with your usual shave. Indeed, I was uncertain if I had even packed suitable riding clothes given that you had not mentioned a plan to ride during this visit,’ Banks said in injured tones.

‘Because I did not have any intentions of riding and I did not go riding,’ Sam replied. ‘So no one noticed I was gone?’

‘I saw your bed had not been slept in, sir, but everyone was at sixes and sevens looking for Mr Ludlow. The maid, Marta, had hysterics which was very hard on my head.’

‘It sounds quite chaotic.’

‘Yes,’ Banks agreed. ‘And I thought I’d get a message from you. I was just about to discuss the matter with Mr Northrupt when he mentioned that you’d sent words of your imminent return and here you are.’

‘Indeed,’ Sam said. ‘However, given that I never sent word to anyone, either Northrupt is psychic or he knows more than he lets on.’

Sam sat silent in contemplation on this point while Banks washed and shaved him.

‘Try to find out why Northrupt said I was coming back soon,’ he said.

‘Of course,’ Banks said, touching his finger to the side of his nose and looking more confident of his investigative powers than Sam was. Banks might be quite excellent with cravat and collar, but certainly lacked any great skills of deduction or investigation.

Indeed, Sam felt more confused than ever. He would just have to hope that either his sister or his own mind provided some help as neither Banks nor Marta appeared insightful.

The magistrate’s office and house was located in the centre of town. By the time Sam had bathed, dressed and talked to Marta, it was late and he was bone weary. Marta still did not seem entirely sensible, merely saying that the magistrate had come mid-afternoon and, moments later, the nursemaid, baby and Frances had left.

‘I would have gone myself, but they had no room and then Mrs Ludlow was most unpleasant and refused to send for the carriage.’

‘Mrs Ludlow? Frances?’

‘No, Mr Ludlow’s mother.’

‘Of course, where is she now?’ he asked.

‘She is resting,’ Marta said.

‘Good, let’s not delay getting over to the magistrate. I have my own vehicle and can drive you. I hope to bring Mrs Ludlow home, but in the event that I cannot, I am certain she can make use of you.’

The trip to the magistrate’s house was short, which was fortunate given that the weather had forced him to raise the head of the curricle and Marta apparently required smelling salts frequently, a smell he had always abhorred.

The butler opened the door, and directed Marta to the servants’ quarters while leading Sam down a narrow corridor to the study.

‘Sir Anthony, may I present Mr Garrett,’ the butler announced in sombre, well-enunciated tones.

A small, balding man sat behind a desk. He looked up when Sam entered, pale blue eyes shining from behind gold-rimmed spectacles.

‘Good Lord, Giles, you make announcements as though we are at a ball. Come in...come in...good to see you, Mr Garrett, I must say.’

Sam entered the small chamber. A fired burned pleasantly in the hearth. There were several bookcases and the walls were