Free Instruments of Darkness by Imogen Robertson Page B

said. ‘The girl certainly had no Mrs Westerman to champion her, no one so wilfully naive. Or if she did, perhaps he was warned away early and well and has learned his lesson since. Mrs Westerman may have the same path to tread.’ The Squire looked a little angry. ‘Nor did Randle need a champion, nor does this fellow in the woods. Thornleigh has lost his eldest son to the world, his second to drink and lives an idiot while his third is brought up by a whore.’ The Squire’s voice had become almost hoarse on his final words.

    Crowther did not move, merely continued to watch his tented fingertips, his face without expression.

    ‘Sarah Randle died before Thornleigh’s first marriage, you say?’

    The Squire looked up again, as if surprised to find he had been speaking aloud, and to another. He shrugged, and his voice returned to something like its usual pitch and phrasing.

    ‘Indeed. He spent much of the next few years in London, then returned to us with a wife. And an unhappy affair that was, though the first Lady Thornleigh bore him two sons, as you know, before her death. Three girls died before they reached four years old.’

    ‘And did she die in childbirth?’

    ‘No, a fall, only three years after Hugh was born. I fear the death of her daughters left her . . . a little nervous. From that point until Thornleigh’s second marriage we saw little of him. He lived mostly in town, only coming to hunt with small parties, and always reluctant to stay long. The children were brought up by the servants, then sent away to school. They seemed good enough men in their youth, though.’

    He shifted his chair a little.

    ‘I am grateful to you for examining this wretch, but I wish you would trouble yourself no further in the matter. Mrs Westerman, and I mean no disrespect, can be impulsive, a little quick to judge. It is the penalty she pays for her own prodigious energy, so I am glad she is to have your counsel, Commodore Westerman being away, and he acting as he does as her sea-anchor in the general run of things, if I have understood that term correctly.’

    Crowther bowed slightly. The Squire nodded, interpreting the gesture according to his own desires.

    ‘The place where you must come to, where damage will be done, you must come to very quick. And if you do not hold her back, you must take a share in the blame for whatever comes to pass. And, of course, your own association with the family, if you intervene or not, may harm them.’ The Squire paused, watching Crowther’s forehead crease with a slight frown. His voice took on a certain soft sheen. ‘I should perhaps tell you, while we are being so open, that I know your name was not Gabriel Crowther at birth.’

    The silence in the room was like an act of violence. Crowther held himself absolutely still. The corner of the Squire’s fat red mouth twisted a little.

    ‘I am that which I appear to be, Mr Crowther. But there have been other chapters in my career, and some of the habits I learned, I have kept. I make it my business to know a little of the people of note in the area, beyond the usual gossip. But I shall not address you by any other name or rank than that you have chosen for yourself.’ He paused. ‘I can assure you that my enquiries have been discreet, and my silence on the subject is absolute - for the time being. To my knowledge at least, no one else within the county suspects you to be anything other than who or what you say you are. I will say no more, other than to repeat my request that you attempt to hold Mrs Westerman back, for her own sake.’

    Crowther was conscious of little more than the passage of the air into his lungs and out again. He did not trust himself to speak. The Squire sighed deeply and scratched again at his stubble before continuing in the same low voice.

    ‘I am very fond of the family at Caveley Park, and would like to be assured they have protection and support from a man of intelligence and skill such as