Free 2 A Season of Knives: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery by P. F. Chisholm Page B

while.’
    She said ‘humph’ again. Thunder snorted and tried to speed up to go past, but Carey hauled him back. Young Henry Widdrington was pretending he hadn’t noticed Carey’s arrival but the wide neck at the base of his helmet was bright red and not from the sun.
    ‘Have I offended you again, my lady?’ he asked Elizabeth.
    ‘Do you understand the meaning of the word discretion ?’ she asked very haughtily. Never mind, at least she was talking to him.
    ‘No, my lady,’ he said. ‘Please explain it to me.’
    ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you’re making a public exhibition of yourself. What do you expect me to do? Welcome you with a kiss?’
    ‘That would be nice,’ he said wistfully and wondered if she would slap him. She didn’t, but it looked like a near thing.
    ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than make a nuisance of yourself?’ Elizabeth asked in tones that would have withered a tree. Lord, he liked looking at her when she was in a temper.
    ‘Yes, I have,’ he said. ‘I have piles of tedious papers to deal with and Scrope won’t let me have Bell to be my clerk today, so I have to write all the damn letters myself.’
    ‘It sounds as if you had best get back to work then.’
    ‘On the other hand, the sun is shining and Thunder…’
    ‘Needed exercise. So you said. You haven’t raised a sweat on him yet, so we’ll move aside for you and you can give him a good run. Then you can get back to your papers.’
    ‘To hell with the papers,’ Carey said conversationally, ‘I wanted to ride with you for a while.’
    ‘Why do you insist on making this so difficult for me?’ she asked, and for a moment he felt guilty. Only for a moment, though.
    ‘How am I making it difficult?’ he asked, deliberately obtuse. ‘I’m not in your way. I’m riding alongside in a perfectly proper manner. I thought you might like to be entertained with some conversation for a little of your long journey.’
    ‘I really don’t want to talk,’ she said, looking straight between her mare’s ears.
    ‘Then I shall ride beside you in silence, my lady.’
    ‘Hmf.’
    He did manage to stay silent for several miles, so they could hear the shouts from the hayfields. They got stuck for a while behind a haywagon screeling along behind two yoke of oxen, so Carey trotted ahead and asked the driver to stop while they squeezed past at a wider place. With the road clear ahead of them he let Thunder have a run and then came back to the Widdringtons. Young Henry looked as if he was trying to decide whether to say anything to the scandalous Deputy Warden but, as Carey knew, Young Henry was a likeable young man and far more sympathetic to his step-mother than he was to his unpleasant father. On the other hand, he took his responsibilities as heir very seriously.
    Carey took Thunder alongside Henry and tipped his hat in courtesy. Henry bent his head a little and flushed.
    ‘How badly tired are the horses, Mr Widdrington?’ he asked and Young Henry frowned.
    ‘We shouldn’t be travelling at all, Sir Robert,’ he said. ‘If none of the horses goes lame, it’ll be a miracle. We should have rested for two more days.’
    ‘I quite agree,’ Carey said. ‘Did you explain this to Lady Widdrington?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Henry unhappily. ‘I did, and she said my father had ordered us home and so home we would go.’
    ‘It’s a pity none of the horses went lame in Carlisle,’ said Carey innocently. Young Henry looked at him sideways and then quietly swore.
    ‘I never thought of that,’ he admitted.
    ‘Nor did I until this minute,’ Carey said candidly. ‘Never mind, we’ll know better next time.’
    ‘And she would spot it,’ Henry added.
    ‘Of course she would. But what could she do about it?’
    Young Henry sighed.
    ‘I daren’t try it now,’ he said. ‘She’d know.’
    ‘I’m not happy about you travelling at the moment, with the Debateable Land so stirred up,’ Carey went on. ‘I wish you could stay