Free The Shadowcutter by Harriet Smart

my establishment does not run to such luxuries as yours. A silly woman, a servant, a nobody, has drowned herself. The kindest thing we can do is let it be recorded an accident so she may be buried before she rots.”
    Felix glanced at Major Vernon, wondering how he would proceed.
    There was a long pause.
    Major Vernon scratched his temple and then said, rather quietly, but with a certain steel in his tone: “If your conscience is easy with that, sir, then so be it. But my conscience cannot be easy. This woman has had her life stolen from her in a brutal manner and there is nothing to say that other women in the district may not suffer the same fate. Imagine if you found your daughter in such a condition, gentlemen, and then think how you ought to act!”
    “It is not for you to tell me how to act, sir!” said Sir Arthur. “This is not your business! You have already trespassed. You ought to have declined Lord Rothborough’s summons to come here in the first place – let your precious conscience think on that, rather than stand there telling me how to run my affairs. Drive on, Peter. We have wasted enough time here.”
    The barouche pulled off, with the hearse, drawn by a miserable pony, going on behind at a much less smart pace. Major Vernon took off his hat to acknowledge its departure
    “Poor creature,” he said. “We shall get to the bottom of this, by hook or by crook, we shall. I need to get back up to the house and you need to get back to Stanegate.”
    “I’m not riding back in this heat,” Felix said. “At least not without something to eat and drink first. There is a reasonable-looking inn in the village at the gates.”
    “The Peacock, I think it is called,” said Major Vernon. “I’ll come with you. I need to think a little tactically before I throw myself back into the gilded delights of Holbroke.”
    “You see what I mean about it then, sir?” said Felix.
    “Heavens, yes. At dinner last night we had a dessert that was the ruins of Palmyra in sponge cake. I would have preferred the stewards room with Holt. Speaking of whom –”
    There, in the shade of a handsome Spanish chestnut, where their horses were tethered, Holt had made himself comfortable. He was stretched out on the grass, reading.
    As they approached he hauled himself up to attention.
    “What are you reading, Holt?” said Major Vernon.
    “Nicholas Nickleby,” said Holt. “It’s the grandest thing. Far better than the Pickwick Papers, in my opinion, sir.”
    “Don’t tell me the story,” said Major Vernon. “I’ve only just begun it.”
    “No, sir, of course not. Shouldn’t dream of spoiling it for you.”
    -0-
    The Peacock was a comfortable, unpretentious and respectable establishment, cool and pleasant on a hot summer’s day. The front door opened directly onto the parlour and there Felix found James Bodley, Lord Rothborough’s man, sitting eating bread and cheese with a woman who looked like the landlady. On seeing him they stopped eating and stood up.
    “Mr Bodley,” he said, slightly surprised at this show of respect.
    “Master Felix,” Bodley said with a nod. “His Lordship did mention you would be hereabouts today. And you must be Major Vernon, sir?” The Major nodded.
    The woman came over to inspect Felix.
    “Goodness me!” she said. “I haven’t seen you, sir, since you were a tiny thing. That summer before you went up to Scotland it was. And look at you now! And the image of his Lordship! My, my!”
    “This is Mrs Taylor,” said Bodley, “My sister. She and her husband keep the house here.”
    “I used to work up at the big house, of course,” put in Mrs Taylor. “Now, what is it you gentleman wish? I’ve a lovely cold fowl pie if you’re hungry. It’s a favourite of his Lordship.”
    “That sounds excellent,” said Major Vernon. “And if we might have a jug of beer and some water to wash in?”
    “Certainly, sir,” she said. “The private parlour is just this way. It is is where Lord