Free Miss Farrow's Feathers by Susan Gee Heino Page A

he seemed completely innocent—or at least quite oblivious. How could she possibly be on her way to an illicit liaison and not recognize his most eloquent double entendres ? What was he to make of this chit, anyway?
    “I will alert you when we have gone far enough , sir.”
    Indeed, he had no doubt she would. Miss Farrow might be prepared to go entirely too far with her friend Mr. Perkins, but Max had no reason to expect her attitude toward him to be similarly accommodating. What was it about Perkins that appealed to her?
    She gave no indication of passion or honest affection for the man. From all he could see, she was mostly indifferent toward him. So why go to all this trouble to meet him this way? Why risk public scandal and shame? There could really only be one logical answer—her interest must have something to do with the man's position.
    Mr. Perkins was steward at Glenwick Downs. He had been managing things for Max’s grandfather. Obviously, if anyone would know the old earl’s secrets, it would be his steward. And since Mr. Perkins expressed special interest in Bartholomew, there was one conclusion Max could draw.
    The steward must know of his grandfather’s hidden treasure and Miss Farrow must be in league with him to find it. That had to be why she would put up with the annoying bird in her home when clearly she would rather have not, and that was why she would waste her time with a lowly steward. She wanted that treasure and she needed Mr. Perkins to help her find it.
    “So you are certain you do not need me to accompany you to your friend’s house?” Max asked her after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.
    “No! That is, I would hate to worry her, as I said. If you don’t mind waiting at the posting house, that would be best.”
    “Of course. If you’re certain.”
    “I am.”
    “And you’ll be safe on your own?”
    “Of course I will. It isn't as if Richington is overrun with highwaymen and the like. Besides, we still have some hours of daylight. I’ll hardly be alone on the road but for a few minutes.”
    Indeed, she was likely correct about that. If Perkins was any sort of a man, he’d be waiting at the front gate for her and wouldn’t waste a minute getting to their business. But this caused Max to wonder. What—other than the obvious— was their business tonight? Surely Miss Farrow expected more than a quick tussle. Did they have some promising clue, some evidence gained to lead them on to the treasure?
    He himself had been less than successful at gaining that knowledge. His grandfather’s last letter had indicated quite plainly how the information was to be got, but so far all Max’s efforts had come up empty. It seemed, despite his grandfather’s conviction that he had passed his secrets along to his trusted pet, Bartholomew was not inclined to share what he knew of the whereabouts of any treasure. Try as he might, Max had not got him to spout off anything but low-minded drivel.
    So what clues did Miss Farrow and her uninspiring lover have? Max could hardly wait to find out. He only hoped his grandfather hadn’t done much renovation on the aging manor house in the years since Max had last visited. He was counting on the secret passages he’d played in as a child still being passable and, well, still secret.
     
    Meg glanced over her shoulder, not for the first time. Was someone following her? She saw nothing, just the long, evening shadows on the familiar road. Her horse plodded along peacefully, unaware of any potential danger.
    Meg's heart pounded, though. She'd left Mr. Shirley at the posting house not half a mile back. He'd seemed content enough, hauling his leather bag containing the writing supplie s he'd need to catch up on correspondence. It actually seemed he was looking forward to a couple quiet hours without Bartholomew. Not that she could blame him for that...
    She glanced around again, seeing nothing but trees and farm fields and the occasional sheep in the