Then something the innkeeper was saying caught his attention. “And of course her mother was the old nanny there. That’s the reason Miss Rachel prefers the cottage to the inn.”

“Are you telling me that the Trevelyan nanny is still alive?” He felt a surge of wrath that no one—least of all Rachel—had seen fit to tell him that.

“Lord, no, she’d be near ninety, wouldn’t she! Polworth, her name was, she’d been nanny to Miss Rosamund, then married and had a daughter of her own, Mary, and when Mary was off to school, she went back to the Hall to care for Mr. Stephen and Miss Susannah. Only ever had the one child herself. Mr. Polworth died of the consumption early on. Mary Otley, the daughter is now. Husband was killed out in Africa, place called Mafeking.”

“Soldier?”

“God save you, sir, no, he were a missionary. His death took the heart out of Mary, and she came home. Wasn’t her cup of tea, so to speak, preaching to the heathen, suffering from dysentery and them big flies, and water not fit to drink—”

“Thank you, Trask,” Rutledge said, cutting him off. Trask wasted another few minutes filling his tray with the empty dishes, brushing away crumbs, leaving the pot of coffee, as if hoping for another opening. But he got none and soon took the hint.

Afterward, Rutledge sat there and listened to the birds singing outside his window in the ruined garden, laying his plans carefully.

Chapter 19

19

It was nearly four in the afternoon when Rachel left the cottage and crossed the road to the rectory, disappearing into the house when the liverish housekeeper opened the door. Rutledge, lying in wait in the small wood from which he could see the cottage quite clearly, gave her a full minute in case the call was a short one, then strode quickly to the gate that shut the cottage walk off from the village street.

The woman who opened the door to his knock was elderly, but not, he thought, as old as she appeared to be. From the yellow of her eyes, he could see that she’d had malaria more than once, and still paid dearly for her years in Africa. It was not a continent that was kind to European women.

Startled to see him, she said, “Miss Rachel’s just gone over to visit Rector” Her voice held a degree of reserve, and no Cornish accent.

“I know. I wanted to speak to you, if I may. Mrs. Otley, is it? I understand that your mother was nanny at the Hall.”