of it in his room?'
I touched the drawing of the canal offshoot from Hungerford. 'Perhaps it one of Denis' schemes. Something Denis asked him to look into.'
Grenville frowned. 'It is most bizarre. Shall we go to Hungerford and see whether this map is true?'
'Now?' I asked, alarmed.
'Why not? The rain is slackening, and we have the remainder of the afternoon. Unless Rutledge is screaming for you to write more letters.'
For the first time since I arrived, I hoped he was. I did not want Grenville wandering about Hungerford with Marianne there. Although, I reasoned, if Rutledge detained me, Grenville would likely traipse off to Hungerford alone.
Grenville rolled up the Hungerford map and tucked it inside his greatcoat. 'Shall we borrow a few horses? I hate to rouse my coachman for the chaise and four for such a short journey.'
'Very well,' I said, my voice hard.
His brows rose. 'You do not sound keen, Lacey. You are usually quite bursting with curiosity.'
I was, but I still did not want Grenville at Hungerford.
I hid my foreboding and descended with him to fetch the horses.
Our journey to Hungerford proved fruitless. The map was so well marked that we found the spot of the proposed canal without difficulty. It lay near Hungerford Marsh Lock on the common lands where farmers could still graze their animals without fear of landlords or enclosure.
We found the place all right, but no sign of any canal, new or old. Grenville dismounted his horse and walked about the tall grass, trailing the reins loosely behind him. 'I see nothing,' he said. 'Not even a stray surveyor's stake or mark.'
Still in my saddle, I saw nothing either.
We searched the area, Grenville walking with his head bent, studying the ground minutely.
'Bloody mystifying,' he said, remounting his patient horse. 'Why draw a map of something that does not exist?'
'Perhaps it will exist one day,' I said.
'Hmm. I suppose we could check in London to see whether someone is funding a new offshoot of the canal. Perhaps you are right and Denis is involved. He is good at having his finger in money-making pies. Canals make money.'
'Yes,' I answered. 'Or perhaps Middleton wanted to be free of Denis. He comes here to see whether the canal offshoot will actually happen, so that he can invest.'
'Well, he must have been disappointed,' Grenville said. 'There is no sign that there will ever be any canal building here. Shall we return to the rigid atmosphere of the school? Or wet our throats in a tavern?'
'The school,' I said promptly. When he raised his brows, I feigned a smile. 'The claret you brought with you is much finer than anything we'll find in a tavern.'
'True,' he conceded. 'We'll shut ourselves in my chambers and refuse to answer the door.'
'Like Fletcher,' I mused, and then we rode back.
At least we saw no sign of Marianne. We had been poking about to the west of Hungerford, and her lodgings were on the east end of the town, but even so, I held my breath until we gained the stable yard again and dismounted.
I tried to see Fletcher while Grenville took himself back to his chambers to change from his riding clothes to his sitting-and-drinking-claret clothes. Fletcher opened his chamber door to my knock and peered out. He smelled heavily of port.
'Hallo, Lacey,' he said, breathing hard. 'I do not wish to talk about it.'
'Are you well?'
The eye he pressed to the crack was puffy and red. 'As well as can be expected. Good afternoon.' He shut the door in my face.
There was nothing for it, but I should leave him alone.
Grenville and I had our claret, then I went down to take supper in the hall while Grenville remained in his rooms. He wanted an early night, he said.
Fletcher did not make an appearance at supper. Rutledge glared at Fletcher's empty chair. Sutcliff, his face white, his nostrils pinched, ate rigidly at the head of his table. There was much nudging and tittering among the boys when Rutledge's eye was not on them.
Rutledge took me to his study after supper and bade me write more correspondence for him and help him go over expenses. He was in a foul mood and found fault with everything I did, but I chose not to heed him. The fact that I did not cower or shout back enraged him even more, I believe.
His wife smiled serenely down while he spluttered. When he caught me returning the smile, he let out a string of vile invectives and dismissed me for the night.
I simply neatened the papers on my desk, stood, and left him alone.
I imagined Rutledge still cursing when I rose earlier than usual, dressed and shaved myself, and went out to meet Marianne.
I had to wait for her. The early morning air was cold, and I hugged my greatcoat close. Several boats moved along the canal, bathed in mist. The horses plodded on the towpath, heads down, led by equally plodding men. Bargemen on the backs of the long, narrow boats steered through the waters. The towropes hung slack then went taut, then slack again.
Marianne arrived on foot. She wore a long mantle and another deep-crowned bonnet. She marched across the bridge and down to where I waited on the west bank.
She looked carefully past me. 'You did not bring him with you, did you?'
'I agreed that I would not.'
She tilted her head back, eyeing me with a hard gaze. 'Gentlemen have broken their words to me before. They laugh about it.'
'But not I.'
'Still, I am not certain it is a good idea.'
I grew impatient. 'If you do not wish to tell me, I will not press you. You are correct, it is not my business.'
She regarded me a moment longer. 'You are disarming with your show of honor, did you know that?'
'Not everyone finds me so.'
'More fool they. My feet hurt, and it is a long walk.'
I nudged the horse to her, removed my foot from the left stirrup, and held my gloved hand down to her.
She lifted her skirt, giving me a glimpse of a long slender leg, then she thrust her foot into the stirrup and vaulted upward, clinging to my hand as I pulled her into the saddle.
She was evidently used to riding in front of gentlemen, because she settled herself easily on the pommel of the saddle, clutched the horse's mane, and returned the use of the stirrup to me.
I nudged the horse into a walk again. She gave me the direction, and we rode off past Froxfield and down a track that led west of the town. Marianne's bonnet bumped my chin and I had to twitch sideways to avoid it.
She directed me to a lane that led behind hedgerows. We rode along this for about two miles, then the lane began to rise, winding through taller trees and scrub.
Marianne told me to turn onto a barely marked path between the trees. I guided the gelding slowly, ducking beneath low branches.
She spoke little, except to guide me. I could not imagine why we'd come back here, far from any farm. But she offered no explanation.
The path finally died out in a small clearing. Here, on a bleak pocket of land, stood a tiny house. The cottage's roof was in ill repair. The two windows and door sagged, and neither had seen paint in a long time. Noises
