In the Shadow of Winter: A gripping historical novel with murder, secrets and forbidden love. Lorna Gray
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And finally, given your history with Croft, do you think you would be more or less likely to give him assistance?”
I smiled. “That is a very odd question, Inspector.”
“Humour me.”
“All right. Regardless of my history, such as it was, with Matthew Croft, I can honestly say that it does not go so far as to condone murder.”
As the interview had progressed, his mouth had slowly transformed from a flat serious line to a gentle, amiable smile, and onwards to become a wide grandfatherly beam which was probably meant to be utterly disarming but only made me less trusting in his appearance of benevolent good humour. And when the Inspector then indicated that he had finished with me and turned away, still smiling, to rejoin the others, I could not help having the very unpleasant sensation that I had somehow said far more than I ought.
With determined optimism however, I hoped that whatever might happen later, the Inspector’s dismissal would at least mark an end to this particular invasion but clearly the Colonel had not finished with me yet. I had already noted that the cluster of waiting policemen were standing slightly aloof as if they wished to pretend that his steady flow of disdainful sniffs and muttered aspersions were nothing to do with them. He was staring at the hairy little pony with an expression of extreme distaste and when the Inspector quietly slipped past to begin querying the results of their search, the Colonel turned to intercept me with very a stern look in his eye.
“Would your father approve of the way you’re carrying on, young lady?”
“Pardon?” I stared at him blankly, completely at a loss as to how exactly my quiet life could be classed as any kind of “carrying on”.
“This.” He waved his hand airily around my yard, taking in the roughly swept cobbles between great piles of cleared snow, my farriery tools and the scruffy pony which was still standing patiently in its doorway. “I’m sure he had no idea of you carrying on the business after him. The whole place is literally falling down about your ears, or so my son says. It won’t be long before the whole place has crumbled away to nothing, my girl, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. Can’t you get a man in to do it?”
“Where do you think I’d get the money to pay for this man, Colonel?” I asked, relatively pleasantly. “Besides Freddy and I manage well enough between us.”
“Freddy? Ah, you mean the idiot.”
I choked back a sharp retort and merely smiled serenely. I was actually quite impressed with my self-control.
“And who is this old fellow?” The Colonel had spied the elderly hunter who was snoozing gently with his chin resting on his stable door.
“Harry. My father’s hunter.” That self-control suddenly seemed rather more precarious as the Colonel woke the poor horse by placing a heavy hand on its nose.
“Send him to the knackerman and you’ll save plenty of money. Hell, the man might even pay you for him.”
Clearly at this point I was expected to bow and scrape and express my effusive thanks for this suggestion. Instead I looked him squarely in the eye.
“My father was very fond of this horse and he particularly asked me to look after him. He’ll go when he’s good and ready, and,” I determinedly continued across the Colonel’s remark, “not a day before.”
The Colonel turned an interesting shade of puce. He stared at me for a few moments, a vein bulging in his temple, before turning sharply on his heel with a precision that would have impressed any drill-sergeant.
“Come,” he snapped, relegating the Inspector to eager puppy once more. “We can see what my son has found, if anything. I have another son, but he is in the Army. He made Captain recently – very proud moment introducing him at Whitehall last week to my old friend Bernard … ah, I should say Viscount Montgomery, Chief of Imperial General Staff, you know.”
“Yes, we know,” muttered one of the uniformed men who was either Thorne or Smith. “You told us before.”
Someone tittered and the Colonel shot them a wild look before striding back out onto the road. Their assorted legs made very hard work of the hill past my house but I barely bothered to watch them go before turning back to the waiting pony. The poor creature had developed a faintly martyred air by now.
I could not help letting out a resigned sigh as I set the pony’s foot back down on the ground again. With every man and quite literally his dog turning up on my doorstep, this day was starting to get ridiculous. But dutifully enough, I walked out through the gate and into the house with Freddy to take the waiting call. I could have laid money on who would be on the line.
His secretary sounded harassed but Sir William was oblivious to the pressure on his staff as he finally took the telephone.
“Good day, my dear,” he said warmly and I could picture the automatic lift of his hand.
If I had to choose, I would say that Sir William was my favourite of the two elderly Langton brothers, although perhaps it would be more accurate to say he was the one I despised the least. He had at any rate been sufficiently bothered to send a note of regret when my father had passed away and it had been kindly written with some reference to a pleasant shared memory. His wife, an austere woman who was forever to be called ma’am and never by name, occasionally commissioned me to bring ponies up to the house for the entertainment of her grandnephews and nieces and so I had, over the years, built up a certain level of acquaintance with the family. I would never have claimed to be more than an overpaid servant in their eyes though.
Sir William was not as openly sharp as the Colonel but I was not misled into believing that he was any the less calculating in his actions, and there was always the faint possibility that his morals were not quite as upstanding as his brother’s. The Colonel had his strict code of honour which ruled, often badly, over everything he did, whereas Sir William had what politely could be called a creative approach and impolitely, a criminal lack of concern for the needs of others. That being said, I had never had anything but politeness from him and I answered him now with perfectly unforced warmth in return.
“Good day, Sir William. How are you?”
“Very well, my dear, very well. I don’t suppose the Colonel is still there?”
“You’ve just missed him, Sir William.” It always paid to show him a certain level of deference, even if I didn’t feel it. “He went along Bath Lane with the police officers, although given how deep the drifts are at Saltershill, they might have wished they’d cut straight across the fields …”
“Ah,” he said cheerfully. “Thank you, my dear. We’re on the hunt, you know!”
“So I heard. Goodbye!”
The telephone clicked dead, rattling slightly as I returned it to its cradle, and I shut the door very firmly behind me as I walked back out to the yard. There were few members of the Langton family left to question me now and unless this was going to turn into a complete farce, I doubted very much that I would find his wife interrogating me later.
The rest of the day did in fact pass rather more calmly. Beechnut, and possibly equally importantly her stable, were none the worse for the morning’s upset but I was more worried than I cared to admit when dusk arrived and still no sign of Matthew.
For fear that I would upset Freddy I spent longer than usual out with the horses as I bedded them down for the night. Over the years, their comforting warmth and companionable silence had been my greatest source of support, and now I was standing with my arms slung over Beechnut’s withers and my forehead pressed into her warm fur, repeating you’re not just another gullible fool like some kind of mantra.
Unlike me, Beechnut