The Archer's Paradox (The Heart of a Hero Book 8) Page 2
She gathered the eggs and, after gently placing them in a basket, picked up a pitch fork and began tossing the dirty straw into the cart. Goodness, she had forgotten how much of a mess sheep could make. As soon as she tended to the animals, she would write a letter to Madame Delacroix. Beatrice would trust no one until she heard from her mentor, especially Mr. Hoskins. He had behaved very oddly last night, and for heaven’s sake, who carried around a bow and arrows at night? Surely he couldn’t see well enough in the dark to aim at a target. Though he had acted as if he was trying to be helpful, he had left her…unsettled.
Cradling the basket of eggs, she made her way back to the house. She washed her hands with lye soap and a stiff scrub brush, noting that once she finished with breakfast, she needed to make a salve to soothe her already chapped hands. Before she proceeded with anything else, she changed out of her dirty clothes into a simple gown then penned her letter and placed it on the bureau where she wouldn’t forget about it.
Fresh eggs and bacon were just the thing to tempt Papa to eat. While the food cooked, she glanced around the cottage. It was unnaturally quiet, though she had become accustomed to the noise of twenty girls rushing about. A thump sounded and she whipped around toward the bedchamber.
“Papa, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry, darling. The smell of bacon cooking is difficult to resist.”
She took his arm and helped him settle into a chair at the table. His color looked better than it had since she had returned. “You seem much better today, Papa.”
“I am feeling more myself today.”
The bacon was nearly ready. Beatrice cracked two eggs into the pan. Guilt that she had left her father here alone nearly consumed her. Of course, she had no way of knowing he would fall ill, but it did nothing to assuage her guilt. He seemed much recovered now, but she worried what would happen when she was called back to London, which was inevitable. He was still far too frail to run the farm on his own, and he might never regain his full strength. There was a small possibility that he could help at the school, but the thought of forcing him to sell the farm he worked most of his life to purchase seemed too cruel an outcome.
She poured him a hot cup of tea and brought bacon, eggs, and toast on a plate. “I expect you to eat everything, and there are more eggs if you’d like.”
He smiled and began to eat.
She sat across from him with her tea. For now, she had a more pressing concern to discuss with him. “Papa, what do you know about Mr. Hoskins?”
His brows rose. “Why do you ask?”
Not sure how much to reveal, she said, “I ran into him late last night while trying catch an escaped lamb. He had a bow and arrows with him, which seems odd given that it was quite dark outside and he is a sheep farmer.”
“I wouldn’t say he’s a farmer, exactly. More that he owns a farm, but he employs several people from the village to take care of the animals for him, though he does help with the shearing.”
Yet he had told her he was a sheep farmer. Interesting. “But that doesn’t explain the bow.”
Papa finished his eggs before speaking again. “I suspect he was a soldier at one time, though it is strange that someone his age isn’t fighting in the war. Perhaps he has an injury of some sort that isn’t easy to discern.”
This was getting more and more suspicious by the moment, but she was pleased that Papa had eaten his entire breakfast. If he continued to improve, she hoped he might consider going back to London with her. Perhaps they could find someone to care for their sheep and split the profits from the wool.
They were both out of tea. She stood to get the kettle. “He just strikes me as odd.”
Papa shook his head. “He has minimal staff given the size of his house and the number of animals he keeps. I suspect he is a bit reclusive and not inclined to share much personal information, but he’s also the person most likely to help when someone is in need.”
Papa went to rest in his bedchamber. The information he had provided did nothing to quell her nerves. Either he was someone worthy of her suspicions, or he had an unknown reason to be here in this remote area. Madame Delacroix would be able to gain more information about him. In the meantime, she might as well do some spying of her own. After all, he had helped her capture the wayward lamb last night, so it wouldn’t be unheard of for her to call on him to thank him for his assistance.
Though baking was not one of her better skills, she made scones and unearthed a jar of marmalade to give him as a thank you for helping her with the lamb. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see through her plan to extract information from him. She wrapped the baked goods in a cloth and placed everything in a basket then strode outside. For once, the inevitable rain held off for a bit longer and she enjoyed her walk toward the large manor house Mr. Hoskins occupied. His dog rushed down the hill to greet her. It was another oddity that he professed to have no family, yet lived in a grand house. Of course, it was possible that he had wanted the land and had to purchase the house to get it. If Papa was still feeling well when she returned, she would attempt to find out what else he might know about their odd neighbor.
She reached the crest of the hill and halted so abruptly Samson walked into her, nearly making her knees buckle. Mr. Hoskins stood atop a galloping horse shooting arrows at targets set in a large meadow to the side of the house. Not only did he not lose his balance, but he was hitting the targets dead center seemingly without effort. A young boy stood on a pony nearby, though he was not shooting arrows. Dumbfounded, she slowly moved toward the field, unable to keep her eyes from the spectacle before her.
Finally, Mr. Hoskins ran out of arrows to shoot and gave a voice command for the horse to stop. He jumped from its back and moved to collect the arrows from the targets. As if sensing her presence, he turned and bowed.
“Good morning, Miss Pottinger. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I…um…” Good grief. What was wrong with her? “Why were you standing atop a horse?”
“Why not?” he countered.
“Err…well…I suppose you may do as you please, it’s just that I’ve never seen anyone stand on a horse before. Your accuracy is remarkable given the circumstances. Where did you learn to do that?”
“Have you heard of Astley’s Royal Amphitheater?”
She shook her head. It wasn’t exactly true. She had heard of it, but she’d never seen the show, and it seemed better to let him explain since it might be an important part of his background.
“I was an orphan living on the streets in London. Mr. Astley took me in as a young child and taught me to ride. I performed with his circus for many years.”
She glanced down at the basket she held and attempted to gather her thoughts. When he said he didn’t have any family, she hadn’t imagined he was an orphan. She thought he’d meant he simply hadn’t married and started his own family yet. It was sad to think that he had always been alone. Though she certainly didn’t always agree with her sisters, she was glad to have them and her father.
However, the presence of the boy was a mystery. Who was he if not Mr. Hoskins’s son? Perhaps a child of one of his servants.
“What sort of shows did you perform at the amphitheater?” she asked.
“It has changed through the years, but in addition to shooting arrows, I can also stand on my head atop a horse, pick up handkerchiefs from the ground from the back of a cantering horse, and ride astride on two horses at once.”
“I should like to see you stand on your head atop your horse.”
He grinned. “Miss Pottinger, I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough yet for that. Perhaps when we’ve become more familiar.”
She pursed her lips. It was difficult to tell whether he was in jest. “Can you at least tell me how one learns to do those sorts of things?”
“I cannot reveal my secrets, but I will tell you that it mostly has to do with how well trained the horse is.”
That was likely as much information she w
ould get from this odd man. “I wanted to thank you for your help with the lamb last night. I’ve brought you some scones and jam.” She thrust the basket toward him.
His brows rose. “It wasn’t necessary for you to thank me, but I appreciate your offering nevertheless. Would you like to come inside?” Samson jabbed his nose against the basket. Mr. Hoskins made a hand gesture and the dog backed off immediately. He was well trained. Mr. Hoskins made another gesture to the horse, who followed along behind them as they strode toward the house and barn.
The silence was uncomfortable, so she searched her mind for something to say. “How long have you lived in Romney Marsh, Mr. Hoskins?”
“I purchased the farm and house nearly four years ago. If I’m not mistaken, it was prior to the arrival of your father.”
She nodded. “Yes, Papa served as a tutor in London and saved for many years before he was able to purchase his farm. I was already established at a school in town. Until now, of course.”
“Do you plan to stay, then?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m needed to teach in London, but I must make arrangements for my father before I can return.”
“Ah…do you plan to take him back to London with you?”
The last thing she needed right now was his censure. “I have no set plans at this time. I will make the decision that is most appropriate for my father.”
“Of course. It’s just that I would hate to see him leave. I’ve grown to value our conversations. Your father is very well versed in many subjects.”
“Yes, he is.” She studied Mr. Hoskins. Perhaps he was a blessing in disguise. If he would agree to watch over Papa for her, she might be able to allow him to remain in his house when she left. It would break his heart to have to sell his farm. “I believe I owe you thanks. I understand that you have been quite helpful to my father, including building the new chicken coop.”
“I’m happy to have something to keep me busy. There isn’t much happening here, aside from sheep wrangling, of course, and I often find myself without much to occupy my time.”
He made another hand gesture to the dog…or perhaps it was the horse, then opened the door for her and she strode inside. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she took in the plush Turkish rug, gleaming wood floors, and huge crystal chandelier. How had an orphaned circus performer managed to amass so much wealth?
Before she could shake her surprise and think of something to say, a butler and housekeeper appeared, along with two footmen. Once again, she was at a loss as to how he could afford such a large estate and the servants that took care of it. After he performed the introductions, she declined his offer of tea and took her leave. It was imperative that she send her missive to Madame Delacroix immediately. Instead of gathering information about Mr. Hoskins as she had intended, she left his house with more questions than answers.
Chapter Three
Colin generally didn’t give a fig about the conventions of society, but he debated whether it was too early in the day to visit Miss Pottinger. Since he regularly visited her father, it shouldn’t seem out of the ordinary to anyone but her. He still hadn’t decided whether she was friend or foe, and he until he could determine that, he would remain cautious.
The gray sky promised rain, which was good for his crops, but he didn’t relish slogging through the mud later to tend to the sheep. He approached the cottage door and lifted his hand to knock, then stilled. The distinct sound of crying filtered through the door. A crying woman was another thing he tried to avoid whenever possible. However, he wished to know if her father was all right.
He knocked on the door. “Miss Pottinger?”
She gasped, sniffled, then whipped the door open. “Now is not a good time, Mr. Hoskins.”
“Yes, I can see that. May I be of assistance?”
She shook her head and pressed an already wet handkerchief to her eyes. “The owner of the school where I work is dead. She was murdered in her bedchamber.”
His initial shock turned to suspicion. It was certainly not an ordinary occurrence for the head of a school to be murdered. It was quite possible the woman had been a spy, or even a double agent. He ought to have asked the Captain to respond to his inquiry immediately.
He handed her his dry handkerchief and asked, “Have the authorities been contacted?”
“I assume so. The girls were distraught when they wrote the letter. There aren’t many details included. I must leave for London immediately.”
“May I read the letter?”
She nodded and handed it to him.
“Miss Pottinger, you must come back immediately. Madame Delacroix has been murdered. Strangled in her bed. We don’t know what to do. Please return without delay.”
Presumably they at least sent for the authorities. He skimmed over the rest. It was natural for young ladies to be upset, but they did tend to carry into the melodramatic. He handed the letter back to her, noting that she had calmed herself and stopped her sniffling.
“Mr. Hoskins, I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition, but it would be a great comfort to me if you could look after my father while I am away.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible since I intend to go to London with you.”
Her eyes grew impossibly wide. “I thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary.”
“I must insist. You should not travel alone in your distressed state. Besides, I had already planned a trip to town next week, and it’s no bother to leave a bit earlier.”
She bit her lip, perhaps considering the merits of him joining her, but more likely, cursing his interference.
Her eyes flashed and he cut her off before she could speak. “I can get you there much faster than the post coach, and my carriage is very comfortable, especially with only three occupants.”
She glared at him. “I’m afraid Papa will not be able to make the journey.”
“I wasn’t referring to your father.”
“Then who is the third occupant?”
“My secretary. I never travel without her.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment before she responded. “Her? You have a female secretary?”
“Luckily for you, I do. She is the most efficient person I’ve ever met. She can also serve as your chaperone so you are not accused of exhibiting improper behavior by riding alone with me in my carriage.”
“That’s the least of my concerns right now.”
He stiffened. There was definitely something suspicious about her. Most young ladies were obsessed with protecting their reputations. Aside from ensuring the welfare of the girls at the school, what more did she have to worry about? Of course, she would be upset about the death of her friend, but there was an underlying urgency about her that seemed out of order for the circumstances.
“I’m afraid I cannot accept your…invitation. It will take some time for one of my sisters to arrive to take care of my father.”
“Miss Pottinger, your father is welcome to stay at my house. Mrs. Turner will be thrilled to have someone to attend, and I have an extensive library to keep him entertained. With his background, I assume he likes to read.”
She studied Colin closely. “He does love to read, but unfortunately, his eyes give him trouble.”
“Not to worry. Both of my footmen can read and they are constantly searching for opportunities to improve their pronunciation. They will happily read to him anytime he wishes.”
“It would seem that you already have everything settled.”
“Miss Pottinger, I welcome your input should my arrangements not be to your liking.”
“My apologies, Mr. Hoskins. I thank you for your kindness, but I fear it is too much for you to take me to London and host my father while we are away. How will I repay your kindness?”
He smiled at her. “There is no need, but I’m certain you’ll be able to come up with something.” Like bashing him over the head. He normally didn’t have much trouble persuading ladies to do as he wished, but Miss Potti
nger was not a typical female.
“When do you wish to leave for London?” she asked.
“Is tomorrow morning too soon?”
“No. I’d prefer to leave now, but I know we need time to prepare. I must ask one of the neighbors to take care of our sheep and chickens.”
“Consider it done. I will make the arrangements for your animals and inform my household staff to prepare a room for your father. Do you think we can get him settled in tonight so we can leave at sunrise?”
She nodded.
“Good. If it doesn’t rain and we change horses, we should be able to make it to London in a day. That is, if you don’t mind sleeping in the carriage.”
“I prefer to get there as quickly as possible, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.”
They said their goodbyes and he headed back up the hill. He needed to send word to Captain Alexander that he was coming to London. It had only been two days since Colin had sent his last missive, and he hadn’t requested an immediate response. Now he wished he had since he would be traveling with a woman who might be a friend or a foe. He didn’t have enough information yet to determine which.
~~~
Beatrice sighed as she waited near the carriage. Mr. Hoskins was a conundrum. A self-professed orphan who owned a large house with expensive furnishings, many servants, and a great deal of land, with no discernible reason to be wealthy. It seemed impossible that he could have earned a large wage as a circus performer. Papa was certain he was a good man and she trusted her father’s judgment, so she didn’t fear him, but she also didn’t trust him. Raindrops pattered against the roof of the carriage and she sighed. If the rain became heavy, it would slow their journey. Finally, Mr. Hoskins and a woman she presumed to be his secretary emerged from the house.