"No. I'm out for a short stroll, that's all. Is everything well with you?"

"Yes."

It was not, I could see, but Sebastian closed his mouth in a tight line. He was about twenty, not much older than the oldest boys at the school. The pupils generally liked him, because he was good-natured, kind, and knew everything there was to know about horses.

A door at the end of the line of stalls led to the quarters for the groom and his stable hands. A man emerged from this door just then. He was tall and burly, with black hair under a coachman's hat.

I stared at him. I recognized him-or thought I did.

He saw me, stopped, then ducked back into the shadows of the doorway.

"Who was that?" I asked Sebastian.

He looked up, puzzled at my tone. "Mr. Middleton," he answered. "The groom."

I had not seen this Middleton since my arrival. I usually visited the stables very early in the morning, and Sebastian alone prepared my mount.

But I knew Middleton. Or at least, I'd seen him before, in London. He had once been the lackey of a man called James Denis.

James Denis was a criminal, or should have been labeled so. He was a gentleman to whom wealthy gentlemen went when they wished to obtain a fine piece of art that was unobtainable, to gain a seat in Parliament that was already filled, to succeed in whatever enterprise they wished. In return, they gave their loyalty and a high percentage of their wealth to Mr. Denis.

I had encountered Denis far more often than I cared to. He had helped me once or twice, but he had also threatened me and once had his lackeys kidnap me and beat me to teach me to respect him. He wanted me to fear him, and my friends, like Grenville, advised me to, but Denis had only succeeded in making me very, very angry.

I watched the door, but the man did not reappear. "What do you know about him?" I asked Sebastian.

He shrugged. "Not very much. He's a coachman, or was. He's very good with horses. A gentle sort with the beasts."