I was left with the horses. I mounted one and led the other back to Easton's, where I relinquished both to his groomsman. I told Easton's butler to shut up the house and send the servants on holiday. The butler eyed me in trepidation, but I did not give him time to argue before I departed again.

I seethed that Denis had sent me on such an errand and seethed at the brigadier for making it necessary. I was also angry at Easton for not having the sense to run before Denis caught on that he'd been crossed.

Therefore, I was in a perfectly foul mood when I reached the public house in Cley. I was not happy with Bartholomew's round-eyed stare at my ruined clothes or his, "Oh, sir."

"My baggage has already been sent to Lady Southwick's," I said waspishly, "so they will have to take me as I am. Hire a horse for me, will you? I do not relish the idea of tramping over miles of muddy roads."

"Yes, sir."

Bartholomew had learned to simply vanish when I spoke that sharply.

He could not find a horse to hire, but he did find a cart. It was slow and smelled of rotting vegetables, and the wheels squeaked, but at least I could sit and stretch out my bad leg.

We bumped our way south and east, while a fresh breeze blew in from the coast, bringing with it more rain. Bartholomew hunkered into his greatcoat, but I didn't mind the rain in my face. Though I'd adjusted to living in London, I was country grown, used to sharp ocean winds, not stagnant fog that smelled of London's many cesspits. London, especially in the summer, could be noisome and appalling. Perhaps I missed my native land more than I knew.

Southwick Hall stretched wide arms across a green lawn, situated so that approaching guests would have a view of magnificent fountains placed in tiers leading to the front door.

"Gaudy trash," Lady Breckenridge had called the place, and I saw why when the cart drew closer.