stepped out and caught her.
“Oh Vulch,” she said. “Don’t leap out at me like that. You scared me.”
Vulch didn’t say anything. He just grabbed her into his arms and began kissing her with enthusiasm. Coffen watched only long enough to see the girl wasn’t being forced, then he turned to creep away. Even Vulch deserved privacy for his cuddling. Odd that any girl would fancy that monster.
When Vulch stopped kissing the wench long enough to say, “Well, what are they saying in there?” Coffen waited, ears cocked.
“You’re daft, Vulch,” the girl said. “Lady Richardson isn’t talking about nothing except wondering if she’ll be invited to Newstead to meet the company. I smell ale on your breath! Have you been chasing after that Tess at the Green Man again?”
“Can’t a man have a pint without you jawing at him?” he said, not angrily but in a wheedling way. “You know you’re the only one for me, lass. About them at the big house, they didn’t say nothing about the girl what was found on the island?”
“He didn’t say nothing. He never does. She says she thinks it’s Minnie. That’s what everyone thinks. It ain’t her, is it, Vulch?”
“I doubt it. She left town, didn’t she? Sounds to me they’d like Eggars to think it’s Min. So where can we go for a bit of featherbed jigging?”
“It’ll have to be your place. It’s too cold for the field and I can’t get you into my room again. They’ve landed Jennie in with me. I think milady knows you was there last night.”
“Jealous, that’s what she is.”
“Her jealous of the likes of you? She don’t chase nobody unless they have a title.”
When they began snuggling again, Coffen made good his escape, reviewing the clues he had overheard. Vulch already knew about the body, and had some reason to think the Richardsons would be interested. Why? He either thought they’d be wondering if it was that maid of theirs that went missing in London, or he was afraid they suspected it was Minnie. Or there could be some other girl he hadn’t learned about yet.
Since Vulch wasn’t at the Green Man, Coffen decided to save that visit for another time and go back to the Abbey to look for ghosts. It was a good night for it. The fuzzy outline of a half moon cast a pale light as it moved behind a tattered tail of cloud. A cool December wind lent an eerie, creaking sound to the swaying branches above. It also caused a dull ache in his knee, which he had wrenched in a tumble from his mount a few weeks before in London.
The tea tray was just leaving the kitchen when he arrived back at the abbey. He didn’t stop to grab a bite but just washed his hands and hurried upstairs. The others were going into the salon when he got there. The ladies were always complaining behind Byron’s back about how cold the salon was, but it felt nice and warm to him after being outside. Very cozy, with the fire leaping in the grate and the silver vessels from the tea tray twinkling in the lamplight.
The tray was placed before Corinne, who poured for them without spilling a drop. Mrs. Ballard never poured when she could get out of it. Coffen was surprised to see her there at all. She was jumpy as a grasshopper in such high company and usually slipped away as soon as she could. Prance must have put her to work with his decorating. She did undertake to pass the plates holding bread, cold cuts and sweets, murmuring that it all looked delicious, as indeed it did.
Byron lifted his eyebrow in a mute question to Coffen. The others didn’t seem to notice he’d been gone. Prance was jawing away about Corinne’s playing. It wasn’t up to his high standard. Nothing ever was.
“Of course I’m out of practice. I haven’t touched a pianoforte since I moved to Berkeley Square,” she said rather angrily. “If you don’t like my playing, you can play yourself.”
“And who will lead the singers?” he replied, in the same snipping way.
While Luten was trying to
“Oh Vulch,” she said. “Don’t leap out at me like that. You scared me.”
Vulch didn’t say anything. He just grabbed her into his arms and began kissing her with enthusiasm. Coffen watched only long enough to see the girl wasn’t being forced, then he turned to creep away. Even Vulch deserved privacy for his cuddling. Odd that any girl would fancy that monster.
When Vulch stopped kissing the wench long enough to say, “Well, what are they saying in there?” Coffen waited, ears cocked.
“You’re daft, Vulch,” the girl said. “Lady Richardson isn’t talking about nothing except wondering if she’ll be invited to Newstead to meet the company. I smell ale on your breath! Have you been chasing after that Tess at the Green Man again?”
“Can’t a man have a pint without you jawing at him?” he said, not angrily but in a wheedling way. “You know you’re the only one for me, lass. About them at the big house, they didn’t say nothing about the girl what was found on the island?”
“He didn’t say nothing. He never does. She says she thinks it’s Minnie. That’s what everyone thinks. It ain’t her, is it, Vulch?”
“I doubt it. She left town, didn’t she? Sounds to me they’d like Eggars to think it’s Min. So where can we go for a bit of featherbed jigging?”
“It’ll have to be your place. It’s too cold for the field and I can’t get you into my room again. They’ve landed Jennie in with me. I think milady knows you was there last night.”
“Jealous, that’s what she is.”
“Her jealous of the likes of you? She don’t chase nobody unless they have a title.”
When they began snuggling again, Coffen made good his escape, reviewing the clues he had overheard. Vulch already knew about the body, and had some reason to think the Richardsons would be interested. Why? He either thought they’d be wondering if it was that maid of theirs that went missing in London, or he was afraid they suspected it was Minnie. Or there could be some other girl he hadn’t learned about yet.
Since Vulch wasn’t at the Green Man, Coffen decided to save that visit for another time and go back to the Abbey to look for ghosts. It was a good night for it. The fuzzy outline of a half moon cast a pale light as it moved behind a tattered tail of cloud. A cool December wind lent an eerie, creaking sound to the swaying branches above. It also caused a dull ache in his knee, which he had wrenched in a tumble from his mount a few weeks before in London.
The tea tray was just leaving the kitchen when he arrived back at the abbey. He didn’t stop to grab a bite but just washed his hands and hurried upstairs. The others were going into the salon when he got there. The ladies were always complaining behind Byron’s back about how cold the salon was, but it felt nice and warm to him after being outside. Very cozy, with the fire leaping in the grate and the silver vessels from the tea tray twinkling in the lamplight.
The tray was placed before Corinne, who poured for them without spilling a drop. Mrs. Ballard never poured when she could get out of it. Coffen was surprised to see her there at all. She was jumpy as a grasshopper in such high company and usually slipped away as soon as she could. Prance must have put her to work with his decorating. She did undertake to pass the plates holding bread, cold cuts and sweets, murmuring that it all looked delicious, as indeed it did.
Byron lifted his eyebrow in a mute question to Coffen. The others didn’t seem to notice he’d been gone. Prance was jawing away about Corinne’s playing. It wasn’t up to his high standard. Nothing ever was.
“Of course I’m out of practice. I haven’t touched a pianoforte since I moved to Berkeley Square,” she said rather angrily. “If you don’t like my playing, you can play yourself.”
“And who will lead the singers?” he replied, in the same snipping way.
While Luten was trying to
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