An Anne Perry Christmas_ Two Holiday Novels - Anne Perry [51]
he following morning Henry got up early because he did not want to lie in bed thinking. When he reached the dining room he found Benjamin already there, with a plate of Cumberland sausage, eggs and bacon, and thick, brown toast on the side. Instead of marmalade there was a dark, rich jam in the dish. He remembered from the past that it was witherslacks, a tart kind of small plum, known as a damson in the rest of England, and Benjamin's favorite.
Benjamin gave him a tight, miserable smile. “Good morning, Henry. I'm going to see Colgrave this morning. It must have snowed most of the night. It's pretty deep. We can ride. It's only a couple of miles or so. He's an oily swine, and if he had an ounce of decency he'd have stopped Gower already, but we might be able to put a little backbone into him.” He took another mouthful from his plate. “Or make him more frightened of us than of whatever he thinks Gower will do to him. Ephraim should be here any day, but you can't tell how long it will take to sail from South Africa. What a terrible homecoming!”
“Antonia is expecting Naomi, too,” Henry told him.
“I doubt she can help.” Benjamin's broad shoulders slumped. “I still miss Nathaniel. What's happening to us, Henry? Judah was the oldest, and he was only forty-three, and two of us are dead already! Joshua's the only heir to the Dreghorns.”
“So far,” Henry agreed.
Benjamin did not answer the remark. “Have some breakfast,” he said instead. “You can't go out in this weather without a good meal inside you.”
And in spite of the fact that it was only just over a mile and a half to Peter Colgrave's house, it was not an easy journey. The snow had drifted in the night and in places it was more than two feet deep.
They rode toward the lake and crossed the stream lower down where there was a rough bridge made of two long slabs of stone balanced at either end, and on a central stone. On foot, one balanced with care, but on horseback it was a matter of splashing through, more than hock-deep, and up the other side.
Half a mile beyond they saw the square-towered stone church and the vicarage, then a hundred yards farther was Colgrave's house, also of stone. It was handsome, deep-windowed, the roof immaculately slated. One could see where the money from the sale of the estate had been used to remain and extend it, and to build new stables. That was where they left their horses.
“Come in,” Colgrave said, covering his surprise and considerable reluctance with an effort. “Good to see you, Dreghorn. My deepest condolences on your brother's death. Terrible tragedy.”
“Thank you,” Benjamin said briefly. “You remember Henry Rathbone, don't you?”
“Can't say that I do,” Colgrave answered, looking Henry up and down, trying to place his lean figure and mild, aquiline face. “How do you do, Mr. Rath-bone.”
Henry replied, finding it difficult to smile. Colgrave was broad, tending to fat a little, although he was no more than forty at the most. He had dark brown hair and a clever, thoughtful face, somewhat guarded in expression.
“Come in, gentlemen,” Colgrave invited, ushering them through a wood-paneled hall decorated with fine portraits of men and women who were presumably his ancestors. The fire was already burning well in his study and the room was warm. The shelves that lined the walls were stocked with leather-bound, gold-lettered books. “What may I do for you?” Colgrave asked. “Anything I can, to be of assistance. You will be returning to the east? Palestine, isn't it? Must be fascinating.” This was directed to Benjamin. He considered Henry to be of no importance, merely a friend brought for company, and perhaps that was close enough to the truth.
“Not until I have cleared my brother's name,” Benjamin said bluntly.
“Oh!” Colgrave let out his breath. “Yes. Fearful business.” His face tightened in distaste. “Gower is a complete outsider, quite appalling. The man is a fraud, a cheat, and now slanders the name of a good man. Pity we can't set the dogs on him.”