myself. When I catch up with him, my brother will have some explaining to do.
While Matt prepares the carriage, I walk back to the house to find John. Iâll need a driver, and Iâd much prefer it be someone I can talk to.
Iâm halfway back when I see two men standing at the scullery door, speaking with John. Thereâs something in their manner that makes me pause, then conceal myself in Walthinghamâs shadows before advancing. The pair should look comical next to each otherâone tall and thin, the other short and nearly as thick around as he is tallâbut their appearance does not inspire laughter. I judge them both to be in their forties, dressed in drab civilian suits of brown and black. The short manâs neck overflows his collar, and the thin man has taken off his hat to reveal a bristling shaven head and small ears. They appear to have come on foot, which in these conditions strikes me as very odd indeed.
I creep closer, trailing my fingers against the rough stone wall.
âIâve already told you once, and my answer will not change.â The voice is Johnâs. âThe master of the house isnât in, and you have no business here until heâs back.â
âWeâll keep coming back until we get what we came for,â says the tall man, his voice perfectly even.
âYouâll get exactly what youâre owed,â John replies. âBut not while the master is away.â
He means Henry, I supposeâthough my brother is lord of Walthingham Hall in name, he has not yet taken over the running of the estate.
The tall man eyes John for a long moment. I think of a dog with its hackles up, deciding whether to flee or fight. Finally he drops his shoulders, then stabs a finger into Johnâs chest. âMark my words, man. You will be seeing us again, and sooner than youâd like.â His eyes flick upward toward the house, taking it in, and then he and his silent companion trudge away. I wait until theyâve rounded the corner of the house before walking on. John is rehanging a shelf against the scullery wall, hammer in hand.
âDonât worry, they didnât see you,â he says. His tone is familiar, as it always is when Iâm unaccompanied, but thereâs something heavy in it today.
âWho were those men? What did they want with Henry?â
âThem? Theyâre nobody you need worry about. Just masons, here to discuss the renovations of the west wing. Though they would do better to start chasing down payment after theyâve completed the job, I think.â
The story is a likely one, but it strikes me as false. âIndeed,â I say.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
In half an hour, the carriage is ready and John is checking over the tackle. Two black mares, sleek and blanketed, toss their heads and snort. John is dressed in a long coat and gloves, with a flat cap pulled down over his ears. Iâve told him I want to visit Jane DowlingâI will not give him the opportunity to dissuade me from chasing my errant brother.
âYouâre sure youâll be warm enough?â he says as he helps me into the cushioned seats. Grace has insisted I bring two loose fur blankets, and Iâm grateful for them.
âEnough,â I say. âI already feel guilty that youâll be facing the elements while Iâm tucked up in here.â
âItâs your place,â he says simply.
The avenue from the front of the house sweeps through the forest, running along high ground. In the dip before the house, below sculpted gardens, lies the lake, glassy and still. Already Iâm feeling freer, just moments away from the house and its restrictions. Through the glass at the front, I see John seated above the horses, swaying with the carriageâs motion. Were I to need him, I could summon him by the bell-cord hanging close at hand. My place , indeed.
The rocking of the carriage has almost lulled me to sleep
Learning to Kill: Stories