Page 98 of A Debt Inherited

Bennet wrote the names.

“Warm yourself,” he said. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir.”

Only then did Mrs Hill touch Dawes’s sleeve and draw him towards the hearth. Cook put a mug into his hands without speaking.

The yard door opened again before Dawes had finished the mug.

Tom Weller came in with his hat crushed in one hand and hedge-seed caught along his coat. He was a broad man, not easily hurried; yet he stopped two paces inside the kitchen.

“Sir.”

Bennet turned a clean page.

“Weller.”

“I took the Oakham track, as Hill said. Went past the lower copse and up by the field gate.”

“Time?”

“Left at nine. Reached the rise before ten. There were cart marks near the bend.”

Bennet’s pencil stilled.

“What sort?”

“A light cart. Two wheels. Not broad enough for a hay-wain, not fine enough for a gig. It had stood close by the hedge.”

Dawes lowered his mug.

Bennet looked up. “Stood?”

“Yes, sir.” Weller’s throat moved. “There was grass pressed under the wheel, and the horse had shifted more than once. It had waited there.”

Mrs Hill’s hand tightened upon her keys.

“Direction?” Bennet asked.

“Lost it where the ground turned hard. I followed as far as the lower road, then could not swear to it. I would not bring you guesses.”

“No,” Bennet said. “You were correct not to.”

Weller looked at the table, then back at him. “I went over the hedge line twice. Found no cloth, no glove, no ribbon.”

No bonnet.

Bennet wrote: cart waited by hedge.

The pencil point broke. The sound was small.

Every face in the kitchen turned towards it.

Bennet laid the useless pencil beside the journal and took up another.

“Who else saw the marks?”

“No one, sir. I kept back from the cottages.”