Page 5
Lottie glances at it, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the missive that came in for you yesterday, isn’t it? I remember thinking the ink was right unusual. Not bad news, I hope?”
I bring a forkful of bacon and mushrooms to my mouth, chewing slowly as I ponder the letter. “What do you know of Lord Iestyn? I’m told he lives in the manor on the hill.”
“Wreymoor Hall.” For the first time in the week I’ve known her, Lottie’s cheerful demeanour slips. A flicker of disquiet dims her eyes, and her cheeks lose some of their colour. Then she recovers, her gap-toothed smile returning as quickly as it left. “I’ve never been there myself, but the butcher and greengrocer often send their delivery boys that way. It’s a strange old place, to hear them speak of it. All those sprawling grounds, but not a bit of birdsong to be heard. And the manor itself… Cold, for all its beauty. Too big for one person, I’d have thought, but that’s just me.”
“Lord Iestyn lives there alone?”
“As far as anyone knows, which isn’t saying much.” Lottie shrugs. “He’s a bit of a recluse, if you’ll pardon my frankness. Keeps to himself. I’ve never seen him in Caelfeld, or if I have, I certainly didn’t realise.” She gestures to the letter. “That’s from him?”
I trace the shape of my name, wincing as my fingers brush over the dried blood. “He claims to be in need of assistance. I haven’t decided whether to respond.”
“Well, it’s not like you don’t have your share of jobs to choose from here in the village.” Lottie keeps her voice light, but unease ripples through each word. “Something’s not right in Caelfeld. It’s a good thing for us that you came when you did.”
I prod at the last of the bacon, casting my gaze around the crowded inn. Most of its patrons are occupied with their own business, heads buried in their breakfasts or bobbing in hushed conversation over the top of a newspaper. I can’t help but notice the furtive glances in my direction, the guarded murmurings over the clatter of cutlery.
“I’m not sure everyone feels that way,” I say quietly.
Lottie clicks her tongue. “Don’t you pay any attention to them. Everyone’s on edge, what with all these strange happenings lately. Doesn’t help that the last one of your lot to show up around these parts—a monster hunter, begging your pardon—took a purse from the village council and then disappeared without as much as a word. Can’t blame ’em for being wary of outsiders after that.”
“I suppose not.” I drain my tea, the now-lukewarm liquid less of a comfort than it was before. “Thank you, Lottie. You’ve been very helpful.”
She pats my shoulder, then scoops my empty plate off the table. As she’s about to leave, she turns back with a hesitant expression. “It’s not my place to tell you what jobs to take, Miss Alderose, but if you were to ask me, I’d make a point of calling in at Oakhill Farm. Alex Harrison was a schoolmate of mine back when we were children, and I hear something has been getting at his ewes. If you have time…”
“Of course.” I nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She beams at me, eyes sparkling. “He’s a good man. Isn’t one to ask for help, though Lord knows he needs it sometimes, especially since… Well, he’s a widower, you know?”
My breakfast churns in my stomach, and I have to stop myself from reaching for the chain around my neck. Suddenly, I have an urge to heave.
Lottie walks away, clearing plates from tables as she goes, exchanging wide smiles and laughter with the other patrons.
He’s a widower, you know?
I steady myself with a breath and wait for the shifting in my stomach to settle.
Yes, Lottie. I know.
As I leave the village and head towards Oakhill Farm, clad once more in my leathers, I pass the noticeboard again. Scraps of parchment flutter in the breeze, fixed to the wood with an array of nails and pins. My eyes fall across a tattered sheet I’ve seen before but paid no attention to until now. It’s a crudely drawn portrait of the monster hunter Lottie spoke of—the one who made off with the townsfolk’s coin. He stares at me with vacant eyes and a slack jaw, his likeness surrounded by angry scrawls branding him a thief and a cheat.
I suppress a sigh before moving on. It’s hardly surprising the people of Caelfeld have little love for me if my predecessor swindled them like they claim. They likely think my only interest lies in getting paid. If they knew the truth… But no. I can bear their unease and suspicion easier than their pity.
It’s a short, pleasant walk to the farm. Yesterday’s bleak weather has cleared, and the gentle knolls of the surrounding hills look like something out of an oil painting. It’s almost enough to chase away the tingle at the nape of my neck, the sense of unease that has clung to me ever since I set foot in Caelfeld. In the distance sits the Stiperstones, the regal quartzite ridge overlooking the surrounding moorland. The rocky outcroppings rise over swathes of purple-flowered heather, wild and beautiful in equal measure.
“Quite the view, isn’t it?”
I startle, caught off guard by the voice at my shoulder. When I turn around, I’m met with the scrutinising features of a man in his early forties. His face is weathered but fair, his brown hair flecked with strands of grey at the temples. When he smiles, the gesture doesn’t chase away the shadow behind his eyes.
I extend a hand. “Alex Harrison, I presume? My name is Alderose Mortimer. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” he says, not unkindly. He takes my hand in his, shaking it only long enough to be polite. “What brings you to Oakhill?”
“I was told you were having some kind of trouble with your ewes. I thought I might be able to help.”
He stiffens. “I didn’t put a notice up. The farm is… Things have been difficult of late. I have no coin to spare.”
Of course, Lottie had neglected to mention that. But I smile pleasantly all the same. “I’d still like to know what happened. Call it professional curiosity.”
The way he looks at me is so guarded I almost spill the truth. I want to tell him I understand, to put him at ease by laying bare the wound inside me. Instead, I wait patiently as he sighs and nods towards the nearby paddock.
