This was the first intimation Delia had from Giff’s uncle that he was conversant with all the circumstances. A stir of determination burgeoned. She would have the story from him before he deposited her at Weymouth.
He had disclosed his plan upon coming into the kitchen where Delia was polishing off the last of a plate of tartlets stout Aggy had pressed upon her, along with a flagon of lemonade.
“I have thought it all out, my dear child. You were hiding from those ruffians, which fits with your story. You missed the coach and began walking, but they returned and you ran away into the forest and became lost. Perhaps they were scouting around and you were obliged to run and hide, which will satisfactorily account for your torn gown, will it not?”
“Indeed, and it is quite true for I snagged it several times before Giff found me.” Doubt smote her. “Though whether anyone will believe it became so torn…”
“I suspect your people will be so relieved to find you safe, they will not look too closely.”
Delia breathed again. “Yes, and I imagine they will be more worried for Aunt Gertrude.”
The rector smiled but made no direct response to this. “In any event, once you were satisfied the men had gone, you found your way to the road again where I happened to be passing —”
“— and I attracted your attention and asked for help. Yes, that is excellent, sir.” A caveat entered her mind. “But how shall we explain my having washed and eaten?”
“There is no difficulty there, my child. You were so distraught, we stopped at an inn that you might rest and do just as you have done here. Will that serve, do you think?”
Relief swept through Delia. “You are very kind, sir. I am sorry to put you to so much trouble.”
The elderly features crumpled into warmth. “On the contrary, Delia — if I may? It is the least I can do, and I fear it will hardly suffice to repay my indebtedness to you. Without your valorous endeavours, my dear child, I shudder to think what would have become of my poor nephew.”
Gratified, if a trifle overwhelmed, Delia argued no further. In her view, she was quite as indebted to Giff, who need not have taken her up, and to whom she was sure she’d been more of a hindrance than a help. If he had not been obliged to take care of her, he would not have been shot. With his skills, and Tiger’s too, he would have escaped detection. And that was another creature she’d needlessly worried over. The horse had not been forgotten. He’d been groomed and fed by the servant Chaffe, now on his perch behind the phaeton, and was safely hidden in the Reverend Gaunt’s stables.
Delia found it odd to retrace the lane she’d fled along with Giff, and could not see the entrance to the path where they’d made the turn. The lane ran for some miles before ending at a crossroads which permitted the rector to take another he said would lead to the Dorchester to Weymouth road.
It occurred to Delia that time was passing, and she’d not yet begun upon her investigations. She glanced at the groom up behind and lowered her voice. “How freely may I speak before your man there, sir?”
The Reverend Gaunt looked round, regarding her with a slight frown. “He is discretion itself, are you not, Chaffe?”
“Beg pardon, Reverend?”
“You’ll not chatter about anything Miss Burloyne says, I trust.”
A grunt came from behind. “Ain’t heard nothing to chatter about, Reverend.”
The rector laughed. “As I thought. You may speak as you wish, my child. What is on your mind?”
Despite this permission, Delia kept her tone low. “You evidently know what is going on, sir. Pray tell me, why is this Piers trying to — to dispose of Giff?”
“If he is trying so to do.”
She gazed at his profile. “You don’t believe it?”
A flickering glance came her way. “There is no proof, but the suspicion cannot but obtrude. To my knowledge, there is none other who might benefit from Giffard’s demise.”
“How would he benefit? What has Giff done to him?”
The rector gave her a sidelong look. “How much did Giffard tell you?”
“Nothing at all. He would not answer my questions. I learned only what he inadvertently let fall. That these men wish to capture him so they might kill him in secret. And that his cousin Piers hired them to do so. Which I believe, for I heard them talking of someone who would pay them for capturing him. Oh, and they said no one knew Giff was in the country. Only that can’t be so, if this horrid Piers knows it. And you too.”
“That, my dear child, is precisely the problem. Believing his cousin to be dead, my great-nephew took over Giffard’s property and has been lobbying for the title.”
Delia stared. “Title? What title?”
“Giffard, if he can prove he is indeed Giffard Gaunt, is rightfully the Earl of Baunton.”
The blood was dancing in Delia’s veins as she digested this. An earl? Her fugitive prince was really an earl. Heavens above, and she’d taken him at first for a highwayman!