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the animal was also well
schooled and obedient to the bit; in fact, the gelding was far too good for a
girl.
    Twenty minutes’ hard riding brought them to the
coastal side of the park, an area rarely
    frequented
by gamekeepers or poachers. He guessed the paths had been made by smugglers
after they’d landed their goods. Since the end of hostilities with France this
illegal trade in contraband had increased and in spite of the government
appointing more militia and customs officers to protect their shores the
nefarious trade flourished.
    He smiled wryly as he remembered drinking a
fine brandy the previous night - no doubt it too had arrived without taxes
being paid, like much of the claret hidden away in the wine cellars under
Neddingfield.
    James raised his hand indicating they were to
slacken their pace. They must be at their destination. He eased back on the
reins as did Robin who was riding beside him. Tom Clark was ahead riding beside
his friend. Ralph rather feared he had made an enemy of that man.
      The
young man halted and swung to the ground. ‘I think it’s best if we tie the
horses here, I’d like you to see the encampment as I did, your grace.’
    ‘It’s possible I can establish how many men
there were by the evidence they’ve left. It might also be possible to say which
way they travelled and if they were accompanied.’ He didn’t need to elucidate,
the others knew he was referring to the missing staff and owner of
Neddingfield.
    His men stepped aside allowing him to walk
ahead. He pushed some overhanging branches aside and found himself standing on
the edge of what could have been an abandoned camp left by soldiers. James was
right to think it had a military flavour ; he didn’t
have to look around the enclosure to know the men who had been here were
ex-soldiers. However, what they were doing camping in this remote place or what
they had to do with his aunt, he had no notion.
    He remained on the outside of the clearing and
the others stood and waited for instructions. He frowned. There was something
about this place unsettling him. He could see the imprints of horses’ hoofs,
but something was missing. God’s teeth! There were no footprints, none at all.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he shivered involuntarily. He
glanced over his shoulder to see if the others had seen this. There’d been too
much talk of ghosts and goblins and he had no intention of fuelling
speculation. This was an observation he’d keep to himself.
    ‘Robin, go and see if you can count how many horses
they had tethered over there. Tom, you and James walk along the small paths on
that side. See if any of them shows signs of having been used recently.’
    He stood in the middle of the clearing counting
the sleeping hollows. He pushed his fanciful notions to the back of his mind.
He was a soldier. He dealt with facts. There were seventeen spaces on one side
of the fire, two on the other. He imagined these were for the equivalent of
officers, the rest the rank-and-file. There was something else that bothered
him. The place was too clean, no troops he’d ever commanded left their camp
looking so tidy. Where was the detritus that always accompanied such a place?
    He kicked viciously at a flat stone left in the
fire pit and the pain of his stubbed toe cleared his head. There was one
disaster after the other at the moment. First he had had this wretched title
foisted on him and the fortune and responsibilities that went with it. He was a
simple man, a professional soldier; he’d never accumulated possessions. The
bounty he’d won in his many campaigns had been invested in the funds and he was
comfortable but not wealthy.
    Like his cousin he stood to inherit half his
aunt’s fortune when she died, but as she’d told him several times over the past
few years, he was more likely to predecease her, the kind of rackety life he
lived. He had almost turned up his toes on several occasions and had the scars
to prove