Cachet Read Free

his way to the policeman's ball."

Chapter 2
     
    From Newcastle-Upon-Tyne the carriage headed inland across the broad moors. Rachel listened to Boyd and gazed at the passing scenery. Hazy skies were dotted here and there with clumps of whitish gray batting and a light but chill breeze had been blowing every since they'd left the inn that morning.
    This was early summer. Rachel surmised winters here would not be terribly different from the wet misery she'd known in the Oregon territory. But this country-side was much prettier.
    Boyd explained that he and his longtime friend held separate business interests, but had invested jointly in a livery and freight service and a small warehouse between Newcastle and the village of Crowshaven. Boyd owned the local tobacco shoppe. His partner, Morgan Tremayne, owned the local inn and a granary that had fallen to disuse. And they had recently formed the holding company of Atkinson & Tremayne, Ltd.
    "I was in London negotiating with my tobacco supplier, but generally Morgan's the one who travels," Boyd told her. "He makes excursions often, so he uses a suite of rooms on the top floor of the inn and rents out his family cottage. That arrangement's suited to his erratic schedule."
    Their driver swerved to the edge of the roadbed. Boyd thrust his head out the window and shouted something. Rachel caught a glimpse of a lone rider who shot past them on a dark gray horse. Boyd shouted again and the rider yelled an answer. Boyd glanced at Rachel and gave a hapless shrug. "As I said, he's off again."
    "The maniac who nearly ran us off the road was the innkeeper? Your partner?" The mental image she'd formed of a sedate older gentleman instantly crumbled.
    Crowshaven was visible now just beyond a gentle rise. Rachel grinned as she saw the town was nothing like she'd anticipated. No raw lumber or dirt floors; these were solid homes with glass windowpanes and stone foundations. As the carriage neared the heart of the village, her eyes took in the square with a sense of wonder and joy. Cobblestones! Real streets, not dirt and mire. It was darling, this quaint village. She liked the tiny shoppes and marketplace crowded with stalls and carts. Boyd pointed out his tobacco store and the chandlery, baker's, post office, livery stable, and blacksmith's. Just off the main square stood a large mercantile. The most imposing structure in the whole village was the Crowshaven Inn.
    They swung in a circle to the outer edge of town. A row of houses dotted an angular bluff. The carriage stopped at the second house from the corner. "This is Morgan's cottage," Boyd announced.
    Rachel sat unmoving. She'd pictured a single story bungalow. The weathered stone residence had a high gabled roof. Glittering diamond-shaped windowpanes flanked the front door and graced the second story. It was no mansion, but there was an undeniable charm about the place. Boyd escorted her up the front walk and into the parlor. It was snug though sparsely furnished.
    A settee upholstered in a somber brown sat beside a cherry end table. A solitary armchair faced the open hearth. The chair's floral fabric matched the front window drapes. Beyond the parlor was a small kitchen. An alcove led to a pantry and a small bedchamber.
    "Sorry about these," Boyd coughed, pulling the tattered kitchen curtains aside to display the rear garden. "There's a wire run to the fence for hanging out the wash. That stile leads to the alleyway." Rachel barely heard him. She was staring at the yard. There were flowers in bloom right outside her back door. Flowers, not knee-deep mud and a wooden privy!
    Upstairs, the front bedchamber was dominated by a mahogany canopy bed and tall dresser. The bed's faded lace canopy and coverlet matched the curtains across the wide windows. The house featured a good many windows, Rachel noticed. A welcome change after years in a dark shanty. Across the hall, a narrow cot and small table faced the low bureau in the third bedroom.
    "I trust