Chapter Nine
In the morning, a light drizzle was falling. Edward rode into Soddy Morton and visited a farmer two miles east of the village, who, according to Miss Eccles, had recently been flush in the pocket. But neither the farmer nor his wife could read or write.
The drizzle became rain. Edward looked at the addresses he had—one three miles west of the village, one two miles south—and decided to call it a day.
Back at the Hall he changed into dry clothes and went downstairs, four slices of gingerbread wrapped in a handkerchief in one pocket. As he passed Strickland’s study, he heard the murmur of male voices behind the closed door. Were Strickland and Quartley discussing Miss Chapple’s suitability as a bride?
Edward grimaced.
He looked in the library, the drawing room, and the parl
