The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter twenty-five - Assignation at dawn

The swooping trills and chirps of the morning chorus heralded the dawn as Fielding dressed with speed and efficiency. Chin held high, he allowed Parkes to finish arranging his neck cloth; fidgeting hands belying his otherwise calm demeanour.

While he did not doubt Anabelle would make every effort to keep their appointment, until he saw her there could be no certainties.

He eased open his chamber door and glanced down the corridor. The footfalls of servants going about their appointed tasks sounded below, but the heavy mantle of Hypnos still shrouded the bedrooms. Carrying his boots in one hand, Fielding padded along the hall carpet, heading towards the top of the main staircase. He was so focussed on his destination that he failed to notice he was no longer the only person up and about.

"Rather early for breakfast, even for you." Mountford, dressed in a Moroccan silk robe and slippers, lounged against his bedroom door frame.

"I could not sleep. I decided to go out for a stroll."

"That does not explain why you ordered your horse to be saddled, or so Briggs tells me."

Fielding silently cursed the valet's propensity for ferreting out information. "You have to walk to reach the stables. I thought a ride might clear my head."

"At dawn?" Mountford grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the semi-darkened chamber, closing the door behind them. "Where are you going?"

Fielding crossed his arms, impatience sharpening his response. "That is none of your concern."

"The devil it isn't. My life is none of your business either, but that doesn't stop you from poking your nose in whenever you feel like it."

"The circumstances are entirely different."

"How so?"

"Because..." Because Fielding had only ever separated his friend from the most unsuitable of attachments; those ladies attracted by his friend's fortune rather than any genuine affection. Yet to begin a discussion on the differences between their circumstances would take time he could not spare.

Mountford dropped onto the end of his bed. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the clock with bleary eyes. "Is it not a touch early in the day to be meeting Miss Latimer?"

Fielding pursed his lips, knowing the less he spoke, the quicker Mountford would tire of his game and let him leave.

"Come now, do you think me blind? I am crushed you rate my powers of observation so low. How could I miss the way you looked at her across the dinner table? If your thoughts are travelling that particular road I would urge you to be cautious. Do you really know what you are letting yourself in for?"

"I believe I have a fair idea."

"I am not sure you do. After you ran away from Woodside the other night, I spent the remainder of the evening getting to know my esteemed neighbour. Mr. Latimer is rather an odd duck. More than once I caught him grinning to himself, as though he had told the most humorous joke. He reminded me of that professor we had at St. John's. You know...the one who wore a dandelion in his hatband, and called Piggy Philpott 'Lord Oink'."

"I do not see how this has—"

"As much as I hate to malign a neighbour, I am convinced that Mr. Latimer is completely deranged. I cannot for the life of me imagine that Anthony Fielding would risk his honourable name, or his family's reputation, by involving himself with a mad man's daughter. Why, it may even run in the family! Insanity often does, you know."

Fielding's fingers had curled into a fist before he forced himself to relax. "You would be wise to choose your words carefully, my friend," he said, keeping his voice deceptively calm.