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sworn they were all here on my staff. Now I see he must have a close acquaintance somewhere else.”
    â€œWe could search his quarters for clues.”
    Bart appraised her for several seconds. “Devious again. I am fortunate that you have not turned your wit against me before today.”
    â€œMaybe I have, but in so devious a way that you haven’t realized it yet.” The words made her heart beat quickly, as though speaking them was an exertion. Was she threatening him, or flirting? Surely the two should not be so difficult to tell apart. But then, Hannah had little practice with either.
    He seemed not to know which she meant either. He lifted a hand as though to remove his hat, only to squint, discomfited, when he recalled he was bareheaded. “Let us search, then, as soon as these men are cared for.”
    * * *
    By the time the physician arrived, the stable boy had revived enough to confirm that Northrup had indeed galloped off with the colt.
    â€œSo the groom was lying about Golden Barb favoring a foreleg,” Hannah observed. “He must have meant to distract you.”
    â€œHardly necessary, considering Chandlers were flinging themselves about my estate. That ought to have been distraction enough to cover any crime.” Bart’s reply lacked heat. He could not muster any ire for an old foe when a new one had so suddenly arisen. Horse racing was built on loyalty and trust: that of a horse for its trainer and rider; that of an owner for his staff. Bart’s trust had been misplaced, and he had not even suspected it.
    The physician was a spare, pragmatic native of Newmarket who was used to treating the violent injuries that sometimes resulted from people and large beasts moving at high speeds or in close quarters. Bart let him assume what he would, overseeing the safe transport of the stable boy Russ and Hannah Chandler’s groom to spare chambers within the servants’ quarters.
    â€œThey’ll be all right within a few days, Sir Bartlett,” stated the doctor. “Keep them still, and give them plenty of beef tea and nourishing broth.”
    The housekeeper grumbled at these additional duties, but Bart knew Mrs. Jarvis’s kind heart and sense of hospitality would ensure the care of the injured.
    Well, he didn’t know ; he only assumed. Even as he made the proper replies all around, his mind whirlpooled with doubt. Whom could he trust, if such a longtime servant as Northrup could attack and steal?
    Where had Northrup taken the colt?
    What ought he, Bart, to do next?
    So recently, he had answered the last of those questions with careful plans, balanced on a knife edge. Now they were scattered and toppled.
    He seized on the one sturdy suggestion that remained. Turning from the housekeeper, he caught Hannah Chandler’s gaze. “Miss Chandler”—for the sake of the others listening, he retrieved formality—“your suggestion of a search was, I think, a good one.”
    A lift of one dark gold brow. “I agree, Sir Bartlett.”
    A few words of farewell and thanks to the doctor and housekeeper; then he and Hannah again exited the house. “Northrup’s quarters are in the stable,” Bart explained, leading her in that direction. “If he has left behind any personal effects or correspondence, they’ll surely be there.”
    She matched his long strides. “You are beginning to think in a devious manner after all.”
    â€œI’m not made for deviousness,” he admitted. “If I were, I’d probably not be a bachelor any longer.”
    â€œSuch a statement smacks of bitterness.” She tipped up her face, letting the sun edge beneath the brim of her tidy little black hat. “Perhaps that is why you are a bachelor.”
    â€œYou know nothing about the matter,” Bart muttered.
    â€œSo tell me,” she said. “Enlighten me.”
    What an odd woman. She sounded sincere.
    But he didn’t