He drove a neat pair of Welsh cobs, their glossy chestnut haunches gleaming in the late afternoon sun. ‘They are handsome,’ commented Jarrett idly. ‘Aye, aesthetically pleasing at a stand but their motion as a pair is execrable. It is my own fault. I’m such a shallow fellow – ever drawn by outward appearances in both women and horse-flesh.’ Bronte shuddered and skipped a step. ‘I thought to school them but this one’s an incurable kicker and pulls like the very devil.’ Transferring the reins briefly to his whip hand, Charles flexed his gloved fingers to ease the cramp. ‘I suppose I shall have to break ’em up and start afresh.’ Jarrett was impatient with this small-talk. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, Charles. Why so long in York? May I hope your delay was due to some discovery?’ Charles’s face focused as his quick mind came to the fore. He sketched a brisk nod. ‘You know I was off to find Dibley, the lawyer, as we parted? Well, old Dibley’s papers were quite a mine of information, once his clerk managed to gather it all up.
