"Bramble stays," Rowan said.
Silas sighed. "Sentiment is dangerous."
"So is standing behind that horse," I said.
Silas turned. "What?"
Bramble shifted one hind hoof. I smiled. "He dislikes lemon."
Silas stepped away too quickly. Rowan watched every movement.
Our investigation became a strange thing made of hoofbeats and gossip. Bramble remembered smells, sounds, and flashes of fear. The stable cat knew who came and went through the tack room, but demanded cream before cooperation. The kitchen cat knew even more and charged more.
A gray mare named Duchess, who belonged to Lady Beatrice, had seen Silas meet a stranger near the old icehouse. Duchess spoke in my mind with aristocratic boredom: The blond man gave coins to the red-faced man. Then both complained about mud. Men have delicate souls.
"Did you see the red-faced man again?" I whispered while currying her.
At market, selling harness. Bad harness. Insulting buckles.
I reported this to Rowan in the library that evening, after pretending to bring a message from the head groom. He sat by the fire in his chair, a book open but unread on his lap.
"A red-faced harness seller," he said. "That narrows the field to half the county and most of the unpleasant parts of London."
"Duchess was very clear about the buckles."
"Of course. I will add insulting buckles to the warrant."
"Do not mock the witness."
"I would not dare." He looked tired. Firelight gilded the hard line of his cheek. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, making him look less like a Duke and more like a man who needed someone to tell him to sleep.
"You walked too much last night," I said.
"You sound like my physician."
"Then your physician is occasionally right."
"Do not tell him. It would ruin him."
I tried not to smile. Failed.
The library door opened without warning. Silas entered. I stepped back so fast I nearly knocked over a globe. Silas looked from me to Rowan.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," Rowan said.
Silas blinked. He had expected politeness; it was touching how often villains depended on manners.
Rowan added, "Miss Finch was reporting that Bramble's near foreleg needs new shoeing."
"A horse trainer reports in a library now?" Silas asked.
"I enjoy variety."