Lizzie glided like a shadow into the dark lane as the trample of hoofs drew close, and the rider pulled up beside the door.
“You’re working late, I see. Is it too late to make a shoe for Aide-de-camp here?”
It was Honoria. She dismounted and stood at the doorway, holding her horse’s bridle.
“No,” said Taffy: “that is, if you don’t mind the waiting.”
With his leathern apron he wiped the Dane’s anvil for a seat, while she hitched up Aide-de-camp and stepped into the glow of the forge-fire.
“The hounds took us three miles beyond Carwithiel: and there, just as they lost, Aide-de-camp cast his off-hind shoe. I didn’t find it out at first, and now I’ve had to walk him all the way back. Are you alone here?”
“Yes.”
“Who was that I saw leaving as I came up?”
“You saw someone?”
“Yes.” She nodded, looking him straight in the face. “It looked like a woman. Who was she?”