Before Nick could answer, the man had made his way to Claire’s side and paused respectfully.
“Beg pardon, my lady,” he said, touching his hat, “Sir Adrian sent me to say that he’s waiting for you in the car just along the road there.” He pointed to where, on the white ribbon of road which crossed the Moor not far from the base of the tor, a stationary car was visible.
Claire, her face ashen, turned to Nick in mute appeal.
“Sir Adrian? I thought he left for London this morning?”
Nick shot the question fiercely at the chauffeur, but the man’s face remained respectfully blank.
“No, sir. Sir Adrian drove as far as Exeter and then returned. Afterwards we drove on here, sir, and they told us in the village we should find you at Shelston Tors.”
Meanwhile the other members of the party were becoming aware that some contretemps had occurred. Claire’s white, stricken face was evidence enough that something was amiss, and simultaneously Lady Anne and Jean hurried forward, filled with apprehension.
“What is it, Claire?” asked Lady Anne, suspecting bad news of some kind. “What has happened?” Recognising the Charnwood livery, she turned to the chauffeur and continued quickly: “Has Sir Adrian met with an accident?” She could conceive of no other cause for the man’s unexpected appearance.
“No, my lady. Sir Adrian is waiting in the car for her ladyship.”
“Waiting in the car?” repeated Jean and Lady Anne in chorus.