I halted Coffee on the outskirts of the policies, looking over this house that would be my home if I married John Aitken. It was undoubtedly larger than Cauldneb, more pretentious and with the sunlight reflecting on an array of windows, Mr Aitken evidently had a sufficiently large fortune not to be concerned about the window tax. There was wealth in Tyneford.
'Are you looking for the master?' The man must have been the gamekeeper, a broad-shouldered, red-faced individual with a fowling piece carried in the crook of his arm.
'I am looking for Mr John Aitken,' I said.
The gamekeeper pointed to a stable block at the side of the house. 'Try in there, Miss. He's a right one for the horses is Mr Aitken.'
The gamekeeper had been correct. Mr Aitken emerged at the sound of Coffee's hooves. 'Ble
