"Nothing out of the ordinary that I can see," Orlando said from the brewery attic.
Susanna agreed. The brewery was as neat as when she'd filled up a jug the evening before from the ale keg. It wasn't a large brewery, certainly not as big as the ones at Sutton Hall and Cowdrey Farm, but it didn't need to be. Hendricks made the ale and beer because Cook was too busy helping Susanna make the succades and marmalades, and he was very particular about keeping the barrels clean and the place tidy.
If Monk had disturbed anything, he'd put it all back before he left. It had been the same in the bakehouse. Susanna and Orlando looked everywhere for signs of what Monk was up to but found nothing amiss.
Orlando swung down from the attic by hanging one-handed from a beam and dropping to the packed earth floor with a soft thud.
"You could have taken the ladder," Susanna said.
"Not as much fun." He pecked her lightly on the nose, but the impulsive gesture seemed to catch him unawares as much as it did her. He stalked off.
"Any thoughts on what Mr. Monk was doing in here?" she asked, catching up to him as he headed out of the brewery. She had to step quickly to keep up with his long purposeful strides.
"None."
"What do you mean, 'none'? Surely you have some thoughts?"
His hesitation was slight, but she noticed it. "No."
"You do. I can hear it in your voice. You have some thoughts, yet you don't wish to share them with me."
"Hmph."
"That is not an answer."
"I wasn’t aware you'd asked a question."
Why was he being so difficult? "Is it because I'm a woman and you think our sex incapable of keeping a secret?"
He stopped suddenly and regarded her. "No. It's because I'm not sure what any of this means. I need to think about it awhile." He stepped closer and touched her fingers, just the tips. He bent his head and whispered, "Thinking about it in your arms may help. We could return to the bakehouse and...think in there. It's nice and warm."
"Cook will be baking soon." She stepped back, otherwise she might find herself agreeing to his scheme. When it came to making love to Orlando Holt, the word no seemed to have vanished from her vocabulary.
"In the stables then. Not as warm but there is all that lovely soft straw."
"Straw is not soft."
One eyebrow shot up and those wicked dimples appeared. "Oh? And how does the lady of the manor know that?"
She turned away. "I'm going to the village with Bessie and Hendricks to visit an ill friend I didn't get to yesterday. What are you doing this fine afternoon, Mr. Holt?"
He fell into step beside her. "I prefer Orlando when we're in private."
"We're not in private." She nodded at the kitchen door visible over the top of the low wall surrounding the herb garden.
Hendricks stood there like a faithful hound, the folds of his wrinkles practically trembling in indignation as he watched Susanna and Orlando approach together. All he needed were fangs and a snarl.
"How goes it, Mr. Hendricks?" Orlando asked.
"Everything all right, m'lady?" the servant said, ignoring him.
Poor man, he was quite out of his depth when it came to Orlando. Not that she was any better. Her gardener was like no man she'd met before, yet in some ways he was just the same. His ability to charm her into bed, for example. Both John and Phillip had been like that during their courtship, hence her understanding of the ways straw could poke tender places.
"Everything is well, Mr. Hendricks," she said, "however, if you have any suggestions as to why Mr. Monk was looking through our bakehouse and brewery, I would welcome them."
He shook his head. "None, madam. All I can say is he was looking around for something to steal."
"Steal what? Bread and ale?" She clasped Hendricks's arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak harshly. I'm concerned and more than a little confused."
Beside her, Orlando shifted. She wondered if he wanted to touch her and comfort her as much as she wished he would.
"Come, Hendricks, let's go into the village as planned." She turned to Orlando. "What about you, Mr. Holt? What are you going to do this afternoon?"