“Now Willy, listen sharp,” the old delivery man explained to his nephew. “The lord likes his newspaper placed just so, and you need to have a care–”
An unearthly shriek pierced the morning air.
“What was that?” Willy gasped. “Uncle, it sounds like when our old mare was giving birth and she done died!”
The old man shook his head so vigorously his cap fell off. “Pick that up for me, lad. I’m telling you, pay no mind to the things that go on behind the doors of your betters.”
As Willy handed his uncle the cap, the servants’ door opened. A housekeeper stepped out. “Pssst,” she whispered. “Can you help me?”
“What’s the problem, missus?” Uncle said. “We’ve got a lot of deliveries to make and best be on our way.”
“It’s Lord Bloggerton,” she said. “He’s found the thief who’s been stealing his manuscripts and has been torturing him down in the dungeon.”
“That explains the scream!” Willy said.
“It’s none of our concern,” Uncle stated. “Get back in the wagon. What the lord does in his own home is his own business and I’ll not be alerting the constable. We heard nothing!”
“No no,” the housekeeper said. “You misunderstand. “Lord Bloggerton tortured more information out of the thief. He had an accomplice. Lord B is offering a huge reward for his capture. I wouldn’t mind splitting that gold with someone, if you catch my meaning.”
“We don’t want involved,” Willy said. “Right, Uncle?”
“Shut up, lad.” The old man waved a hand at Willy and turned to the housekeeper. “Where can we find this scoundrel, my dear?”
Written for The Haunted Wordsmith’s Genre Challenge: Historical Mystery
Image by Gerhard Gellinger from Pixabay