by Rebecca King
‘What if the killer is still in the house? Don’t you think we – I – should go and look?’ Ronan planted his fists on his hips and adopted a challenging stance.
‘No. I think we should go and fetch Mr Wardle and get him to look around the house. He is the magistrate. You aren’t, are you?’ There was a faint plea in her tone that begged him to tell her that he was, but of course Ronan didn’t because he wasn’t. ‘How do you know what to look for anyway?’
‘God, do you always ask so many questions?’ Ronan drawled in disgust. Before she could reply, he edged toward the bottom of the stairs and stopped only to have a decidedly feminine form slam into his back. ‘Damn it.’
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
Ronan glared at her over his shoulder and stared pointedly down at the dainty hands clutching the sides of his waistcoat, but she didn’t release him. Determined not to tousle with her, or waste any more damned time alerting any intruders to their presence, Ronan shuffled forward. He felt as if Geranium was doing everything possible to halt his progress and was very aware that he was practically dragging her through the house with him.
‘Will you release me, please?’ he asked rather primly when he tried to climb the steps but found his progress hindered by the tight hold that she had on him.
Geranium stared down at her wayward hands and reluctantly forced her fingers to release the fabric she hadn’t realised that she was clutching so desperately. She wished that she hadn’t been so hasty when she peered over Ronan’s shoulder at the darkened landing above them.
While they had been talking, dusk had descended into night. The gloom had shrouded everything in shadows, which seemed to reach out to them. The silence of the night made the house even more eerily uncomfortable. All Geranium could hear as she followed Ronan upstairs was the rustling of their clothing and their soft breaths. Fear compelled her to check over her shoulder as she followed Ronan step for step.
Everything looked normal, until they reached the landing. Once at the top, Ronan put a finger to his lips and prayed that Geranium could not only see him but would be prepared to follow his orders. He doubted she would, but he had to hope if only so that he didn’t start to beat his head against the wall beside him in frustration. He had never met such an irritating female in his life.
‘Ronan,’ Geranium breathed when Ronan took a step toward the closest bed chamber.
Ronan sighed and glared at her. ‘What?’ he prompted when she continued to stare at something downstairs and appeared to forget that she hadn’t answered him.
Geranium stepped closer to Ronan’s reassuring bulk, but her gaze remained locked on a shadow just beside the partially open door to the front room. She was sure she had seen it move toward the door before darting back again. With a shaking hand, Geranium looked helplessly at Ronan and pointed down the stairs. Ronan edged closer to see for himself what had alarmed her. Neither of them moved as they studied the darkest shadow. Ronan reached out and lowered her hand and held it against her side as he studied the shape. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it. It was just as dark as all the other shadows. It was only when he heard a very faint click of something closing that he realised that within that shadow was a person. What he didn’t know was whether that click he had just heard was the intruder’s gun being cocked.
‘Stay here,’ Ronan growled before racing down the stairs.
‘Wait!’ Geranium hissed, but it was too late. Ronan had already gone. ‘Now what?’ she breathed, looking around the landing warily. Determined not to be left alone in the house for long, Geranium hurried after him.
Downstairs, Ronan crept toward the study door. He was so silent that the man rifling quickly through the contents of the desk didn’t realise he was no longer alone. It wasn’t until Ronan nudged the door open that Lynchgate swore loudly. Ronan caught a brief glimpse of the glinting metal of Lynchgate’s gun seconds before Lynchgate fired at his head. Ronan ducked out of the way. By the time he stood upright, Lynchgate had already left the house and was running across the garden. Within seconds, Ronan was charging after him.
Thankfully, Roger had heard the gunfire and was on his way toward Sminter’s house by the time Ronan reached the garden. He took one look at Lynchgate and raced to intercept him at the gate. Ronan tried to force Lynchgate toward Roger. Unfortunately, Lynchgate had other ideas, and ran toward the garden wall at the side of the property instead.
Inside the house, Geranium descended the stairs. She struggled to understand who she could trust. While she wanted to believe that Ronan had nothing to do with Judge Sminter’s death, this entire evening had been too strange for her to be able to trust him completely.
‘Now I am left alone in a dead man’s house. God, I will look more guilty than Ronan, if that is what his name truly is,’ Geranium whispered in dismay. ‘The only way I can clear my name is to report what I have found to the magistrate. It will be highly unusual for me to call upon the magistrate so late at night, but I cannot ignore this, and these are unusual circumstances.’
Fighting the urge to cry, Geranium hurried out of the house. To avoid having to enter the room the corpse was in, she left via the kitchen door but didn’t bother to lock it behind her. There didn’t seem to be much point anymore seeing as everyone seemed able to get into the dead man’s house anyway. Without even a backward look, Geranium raced through the village to the magistrate’s house.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ronan crept through the woodland at the back of Mr Quinton’s house, listening intently for the sound of Lynchgate’s footsteps. Sadly, the only noise he could hear was the thundering of his own heartbeat. He looked across the fields at the silhouette of Lynchgate House, encased in the silvery glow of moonlight, but there was no movement around it. Lynchgate was still in the woods somewhere.
‘Do you see him?’ Peregrine hissed.
Ronan shook his head. ‘He is here, though.’
‘Sminter?’
‘Dead. Hung.’
Peregrine looked around the darkened woods. ‘Luke is around here somewhere.’
Ronan nodded but it wasn’t Luke or Peregrine who concerned him the most, or Roger who was riding down Lynchgate’s driveway, looking for their quarry in the fields. What worried him the most was Geranium. He had stupidly left her alone in Judge Sminter’s house, quivering in fear and probably wondering where in the Hell he had gone.
‘Damn it,’ he hissed. ‘I shouldn’t have left her.’
Ronan felt a strange protectiveness sweep over him when he contemplated Geranium. He felt a little guilty about how badly he had treated her. He had been rude and surly when all she had done was try to protect her neighbourhood from a watchful stranger. She hadn’t asked for such rough, ungentlemanly behaviour from him.
How could she know that she had inadvertently stumbled into one of the Star Elite’s mostchallenging investigations?
‘Who?’
‘The woman who found Sminter,’ Ronan breathed. ‘A neighbour.’
‘Where is she now?’ Peregrine asked looking alarmed.
‘She is still at Sminter’s house,’ Ronan admitted, wrinkling his nose up in disgust.
‘You left her there all alone?’ Peregrine cursed when Ronan nodded. ‘Jesus, Ronan. She could be killed as well. Go. I will meet with Luke and flush Lynchgate out.’
Ronan had to return to Sminter’s house. He just hoped and prayed that Geranium was where he had left her.
‘While I am there, I can have a closer look at the contents of the desk Lynchgate was so interested in,’ Ronan muttered, trying desperately to keep his mind on his job and off the tempting young woman. The fact that Lynchgate had been rifling through Sminter’s papers warned Ronan that Lynchgate suspected that Sminter had evidence that would condemn them all.
‘Well, I shall just have to find out what evidence Sminter has before you do,’ Ronan muttered.
When he reached the house, Ronan’s curses became fluid when he found that Geranium had gone. What alarmed him th
e most was the sheer panic he felt when he realised that he had no idea if Lynchgate had doubled back and caught up with her before she had left.
Geranium knocked on the magistrate’s front door. She could see him through the window, hurriedly moving around his study, but he didn’t answer. While Geranium had no idea what time it was, it was rude of the man to just ignore her. She was cold, exhausted, and too scared and confused to have much patience left. Consequently, she began to hammer persistently on Mr Wardle’s front door. When he still didn’t answer, Geranium began to hammer on the window. She peered through the glass as she did so and watched him jerk as if he had been lost in his thoughts. When he eventually realised that she was there, Mr Wardle scowled darkly at her but, thankfully, finally deigned to yank his front door open.
‘What?’ he demanded without preamble.
‘There has been a death,’ Geranium informed him pertly, carefully ignoring his rudeness. She glared at him when he promptly turned away, clearly uninterested.
‘So send for the damned undertaker,’ Wardle muttered.
‘It’s Judge Sminter.’ Geranium watched Mr Wardle whirl around to face her so quickly that he stumbled backward and had to brace himself against his desk.
‘What?’ He stared at her in disbelief.
‘I said, Judge Sminter is dead,’ Geranium repeated patiently. ‘We aren’t sure if he has been murdered.’
‘M-murdered?’ Wardle stared at her as if he had never heard the word uttered in his presence before.
‘Hung,’ Geranium confirmed.
‘Are you sure?’ Wardle began to pale and sweat profusely.
‘Yes, I am sure.’ She frowned when Mr Wardle returned to hurriedly packing his bag. When he didn’t appear to be inclined to come with her, she rapped her knuckles on his desk to get his attention and waited until he glanced up at her.
‘Well, are you coming or not? We aren’t sure if he has been murdered,’ Geranium repeated, just in case he hadn’t heard her the first time. ‘Are you coming?’
She watched him stuff several more sheets of paper into his bag. It was already so full that several of the crumpled papers tumbled back onto the desk, but he shoved them in again and leaned on the flap with his upper body so he could tie the laces. Mr Wardle then began to pack the other half of his saddlebag, all without bothering to glance up or even acknowledge her presence.
‘Are you coming or not?’ Geranium demanded sharply.
‘If the damned fool has hung himself, what is the point of me coming?’ Wardle huffed. ‘I mean, who in the Hell murders someone by hanging them, eh?’
‘Are you not going to investigate the possibility that he might have been murdered?’ Geranium pressed.
‘What in the Devil’s name for? The man was no lightweight. It would be a damned stupid murderer who would kill the man by heaving his ample girth off the floor. No, he has undoubtedly killed himself, so there is nothing to investigate.’
The dismissive tone of the man’s voice was annoying. Geranium crossed her arms, determined that she wouldn’t leave until he agreed to come with her. ‘You don’t have to be so crass,’ Geranium snapped. Although she didn’t like Judge Sminter, she didn’t think it fair that Mr Wardle should talk so insultingly about someone who wasn’t there to defend himself.
When he ignored her, she planted her palms onto the desk and leaned toward him. ‘Mr Wardle, this is your job,’ she said firmly. ‘Are you refusing to even come and look at the scene of the crime?'
‘There is no crime,’ Wardle snapped, swiping at the thick sheen of sweat on his brow. ‘Send for the damned doctor, get his death certificate written, and then tell the sodding undertaker. Now, go away. I have things to do.’
‘Yes, clearly.’ Geranium stumbled backward when the man shoved rudely past her and stalked into his hallway. By the time she caught up with him, Wardle was already shoving his hat onto his head and donning his cloak in preparation to leave. ‘How long shall you be away?’
‘What’s that got to do with you?’ Wardle snapped. ‘Now, stop meddling and go home where you belong, eh?’
Although he had been in a rush, Wardle suddenly paused and turned to scowl at her. His sudden stillness was enough to make Geranium shift uncomfortably and wish now that she hadn’t been so determined to speak to him.
‘It is best if you don’t put it around town that you think Sminter has been murdered, eh? Just in case,’ Wardle muttered before yanking his front door open. He left it open behind him and stalked to his waiting horse to secure the saddle bag onto the back of his saddle. ‘Now, go home. If you will take a word of advice from me, forget all about it. Like I have said, send for the doctor. If you know what is good for you, tell the gossips that the man hung himself and leave it at that.’
Geranium followed him to his horse. To her disbelief, Mr Wardle mounted it and turned the horse toward the road running past his cottage. Geranium opened her mouth to ask him if he was going to close his front door and lock his house up only for Mr Wardle to ride off into the night without a backward look. She stared after him for several moments as she listened to the sound of his horses’ hooves fade. Once the silence of the night settled around the small cottage on the outskirts of the village, Geranium turned to face the house Mr Wardle called home. She didn’t want to go back inside, but the man had left a candle burning and the place unlocked. She felt it incumbent upon her to take care of it for him seeing as he had seemingly forgotten about it.
Once inside, Geranium studied the contents of the desk but all she found were numerous sheets of paper containing numbers of some kind, and a few personal letters.
‘I suppose he took the important papers with him in his saddle bag,’ she whispered.
With nothing else to do, Geranium put an old, battered fire guard across the fireplace but decided to leave the candle burning. She didn’t like the idea of having to lock the house in the dark.
‘I don’t like the idea of walking home in the dark either, but I am going to have to.’ While she didn’t want to suspect that Judge Sminter had been murdered either, she couldn’t ignore the presence of that stranger who had been hiding downstairs in his house.
And is still running around the countryside somewhere, probably with Ronan right behind him.
‘As long as I don’t bump into them then I will be fine,’ she whispered.
Despite her bravado, as Geranium locked the door, she slowly became aware of the feeling of being watched. She pocketed the key and tugged her shawl more firmly around her shoulders before hurrying back to the village a quarter of a mile away. As she walked, she tried not to be afraid of the dark. It was something she was used to – or so she tried to tell herself. Even so, the shadows seemed to be darker tonight, and reach out menacingly toward her.
Now that she had the presence of mind to reflect on what she had hastily rushed into, Geranium bitterly regretted not sending Rupert for the magistrate. She doubted Mr Wardle would have been so dismissive with her gardener on account of him being a man. It was too late now, though. The magistrate had dismissed her, and she had achieved nothing. Now, she had to walk home alone, late at night, and in the dark.
To try to reduce her worry, Geranium attempted to think of something else, but soon found herself wondering about Ronan and whether he had caught the intruder yet. Geranium was so busy contemplating the many questions she had about him she didn’t immediately notice that she was no longer alone.
She was about half-way home when the faint scuffle of footsteps behind her made her slam to a stop in the middle of the road.
‘Who is there?’ she demanded, whirling around to peer into the darkness. Fear compelled her to run, but Geranium suspected that if she did then panic would overwhelm her, and she would be unprepared if whoever it was behind her chose to attack her. She forced herself to keep calm and looked around for a makeshift weapon, but it was far too dark.
And I am not going to linger out here to find one.
With one last wary lo
ok around, Geranium resumed her long and terrifying walk home.
Ronan kept his gaze locked on the back of the young woman he was following. He was so angry that he wanted to shake her. In fact, he wanted to scare her, terrify her even, if only to stop her from doing anything so foolish and dangerous again. He suspected her parents didn’t know how foolhardy their daughter was being while they were away, but Ronan made himself a promise that they would find out whenever they returned from wherever they had gone.
Of course, I have no proof that they have actually gone anywhere. She might have lied to me.
But Ronan seriously doubted she had seeing as she was walking down a country lane in the middle of the night, unchaperoned, and without a guard dog or burly butler to protect her virtue. Incensed, both with himself, Lynchgate, and Geranium, Ronan edged closer. He made certain he scuffed his boot against the ground but dodged into the shadows when she whirled around again to peer at the empty road behind her. While she was busy trying to identify the source of the noise, Ronan skirted around her so that when Geranium turned to face forward, she found Ronan standing directly before her.
Tall. Silent. Mere inches from her nose and dressed from head to toe in black, Ronan blended with the night with a sinister ease that made Geranium cry out in horror.
‘Ronan,’ she gasped but her shock was soon replaced with unease as she studied him a little closer.
Although the man before her looked like Ronan, he wasn’t the man she had met on Judge Sminter’s terrace. That Ronan had been gentle, kind to her. The man before her wasn’t kind. He was dangerous. Brooding. Sinister even, and it didn’t have anything to do with his clothing. He didn’t speak. Instead, he glared menacingly at her and allowed the air between them to turn malevolent.
‘What?’ Geranium prompted when he continued to stare darkly at her with a faint hint of a scowl on his brow and his lips pinched. The fact that Ronan didn’t move, or speak, was far worse than if he shouted at her. She wasn’t at all sure what she should say. She refused to explain herself to him and he didn’t ask her anything. ‘What do you want?’