Murder Most Fair

by Anna Lee Huber

  “No, I trust you to take care. After all, you drove my other one for over four years without her suffering a scratch.”

  I wouldn’t have gone so far as to say that, but I wasn’t about to contradict him. Not when I was getting my way.

  “Just . . . be careful.”

  I arched up on my toes at the base of the stairs to press a kiss to his cheek. “Always.”

  Father had been correct. Another several inches of snow had fallen overnight. But the sun was now shining, and the temperature had risen over the morning, causing some of the snow to melt, and leaving behind a slushy mess on the roadways. I drove with extra caution, aware it had been some time since I’d navigated roads in such a condition, and anxious not to damage the motorcar in any way. Few people were out and about, and as I pulled into the lane next to the church and parked, I encountered almost no one. Only a terrier loping down the pavement, who stopped to sniff my boots as I climbed from the Pierce-Arrow before carrying on.

  I hurried up the path leading to the church beneath the overarching lime trees, their branches limned with snow. My gaze lifted to the rough-hewn stone of the church as I approached, the slate of its steeply pitched roof a patchwork of white and gray. Under such conditions, with the sunlight breaking through the clouds to glint off the stained glass windows, the building lost some of its usual solemnity.

  The heavy wooden door groaned as I opened it to step inside. A hush seemed to fill the soaring space as it shut behind me. I turned to look about me, searching for Violet. Wondering if I had arrived before she had, or if she’d entered through one of the other doors, I began to stroll up the aisle toward the chancel, my heels clicking across the stone floor to ricochet up to the wooden beams above. The air inside was cool and lightly scented with lemon polish and the lingering stench of extinguished candles.

  I slowed my steps as I reached the rail separating the chancel from the nave, and turned to look behind me, suddenly a little awed and unnerved by the realization that I was alone in this echoing space.

  That’s when I caught a fleeting movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning back toward the altar, I stepped up into the chancel. “Violet, is that . . . ?”

  My words died as Isaac Hardcastle stepped out from where he’d been hiding beyond the choir stalls. He held a Webley pistol in his hand, aimed at my chest.

  “Hullo, Verity,” he declared, his mouth twisting with satisfaction. “Weren’t expecting me, were you?”

  I forced myself to take a calming breath even though my heart pounded in my ears. “Isaac, what on earth are you doing? Put that thing down.”

  “I think you know what I’m doing. Don’t play games with me.”

  I frowned. “I take it Violet won’t be joining us. That this was all just a ruse to get me here.”

  “Her father knew she’d raced over to Brock House the other night to tell you all about our search for the German.” He scoffed. “As if it was something to be horrified about and not merely the pursuit of justice. So it was no trouble to convince him to have one of his servants deliver a message to you.”

  “Yes, but why the need for such a charade? You could have come to Brock House to ask your questions. I would have answered them.” My gaze dipped to the Webley. “Without the need for a gun.”

  “These aren’t the kind of questions you’ll wish to answer in front of your family or your war-hero husband. But go ahead, make your denials.” His eyes hardened to chips. “Though I tell you, things will go much better for you if you cooperate.”

  His words and the voice in which he’d said them sent a chill down my spine. It appeared I had sadly underestimated what Isaac was capable of. Sadly, indeed.

  He gestured with the pistol. “Now, step into the lady chapel, if you please.”

  Swiftly weighing my alternatives, I decided it was best to obey him for now. But that didn’t stop me from raising my voice as I passed the large Victorian font and walked through the wooden tracery-worked screen into the side chapel. “I’m not sure what it is you think I know, but I presume this is something to do with Fräulein Bauer and the man you saw her speaking with.”

  “If you’re hoping Vicar Redmayne will come to your rescue, then you’re mistaken. He spends his Thursdays over in Askrigg at St. Oswald’s.”

  My heart stilled, for I had not known this, though I refused to give him the pleasure of seeing that.

  “You’ve been away from home too long, Verity,” he mocked. “You’re no longer familiar with our ways.”

  “Do those ways include threatening an unarmed woman in a church at gunpoint?” I retorted angrily.

  “When that woman is a traitor, aye, they do.”

  I swiveled to look at him, realizing just how deeply in trouble I was. “You can’t be serious?” I shook my head in shock as well as denial. “I’m not a traitor.”

  “Then why did Miss Bauer and her German fellow want to meet with you in secret?” he challenged.

  “I don’t know why they wanted to meet with me. My best guess is that it’s because she knew my great-aunt is ill and not long for this earth, and she wanted me to hire her and this German man.”

  “Lies!” he snapped, moving several steps closer and jabbing his gun toward me.

  I shrank back a step in reaction, my breath catching in my throat for fear he would fire the pistol in his anger. But then I planted my feet as my training took over, refusing to cower, and apprehending that my best bet of escaping unharmed was to disarm him. And I couldn’t do that unless he came close enough for me to strike out and grab his arm to force the barrel away from me before it discharged.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he snarled. “I heard them talking about a turncoat and a spy.”

  I inwardly flinched. Could Isaac have overheard two worse words, and then misunderstood them? I was certain Bauer or Kurt had used the word Überläufer, which could mean “deserter” or “turncoat.” Of course, Isaac had grasped on to the latter.

  “But I didn’t connect it to you until I learned about that letter she left you, asking you to meet them.”

  “I thought you told Freddy you didn’t understand German,” I replied, gauging the distance between us. Just two more steps, and I might be able to attempt it.

  Unfortunately, he came to a stop, his mouth twisting into a spiteful grin. “Aye, well, you aren’t the only one with hidden talents.”

  “Then you overheard their plan to meet in the field barn.” I shifted on the balls of my feet, wondering if I could slowly close the gap between us. “You knew they would be there.”

  He scowled.

  “Were you there waiting for Bauer when she arrived?”

  “I . . .” He shook his head, his face flushing with anger.

  “Did you confront her with what you’d overheard?” I pressed, shifting another quarter step closer with every sentence. “Did she call you some nasty names in return?”

  “She was a spy,” he spat, spittle flying from his mouth and nearly striking my cheek. “And an insolent, foul-mouthed girl.”

  “So you killed her.”

  He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. As his gaze dipped to my feet, I recognized I was about to lose my chance to disarm him, and I might not get another chance. So I made the split-second decision to lunge for him and strike out from where I was.

  My hand connected with his wrist just as the pistol fired. The bullet tore into my shoulder, knocking me backward, and I fell to the ground. I gritted my teeth against the sharp pain that lanced through me. Pressing my right hand over the wound, I stared up at the vaulted ceiling.

  This was what Sidney had felt when he’d been shot during the chaos of the retreat from St. Quentin. The thought briefly flickered through my mind. Blood soaked the coat underneath my fingers, but I knew I had to keep pressure on the wound.

  Then a figure moved to stand over me with wide, wild eyes, the gun now dangling from his hand at his side. “Now, see what you made me do,” he ta
unted in a shaky voice. “All you needed to do was confess. That’s all I wanted from that German maid. But neither of you understood what’s good for you.” Air rasped from his lungs, growing more labored with each breath.

  Lying there at his feet, reeling from a bullet wound, in an empty church save for the two of us, I realized I was entirely at his mercy. All he needed to do was lift the Webley and fire it into my head or my heart, and my life would be over. And sooner or later he would realize that. He would emerge from his stupor and silence me, blaming it on the German, on Kurt. It was the only choice he had if he was to save his own skin. After all, I was a Townsend, not merely some German maid.

  The sickening irony of it all was that until five minutes ago, I hadn’t been worried about what Isaac Hardcastle might do to me. Lord Ardmore and the unknown bomber of General Bishop’s HQ had been the biggest threats to my life and future. I had never anticipated that a childhood acquaintance—if not friend—and neighbor would be the one to kill me.

  I hardened my resolve. But not without a fight. I hadn’t survived four bloody years of war, of sneaking in and out of the German-occupied territories, and losing my brother and colleagues and so many others, only to die on the floor of the church in my quiet English village, executed like a mangy dog.

  Tightening my abdomen muscles, I shifted to the side and struck out with a sweeping kick. Isaac tumbled to the ground, landing partially on my legs. I yelped in pain, but then forced myself to roll, to keep moving. My shoulder throbbed as if it were on fire, but I heaved myself upright, searching for the gun. It had clattered across the floor to my left, out of our reach. But rather than dive for it and risk him tackling me, I rammed my knee into his side—once, twice.

  “That’s for shooting me,” I growled. “And this is for ruining my favorite coat.” I pulled back my fist to punch him in the nose. It landed with a satisfying crunch, and he howled in pain.

  Staggering to my feet, I stumbled across the floor to grab the pistol. I sank down on my knees, lifting it to aim it at Isaac. But when he made no effort to rise or come toward me, but just lay there groaning and cursing between labored breaths, I lowered it, my muscles shuddering in agony.

  I looked up as I heard footsteps pounding over the stones in the chancel, and voices shouting my name. “In here,” I called.

  Sidney hurtled through the door first, followed by Freddy and then Tim.

  “Tim said he heard a gunshot,” my husband gasped, looking first at Isaac and then me.

  I shifted so that he could more clearly see the front of my coat. “I’m afraid he’s right.”

  The gun fell from my hand and my muscles seemed to give way, as if now that the danger was past they were no longer able to support me.

  Sidney caught me, sinking down on his knees behind me and gently lowering me to the floor as he called urgently to Freddy. I blinked several times, trying to keep them in focus, but everything had become rather fuzzy. The last thing I recalled was seeing them hovering over me, their eyes filled with fear, and then everything went black.

  CHAPTER 31

  Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a long shaft of light across the bed. If I shifted slightly to the right, it would shine directly into my eyes, but I was content enough where I was. After all, I’d woken that morning to only a mild twinge of pain rather than the dull throbbing ache I’d feared would never go away, and so I was determined to be grateful for what was.

  My shoulder was healing, thanks to Freddy and the staff at the hospital where I’d recuperated for a week. I couldn’t have been in better hands, though I was certain my brother had never anticipated patching his sister up from a gunshot wound. In time, I was expected to make a full recovery, though I would always bear a scar. Which severely limited my choices when it came to my evening wardrobe. But my modiste and I would simply have to come up with a clever solution for that.

  I turned my head on the pillow to gaze at Sidney’s sleeping face. His dark curling hair always fell in disarray as he slept, and I found him to be all the handsomer for it. It softened the rugged cast to his features and made him look as if he’d been up to something decidedly naughty. Though that definitely had not been the case last night.

  He awakened to the sight of me tracing his features with my eyes, something I refused to feel embarrassed about. After all, one should be allowed to enjoy the sight of one’s husband, especially when he was as attractive as Sidney.

  “Good morning,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice that always seemed to register low in my belly.

  “Good morning.”

  He pushed up onto his elbow with a yawn, causing the covers to fall to his waist and revealing his well-defined torso, as well as the scar he sported from his own bullet wound. “Do you need some more pain medicine?”

  “Not yet.”

  He gazed down at me, perhaps trying to gauge whether to believe me—something I couldn’t fault him for doing, as after my release from the hospital I’d initially tried to wait too long between doses and wound up regretting it. He leaned closer, and then reared back as the sunlight struck him full in the face. “Shall I fix the curtain?”

  “If you like.” I watched intently as he rose up onto his knees and reached over me to draw the curtain closed tighter, causing a ripple of movement in the muscles of his abdomen and arms.

  Looking down at me, he caught me avidly scrutinizing him, and his lips twitched in amusement. “So that’s your game.”

  “Just appreciating beauty where I see it,” I explained as he settled on his side next to me, his elbow bent and his head propped in his hand. “And glad we’re both alive.”

  His gaze dipped to my shoulder, the thick dressing evident beneath the loose sleep shirt I’d borrowed from him. “I’ve been scared many times in my life, Ver. Especially during the war. I’m not too proud to admit that.” His deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion as they lifted to mine. “But I’ve never been more scared than when I saw you kneeling on that church floor with your coat covered in blood.”

  I lifted my left hand as much as my injury would allow, and he reached out to twine his fingers with mine. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  “I know. I just . . . wanted you to know.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, but pulled back before things could get interesting. “Your brother should be here shortly to check your dressing.” His eyes scoured my features with concern. “Maybe you should take your medicine.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right.”

  Not that Freddy wasn’t gentle, but manipulating my shoulder about, exerting the muscles that had been damaged, always caused me pain.

  He fluffed up the pillows behind me and helped me to sit upright before measuring out the medicine and waiting for me to drink it.

  “I forgot to mention, we received a telegram from Becker yesterday evening,” Sidney remarked as he whisked the glass away. “He made it to Berlin safely.”

  I exhaled in relief. “That’s good to hear.” Though my father had offered him a position here at Brock House, Kurt Becker had told us he wished to return to Germany despite the hardships there. So Sidney had made arrangements for him to do so, without suffering any ill consequences. His cousin, Anni Becker, would, of course, remain buried here in Hawes, but I hoped now she would at least be able to rest in peace.

  Tante Ilse had looked tremendously sad and weary when we’d explained who Bauer was and why she’d come to Monschau and then England. I’d expected her to be a trifle angry as well, for no matter her reasons, the girl had deceived her and betrayed her trust. But she merely shook her head and lamented the fact that she hadn’t simply told her who she was.

  I grieved knowing what had become of Heinrich Becker’s family, wishing it could have been different. Wishing I could have shared my admiration for him with his daughter, and told her how very much he’d loved her. How everything he’d done, every choice he’d made had been for them, even if it hadn’t made sense to her. I wished she could have known it. Bu
t such were the choices one made in life, whether during war or peace. Even those decisions made with the best of intentions could turn out horribly wrong.

  “And Miss Capshaw,” Sidney added. “She called after you’d retired to bring you some bulbs from her mother’s garden.”

  “Oh, she didn’t need to do that,” I protested. Violet had been horrified when she’d learned what her father had done. She and Mr. Capshaw had visited on my return from the hospital some days past so that he could apologize for being taken in by Isaac and sending me that note. Given the fact that Mr. Capshaw had appeared appropriately contrite and was notoriously stingy with his apologies, I’d accepted it with grace. I only hoped he wasn’t the only villager who’d realized the error of his ways. But Violet clearly still felt guilty.

  “Your mother and I told her so, and we reiterated that you placed no blame on her and that you had already forgiven her father. Though I’m not sure I have,” he muttered under his breath as an aside. “But she insisted.”

  I shook my head against the pillow propping me up. “It’s as much my fault as anyone’s. I should have been more suspicious of that note. I should have wondered why Violet hadn’t simply telephoned. I should have recognized the missive wasn’t written in her hand. But I saw the scrawl as merely an indication of her haste. And I sorely underestimated Isaac.” I tilted my head to the side. “Of course, I’d not realized he’d pegged me for a German spy, but I still should have been more wary. I knew full well that when one of my fellow agents was caught it was usually because of a small slipup on their part. Those thoughtless little mistakes more often than not were what led to their apprehension. And yet still I blundered in without thinking.”

  Sidney sank down on the bed and reached for my good hand. “Don’t beat yourself up. None of us suspected Hardcastle was capable of such a thing. And we never would have thought to be concerned had it not been for your mother. When we told her where you’d gone, she was the one who expressed doubts, telling us Violet always spent Thursdays in Richmond volunteering at the orphan home, and that the vicar went to Askrigg. That’s when we began to worry that perhaps everything was not as it seemed.”