In the Shadow of Winter

by Lorna Gray

  “Good morning, Ellie.”

  He repeated his greeting loudly, accompanying it with a cheerful lift of his hand and I had to wonder whether he even remembered his actions of the night before. On the whole, I suspected not; his jaunty walk as he sauntered over to intercept us was not quite in keeping with one who had anything playing on his conscience.

  He skirted past a thick patch of particularly slushy ground and smiled. “On your way back from a ride?”

  “As you see,” I replied, rather coolly. I wasn’t really sure how to play it. I knew I could no longer count him as a friend, but I didn’t think that I actually wanted open hostilities with him and I was thankful when Beechnut did her job nicely, and a toss of her head was enough to stop him from coming too close.

  “Did you have a nice time last night?” John’s expression was the very essence of guileless innocence. I stared at him in amazement, wondering if he was being deliberately crass or truly had been very, very drunk. But then he blinked as he realised my mood and suddenly gave me a disarmingly sheepish smile. “You’re cross with me.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, John.” I gathered up my reins. “But I do have a lot to do today so we’ll be on our way.”

  “Wait a minute, Ellie, don’t leave it like that.” He made to step closer but then saw the look in Beechnut’s eye and thought better of it. “I behaved very badly last night and I want to have the chance to explain myself. Surely you can give me that at least, can’t you?”

  I glanced at Freddy who was watching us curiously and knew that whatever John was going to say, I really didn’t want the boy’s delicate young ears to hear it. “You go ahead Freddy, I’ll be home very shortly.”

  With a frowning look at me that was intended to communicate his intense distrust, and a scowl at John that was meant as a warning but only looked adorably fierce in the manner of a very small lamb, Freddy took the ropes I held out and trotted away up the road with my little cluster of ponies trailing obediently along behind him. I watched him go, calming Beechnut’s impatient stamp and wondering why politeness had made me choose to stay for an explanation that I knew could not bring me any cheer.

  “Oh, don’t look like that, Ellie, I’m not going to bite,” John said wearily. He turned to lead the way back down the drive again and reluctantly I followed, reminding myself that regardless of what had come over him last night, I didn’t need to actually be afraid of him. But all the same, I was very glad of Beechnut.

  I drew the horse to a halt by the lorry with as detached an expression fixed upon my face as I could manage, implying, I hoped, only aloof disinterest, and waited for the apology that was unlikely to save our friendship. To my surprise, however, instead of seeming appropriately contrite as I expected, or even remotely humbled, when he finally turned and looked up at me, he actually laughed. “Honestly, Ellie, you do make a fuss. It was only a kiss.”

  I scowled at him silently and eventually he gave in, lifting his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “All right, fine. I’m sorry. I behaved very badly and I’m a cad. Will that do?”

  I shrugged. I had a horrible feeling that I was coming across as an old prude. “It’ll do,” I admitted grudgingly.

  “Good. Now, will you come in and have a cup of tea? I can’t stand talking to you with you towering over me like that, particularly when that damned beast keeps looking at me with a hungry look in her eye.”

  I shook my head. “I must get back.”

  “Ellie,” he said sternly. “Don’t tell me that you’re the sort to bear a grudge. Just come in for five minutes, surely you’ve got the time for that. You could put that horse in a stable, couldn’t you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  I shook my head again; I had no intention of going anywhere with him. By way of distraction I said, “You’ve finished the horsebox?”

  But John was prevented from making a reply by the brisk interruption of one of his grooms and although I was tempted to make my escape, I could see that John was keeping a watchful eye on me and would inevitably make a fuss. So instead I waited patiently while he finished his business and allowed my gaze to gently pass over the very neat little coach-built lorry by my side.

  He had clearly completed the refurbishment and at the top of the modern ramp with its new hessian matting, I could see a hay bag and the assortment of other bits and pieces that were essential for transporting a horse. I nudged Beechnut forwards so that I could see fully inside and couldn’t help admiring the new partitions which would nicely keep a pair of horses secure in their stalls during a journey along England’s rough and jolting roads.

  “Lovely, isn’t she?” John had finished talking to his groom and had come as close as Beechnut’s determined man-aversion would allow.

  I smiled, making an effort to be pleasant, “Very smart. Are you taking it out today?”

  He nodded and cast a glance up at the brooding sky. “I’ve decided to send the horse to Southampton now, before this next bout of bad weather comes. Apparently melt-water made the Thames flood at Reading the other day and if it tracks up as far as Cricklade like they say it will, we might not be able to get out on Tuesday and I just can’t afford to lose this chance.”

  I frowned again at the mention of the horse; I really didn’t like to be reminded of how we had last spoken about it, and I didn’t like that he could apparently mention of it without any shade of embarrassment.

  “Oh, for goodness sake!”

  John was suddenly and very genuinely exasperated. Repressively, his hand touched to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose before he dropped it again and looked up. “Haven’t you ever done anything that you were ashamed of? I got carried away, that’s all, and if you’d just stop sniping at me for a moment and get down from that blasted horse, we could talk about it like civilised people.”

  He might have been about to add something else but at that very instant the grey-haired housekeeper hurried out and came to a breathless and abrupt halt in front of us. I believe she actually bobbed a very small curtsey.

  “Yes?” snapped John impatiently, barely turning his head. “What is it?”

  “It’s the telephone, sir.”

  “Well, tell them I’ll call back, can’t you?” John crossly flapped her away as he turned back to me. He blinked. “What was I saying, Ellie?” Then he frowned as he remembered.

  “But sir …” The housekeeper had not gone. She was a small timid woman who, as I had discovered over the years, it was impossible to be kind to. She responded to any attempt at friendly interest with exactly the same blank deference that she used to greet the Colonel’s barked commands. From as far back as I could remember, she had busied herself in unobtrusively hovering on that man’s periphery with servile hands clasped in front of the inevitable grey dress that fastened tightly at her neck, and it seemed to me that her whole life would be spent in waiting for whatever was next in his long line of abruptly delivered instructions. Whenever I met her I found it hard to decide if it was compassion, frustration or pity that most dominated my thoughts and now, as she stood there, blinking owlishly and anxiously lingering in unhappy defiance of the son’s sharp words, I still could not truly tell.

  “What is it?”

  John’s eyes had followed my gaze past his shoulder and he now twisted to face her when it was apparent that she wasn’t going to leave. “Do I have to do your job, too?”

  She tightened her linked hands across the starched breast of her dress, looking very shocked by his tone. Her chin wrinkled a little as she persevered, “It’s not for you, sir … It’s for Miss Phillips.”

  Both faces lifted in perfect unison to look up at me. One was very slightly flushed, the other pale.

  “It’s definitely for you, Miss,” the housekeeper insisted, anticipating the obvious.

  “Well then, you’d better come in and take it, hadn’t you,” John said waspishly in the face of my confusion. “Put your horse in a stable, she’ll be happy enough for a few minutes.”

>   If John hadn’t looked as equally surprised as I felt, I would have never believed the housekeeper. But finally I had no choice but to give in to the inevitable and slither down from Beechnut’s back. It only took a moment then to knot the reins securely on her neck and leave her merrily flirting with the would-be Union Star, and then I found myself following a pointedly gracious John into his office to take the waiting call. He left me by the drinks stand and, feeling absurdly nervous, I walked over to the desk.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice answered. “Ellie, is that you?”

  “Lisa!”

  I caught John’s interested glance and turned away so that I had a little privacy. I lowered my voice. “What on earth are you calling me here for?”

  “I called you at home but Freddy said you were there, so I thought I might as well try. You did say it was urgent.”

  “Well, yes, I did,” I said very cautiously indeed. I didn’t want to give anything away to my listening audience; that was an explanation I couldn’t even begin to conceive. “Did you manage to track it down?”

  “I did and it took me a while, I can tell you. You wouldn’t believe what trouble you’ve cost me, I almost feel like becoming a private eye – I’ve shown some talent, I should like to think.” She laughed and I think I managed to raise something in response. “Chasing that girl all over the place I was. And then, whenever I managed to corner her, the boss would appear and tell me off for gossiping during work time! If I’m dismissed over this, you’ll be the one who has to cover my wages.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said weakly, wishing she would just get it over with. “Lisa, did you get the … what I wanted, then?”

  “I did! And you’ll never guess what.”

  “What?”

  “You’re speaking on it.”

  Chapter 27

  I stood there for a very long time simply concentrating on breathing. I must have set the telephone down because I found that my hands were empty but I don’t remember actually doing it and it is quite possible that I didn’t even say goodbye. Random thoughts were flitting through my mind, all disjointed because I couldn’t finish the last one before another thought burst in. Nothing was making any sense, but then, horribly, painfully, it did. It made a lot of sense.

  I suppose if I had been a true friend I would have naturally assumed that the Colonel was the man, but as it was I didn’t even waste a moment in denials or forming useless explanations. There was no point, not when I remembered that the Colonel had been in London with his other son on that fateful day.

  John must have moved or said something because suddenly the room came sharply back into focus.

  “Ellie? I said, are you all right?” His voice came from what felt like a very long way away.

  I blinked and forced my shaken brain to concentrate. Whatever happened I knew I mustn’t let him find out what I had heard, mustn’t let him guess what I knew. All I had to do was be polite, make my excuses and leave. Surely nothing could happen while the housekeeper was nearby.

  I took a deep breath, fixed a smile upon my face and slowly turned to face a murderer.

  He was still standing by the drinks stand, with a bottle of something in his hand ready to pour. I put my hand out behind me and it met the reassuringly warm wood of the big oak desk, giving me strength and support.

  “Fine, thank you,” I said and I was amazed to find that my voice showed not even the faintest tremor. “That was just Lisa, she’s been trying to get hold of me for days.”

  “Oh?” he asked pleasantly. Looking at him now as he stood there with the same brilliant smile that he always wore, it didn’t seem possible to believe he had ever killed someone. But I had Simon Turford’s words as a dismal echo in my memory. The boss had caused all this by losing his head. “Anything important?”

  “No. Not really.” My voice squeaked a little, but only so that I would notice.

  He had straightened up and was walking slowly towards me. He still had the bottle in his hand and I wondered if he was drunk again; what it might mean if he was, and whether he would be easier to get away from, or worse…

  Sharply I dragged my thoughts back to safer footing and forced my mind to focus. I said, “She just needed to talk, you know how it is.”

  “No, I don’t know,” he replied patiently. His eyes were that brilliant blue that mesmerised. “Why don’t you tell me.”

  I slid casually along the desk away from him, wondering if I could back all the way to the door without him noticing. “Oh, she likes to catch up occasionally; we were at school together.” I was chattering gaily as my mind feebly did its best to keep up this façade.

  “Were you?”

  The bottle glinted in his hand as he tilted it and suddenly I realised, with a horrible tightening of my throat, that he wasn’t pouring the contents into a glass.

  “Yes!” I said. It came out as a strangled croak. “Anyway, I’m sure this isn’t remotely interesting, and you must have a lot you need to be getting on with.”

  “Not particularly.” He was closer now and I cast a quick anxious glance about in case there was anything I could pick up as a weapon. There was nothing. “Tell me more. I’m still curious as to why she bothered to call you here.”

  “Oh, er…” I gabbled frantically. I was closer to the door, with less than half the room to go before I would be out of there. Perhaps he only means to scare me, I told myself optimistically as I edged along the length of a chaise-longue. The light from the tall Georgian bay window was picking up the dust on the floor beneath it and I wondered if he knew that his servants were being so lax. Concentrate, I snapped at my wavering mind.

  “She … er …”

  He carefully set the bottle down on a table and took another step nearer. “Why did she call you, Ellie?” Suddenly his voice wasn’t so mild, although his manner was still convincingly friendly. “What did she have to tell you that she needed to call you here?”

  “Nothing!” I squeaked the word far too eagerly. A chair brushed the back of my legs, but I managed to avoid falling onto it. “Nothing at all! Anyway, is that the time? I really must be going. Goodbye!”

  I turned and ran then, all pretence abandoned.

  There was a crash behind which must have been from the chair being thrown over, then, before I had even cleared the next obstacle, his hand landed heavy on my shoulder, dragging me back. I gave a short breathless scream, half falling, half twisting away in a desperate move that had nothing to do with sensible thought. There was a great tearing as my coat tore at the collar and using my momentum to drag my arms free, I slipped out of the sleeves and then I was up and onto my feet again, and running.

  A loud thump followed behind as he tangled with the ruins of my coat. I heard a curse and a mutter of pain and another sound of tearing but I didn’t bother to check where he was. The door loomed white from the wall ahead of me and I lunged madly for the handle.

  Magically, before I had even laid a finger on it, the tall wooden frame began to open. It yawned wide and for a moment I enjoyed the wild belief that someone had heard, had come to save me, but the chest I ran into and the hands that caught and held me were not those of a tiny aging housekeeper but those of a great brute of a man. My enemy.

  “Well, hello, lass,” said Simon Turford thickly and a nasty sneer spread across his face, widening into a grimace that passed for a smile as I tried uselessly to free myself. Then he must have lost patience with my feeble wriggling because he tightened his grip upon my arms and suddenly gave me a vicious shake that made my head reel.

  “No!” I begged, shrinking back from his leering, brutal satisfaction. The room span nauseatingly as he shook me again and his unforgiving eyes rested on my face in unashamed scrutiny for a moment before coolly flicking up over my head to look behind me.

  “In your own time, sir,” he said calmly.

  In the blinding chaos of panic, the thought finally crossed my mind that I should scream but even as I drew breath, I
felt John’s arms come around me. His cheek touched to mine and then, with deliberate precision, he covered my mouth and nose with the cloth in his hand. I thought for a moment that he intended to suffocate me and very nearly took the frantic gasp that would have ended it, but the odour on the rag made my eyes water and then, with a final crushing rush of horror, I remembered the bottle.

  Fighting every impulse, I held my breath and tried to wrench my head away, and might have managed it but that he shifted his hand and I was held still in a cruel grip that hurt.

  “Go on. Breathe in, Ellie, my dear. Get it over with.” John’s voice was soft in my ear. “There’s no use fighting.”

  I kicked hard, my foot swinging back with all my might, and it connected.

  John gave a sharp hiss of pain and his hand tightened horribly over my nose. “Bitch,” he said calmly.

  I held on for what seemed like an eternity. My lungs ached to be allowed to breathe but still I refused to give in, jerking uselessly and painfully in their vicelike grasp, and never even gaining a millimetre. Then my ears began to ring and I knew I was beaten. I tried so hard to fight the defeat back, but then finally, agonisingly, I lost control and at last my desperate lungs drew in a great breath of air. And with the air came the sickly sweet smell of chloroform.

  It was only a matter of moments then. With a terrifying succession of shuddering breaths, I plunged recklessly down into the clinging, clawing blackness of oblivion, and as I fell, numb now to the pain of Simon’s grip on my arms, I heard a murderer’s voice in my ear.

  “Good girl, breathe deeply. Goodnight, my dear … and sweet dreams …”