“There is a partial hoof print here in the mud.” He touched the print and rolled wet soil between his fingers. “It’s impossible to know how fresh it is. The rain damaged much of it. It could be days old.”
“Or made last night,” Brenna countered. She nudged Brontes closer. “If it was our housebreaker, it appears he went that way.”
“I agree. We should check the forest.” Richard urged his horse into a lope. Brenna followed. She kept her attention focused on the ground for hoof marks.
The forest gave up no obvious clues. Though a man could easily hide in the brambles, a horse would be exposed. And there was no sign of a horse as they peered through the trees.
Richard took off his hat and rubbed his forehead. “Next is the dower house. It has been locked for years. Still, if someone was determined to break the lock, it would not be difficult.”
“I didn’t know you had a dower house.”
Richard led onward. “My mother would go there when Father slipped into one of his rages. She considered it her sanctuary. I closed it up after she died. I had no use for it.”
Ten minutes later, the two-story cottage came into view. Set back in a small grove, Brenna could see that it had once been pretty, an ideal place for solitude. Though it still stood, it had fallen into disrepair. The weeds had taken over the small yard, and the roof looked ramshackle.
“Damn,” Richard muttered, as he swung down from his horse. “I should have taken better care of the house.”
He walked over to help Brenna down. “I suspect it was lovely when your mother came here. The stone is still in good condition. It wouldn’t take much to fix it up.”
“Hmm.” Richard steered Brenna around a fallen tree. “I’ll send workmen to make the repairs. We might want to use it someday.”
Brenna thought it a perfect place for her and Richard to be alone. Someday when they had half a dozen children, they’d want somewhere to steal some privacy.
“The lock is broken.” Richard cursed low and pushed the door open. The door squeaked on its hinges. They stepped gingerly over the threshold. There was no sign of wild animals.
“This house is surprisingly clean,” Brenna remarked, and swiped her glove over the top of a narrow table. A minimal layer of dust clung to her fingertips.
“Hmm. Something is amiss.” Richard walked through the house, Brenna behind him. He pushed open the door to a large bedroom and cursed. “It is as I suspected. Someone has recently used the cottage.”
The bed was unmade, and a pair of candles stood on the bedside table. At the foot of the bed, half-eaten food lay on two plates, sitting on a tray next to a wineskin.
“I think we’ve found where our lovers meet.” Brenna walked over to the tray. “The food is not old.”
“We will post guards should they return and send maids to clean up this mess.” He examined the room, taking care to look under the bed and anywhere clues might have been left. “Our trespassers were careful. Nothing personal was left behind.”
Brenna touched his arm. “We will catch them, and our housebreaker. I am sure of it.”
Richard stared down at the bed. Suspicion led in one direction. “I think I can name one of the lovers.”
“Who?”
He looked down at her. “Miriam’s nightdress was damp last night. I suspected she’d met someone outside the hall but have not had a chance to interview her today.”
“Miriam?” Brenna shook her head. “Not Bethany?”
“I was just as puzzled as you. But there is no other reason for her to be wandering the grounds at night. Everyone was warned by the Runners to stay inside after dark. She’d not risk her safety unless she knew the party she was meeting.”
This was a strange turn. Brenna tried and failed to imagine Miriam and her secret lover tangled together on these sheets.
“She’d not have the courage to venture out alone. You are correct; she must have met someone.” Brenna glanced at the bed. “However, this cottage is quite a distance from the manor. It would take almost an hour to cover this much ground on foot.”
“Unless he met her on horseback by the creek.”
“That is possible,” she agreed. “We only found that one print and assumed they’d gone back to the forest. Yet they could have veered west and come here.”
Richard stared at her and smiled. “You have a very deductive mind, Wife. I wonder if I need to send for Jones at all. By the end of the week, you should have this case solved.”
Brenna matched his smile. “We make a very good pair of investigators.” She reached out and put her hand on his chest. He peered down at her hand, his eyes warming. When he did not step back, she became emboldened. What better place to steal a kiss, a real kiss, than an empty cottage?
“Kiss me, Richard.” She gave him no time to protest. She rose up onto her toes, gripped his coat lapels tightly in both fists, and pressed her mouth to his.
Any hesitation lasted no more than one breath. His arms came around her, locking her body against his. He groaned and plunged his tongue into her mouth. Brenna moaned in agreement.
The kiss was hot and deep. Brenna felt herself walked backward until her legs hit the dressing table. Richard picked her up and sat her on the surface, pressing himself between her legs. She pushed his coat off his shoulders as he tried to get his fingers around the lace at her bodice.
“Brenna,” he breathed, tugging the laces open.
“Love me, please, Richard,” she begged, breathless as he reclaimed her mouth.
A shout from outside tore them apart. “Milord! Milord!” Footsteps breached the cottage door.
Panicked, Brenna pulled her bodice together, and Richard quickly shucked back into his coat, where it hung at his elbows.
He turned and walked to the bedroom door, blocking her from view. She quickly put herself to rights.
“What is it, Carl?” He called out. The servant joined him.
“There is a body, Milord,” Carl said, his breath coming in harsh gasps. “Down in the meadow near the sheep barn. It’s a woman. She’s been murdered.”
Brenna’s breath caught.
“Damn,” Richard growled. Brenna tied her bow and hurried after the two men, who were halfway down the hallway. The three of them rushed from the house. Richard helped her onto the saddle, and they were off at a run.
“The shepherd’s dog found her,” Carl shouted, to be heard over the horses. “I knew you’d want to be contacted first. I followed your tracks to the dower house.”
“Do you know who she is?” Richard asked.
“I do not,” Carl replied. “She was dressed in nightclothes. She could be either a noblewoman or a servant.”
A small crowd gathered in the meadow. Brenna did not wait to be assisted down but slid off Brontes. She could see the nearly nude woman lying on the grass.
Bile burned at the back of her throat, but she forced herself not to turn away.
“Stand back,” Richard said, and she stopped. He walked to the woman. “Get something to cover her.”
The shepherd went into the sheep barn and returned with a tattered blanket. When she was covered, all but her head, Richard waved Brenna over. She braced herself.
“Is she familiar to you?”
Brenna carefully examined her pale face. Her heart tugged for the loss of life.
There was a bruise under the young woman’s eye and red marks on her neck. No question, it was not an accidental death.
“I am not certain. I may have seen her in the village.” She walked around to look at the undamaged side of her face. “I’m certain now that I’ve seen her, but I cannot think where.”
Richard nodded. “Get her back to the hall, and send men into the village—and to our neighbors—to see if anyone is missing.”
“Yes, Milord.”
Taking Brenna by the hand, Richard drew her away from the terrible scene. “We must find out who she is and return her to her family.”
Nodding, Brenna put a hand over
her mouth to quell her trembling lips. “How can someone be so evil? She did not deserve this.”
He put his arm around her. “The killer will be punished. I will see to it, if I have to hang the bastard myself.”
Mister Jones has arrived, Milord.” Joseph stepped back and allowed Jace to pass him and move into the parlor, where Richard, Brenna, and Lucy sat. Richard rose from his chair. Behind Jace came another man, similarly dressed in serviceable clothes and half a head taller. His pleasing features were framed with black hair.
Both men were grim faced.
Jace introduced his companion. “Mister Freemont is my friend and former Bow Street Runner. You may have met him when the Runners came after finding the note. As of three days ago, he now works for me.”
“Of course,” Brenna said. He did look familiar, but the day had been chaotic.
Brenna introduced Lucy to the men. After the brief introductions, Jace got to business. “I understand you’ve found a body,” he said, with a harsh sigh. “Was she a maid?”
Richard went to pour port for the men. “We aren’t certain. She was in a simple nightdress. I have sent my men to ask around for missing women. If she is from here, we should know her identity soon.”
He handed out the drinks and briefly explained the morning’s events, including the findings at the dower house.
“She may have met her killer there, or the two are not connected. It seems as though every time we go in one direction, the path veers in another.”
Jace paced. “It is odd that you found her that far away from any house. The killer either lured her to the sheep barn or brought her body with him and dumped her there.”
“The next house is nearly three miles to the east,” Richard said. “That is too far to travel afoot at night. Also, she would have to know my property to find the sheep barn without assistance. It is not within sight of the hall.”
“Then we can rule out her being lured,” Mister Freemont said. “The killer placed her there.”
“Is it possible that she is the woman I saw?” Brenna asked.
“That would explain why she may be familiar with the property,” Richard replied. “If she’s been meeting someone in the forest, and my dower house, then she would feel comfortable with her killer.”
“Or the killer stumbled upon her as she was meeting her lover and took advantage of the situation,” Lucy said, her eyes on the handsome Mister Freemont. “Though that would be an unfortunate and unlikely coincidence.”
“True,” Richard said. “The killer would have to have followed her or been lurking in just the right place.”
“It’s possible he saw her meeting her lover in the dower house, became intrigued with her, and waited for his chance to confront her,” Jace offered.
“She did appear fair of face,” Brenna offered.
“Or we can go back to the idea that he was her lover, became tired of her, and killed her,” Richard said. “She would innocently follow him to her death.”
“We can go on like this all night,” Jace said, “and still come up with no answers.”
“Excuse me, My Lord, but Lady Phillips is here,” Joseph said, his expression tight. “She is missing a maid.”
Richard nodded. “Send her in.”
The Lady was somewhere near sixty, what most people would consider a handsome woman for her age, and very tall. She leaned on a cane as she entered the room.
“Lady Phillips. I wish we were meeting again under happier circumstances,” Richard said. He took her elbow and led her over to Brenna, who stood. “This is my wife, Brenna, Lady Ashwood.”
“A pleasure, Lady Phillips,” Brenna said.
“I’ve heard much about the new Lady Ashwood.” Lady Phillips accepted Brenna’s hand. “A tragic business, our first meeting.”
“It is,” Brenna agreed. “So tragic.”
They shared a moment of silence.
“Perhaps we should show Lady Phillips the girl,” Richard said. “She is laid out in the upstairs parlor.”
The party, save Lucy, filed out. Richard led the way to the parlor, and Lady Phillips walked over to the dead woman. She stared long into the young woman’s face, then crossed herself. Brenna stepped up behind her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“It’s Clara,” Lady Phillips said, and her voice caught.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I met Clara when I was in Germany last month,” Lady Phillips said, once they had returned downstairs and were seated. Her hands shook, rattling her teacup. “She spoke English and needed employment, so I brought her back with me. She was a good maid and a sweet-natured girl. I am sad to see her come to such a tragic end.”
“Do you know if she had a beau, Milady?” Jace asked. “We believe she met with someone last evening.”
Lady Phillips shook her head. “I am unaware of a beau, though she never talked of anything personal to me. I had a feeling her past was an unhappy one.”
“Did she have anyone on your staff whom she was close to?” Richard pressed. He hoped someone knew Clara’s secrets. “A close friend, perhaps?”
The elderly woman touched two fingertips to her lips. “She was very new to my household. I do not think she was close to anyone yet. She did go often to the village and may have met someone there. I could ask and send around a note if I discover anything of interest.”
“That would be helpful,” Jace said. He asked her a few more questions, but Lady Phillips had nothing new to add. Richard led her out and arranged for Clara to be returned to her.
Brenna excused herself and went in search of James. Lucy followed on her heels.
Once the men were alone, Richard slumped onto a chair. He faced Jace, who had claimed a second chair, and frowned. “I want to know everything you have on this investigation. Leave nothing out. A killer is loose, putting my family in danger.”
Jace rubbed his chin. He glanced at Mister Freemont and back to Richard. “The Runners have offered little by way of additional information. Freemont is no longer privy to the investigation now that he is no longer working for them.”
“Still, you do know something.”
Nodding, Jace leaned forward. “I told you most of what I learned when I was here last. Dead maids, a tavern wench—similar deaths, and all were suspected of meeting lovers. It is the piece of writing paper that I just cannot figure out. At first I thought Lady Brenna might be targeted, but that makes no sense. All the other victims were servants.”
“And Clara did not work for me,” Richard added. “There is no connection between her and Beckwith Hall.”
“Other than the fact she worked for your neighbor,” Freemont said. “It is possible that the killer is a nobleman who moves among your social circle. It would give him access to homes and the servants. Perhaps he chooses one he likes, seduces her, and kills her.”
Richard glanced at Jones. “Is that a plausible theory?” he asked. Jones nodded. “Someone who travels makes sense. The killings have been all over the country.”
“Correct,” Jace said. “Another theory is that the killer is a servant. Perhaps a footman or a coachman? He would also travel and be in closer contact with a household staff.”
Wanting to believe that Brenna was safe, Richard couldn’t be confident until the man was caught. “How would that tie into my housebreaker?”
“The incident might be just that; a common housebreaker broke in to steal jewels and accidentally stumbled into the nursery. It may not be tied to the killer at all.”
“I want to believe that,” Richard said. “However, my mind tells me otherwise.”
By the glance the two men shared, Richard knew they thought the same. Beckwith Hall was a peaceful place. Nothing untoward ever happened here.
Soon after Brenna arrived was when these strange happenings started. Though he did not think she was the cause, it was impossible to dismiss her involvement, even if indirectly.
He stared at Jones. What did he know about the man? He knew Brenna
and her brother, but how? His involvement in this investigation had never been explained, other than that he’d worked for someone in London whose maid had been killed.
Suspicions pricked his mind. Could Jones be involved in the crimes himself? He was nearby when Clara was murdered.
Richard put his elbows on the chair arms and locked his fingers together. “You have certainly interjected yourself into this investigation, Mister Jones. What exactly is your profession, sir?”
Jones met and held his stare. For a minute, Richard wondered if he would answer. Clearly the man had secrets.
Then, Jones grinned, as if he could read the suspicion in Richard’s thoughts. “I provide a service. Protection for certain, shall we say, individuals who have done things in their pasts that could bring danger to themselves or their families.”
Protection? “You did not save the maid in London.” Richard could not keep the irony out of his voice.
“She was not under my protection,” Jones said, defensive. “The girl had a suitor in Cheapside, the butler of an elderly baron. She did not take care and often met him at night. It was late when she was returning home, after a visit, when she was killed in the mews, several houses down from my employer’s town house.” He twirled his glass and admitted, “It is my regret that I knew nothing of the danger she faced.”
“And you do not think the murder was connected to your employer?” Richard pressed.
Jones shook his head. “The danger he faced had nothing to do with a killer of maids but political enemies.”
Though Richard wanted to press for more information, by the set of Jones’s jaw, he suspected the man would not be forthright with any further questions about his business. Discretion would be required from his employers.
If what Jones said about his profession were true, it was unlikely he’d be wandering England killing women. Still, at this moment, Richard trusted no one. It was his connection to the Harrington family, and his knowledge of the case, that kept Richard from sending him away.
Jones was not finished. He leaned forward in his chair. “Truthfully, I’m irate about a murder taking place under my watch, and that the killer may be somehow connected to Brenna. Simon is my friend. I have to solve the case before anyone else dies, and for Brenna.”
A Convenient Bride Page 25