“Jeremy?” she called. She would resolve this. He must have some explanation for this damning evidence against him.
She heard footsteps in the loft and a couple of moments later she saw his head peep out above the ladder. He didn’t smile or offer a word of greeting. No one would describe him as friendly, but he was family and she’d never had a reason to fear him.
“Would you come down here for a moment?”
He disappeared. The next thing she saw was his boots, and then his legs and backside as he descended the ladder. She’d always thought him ready to please, even if he didn’t say much, and here he was, doing what she’d asked, despite her taking him away from his work.
When he reached the lower rungs he jumped off, landing in a crouch in front of her. As he stood, she both realized how slender he was and how much taller than she, with a body all muscle, unlike her curves, rounded even more by new motherhood.
She stared into his face, noting his dark eyes that were so similar to Harry’s, though every other part of him was narrow where his cousin was broad. Had this been the last face her husband had seen? She shivered, losing her sense of certainty.
“What’s wrong? Why are you dressed like that?” he asked.
She looked down at herself, just then noticing what she wore. “We came in last night. I just woke up.”
“I know you came home. Harry told me this mornin’ ’afore he sent me out to restock the kitchen.”
“We keep kitchen supplies in the loft now?”
Jeremy glanced away instead of answering.
“What’s up there?” she asked in a friendly tone.
He shrugged. “I was just takin’ a minute. I like lookin’ out at the town.”
“That’s fine. You work hard.” She forced herself to touch his arm but the truth was, he didn’t work that hard. He had a tendency to moon around, glowering, as if he didn’t want to be there. But then why hadn’t he left? It made no sense to her, especially if he had the price of an inn squirreled away all these years.
He stared at her. “What do you want, Ann?”
She thought about walking away, going back to the safety of Harry, or even Gawain, but she owned this inn, still, and she had always made her own decisions, fought her own battles since Wells had died. It was her property that had disappeared, her husband who had died, her business alone. “I want to know about my necklace.”
“What?” He seemed to have no idea what she meant.
“My necklace from India. People are saying you had it in your possession once. Is that true?” She looked into his eyes and suddenly she just knew. He shifted, uneasily, as if caught in a lie.
He shrugged. “I maybe held it for a minute.”
“Where did you get it?” She held a last hope that he had stolen the necklace, but hadn’t killed Wells himself, that he had found it on the body. Couldn’t that be what Fern had seen?
“What?” he repeated, glancing over her head, as if he weren’t really paying attention.
But this was important, too important for his carelessness. Her hands twitched as if she was losing control of them. “I know you sold my necklace. The one Wells had with him the night he . . . died. He was taking it to sell, so we could buy another inn.”
His gaze refocused on her. “You know?”
No lies, no pretended confusion, just those two words. His face expressionless as usual. Her finger pointed almost outside of her control. Fury clouded her vision. She poked him in the chest.
“Where did you find it?”
He took a step back. “Find it? You goin’ to be that stupid? God, women are stupid.”
She pressed her lips together until they ground painfully against her teeth. Had she been wrong about him? Was this his repayment for her kindness toward him all these years? She had to know. “Did you kill Wells? Why would you do that?”
He sneered, the first sign of emotion she’d seen from him, but said nothing.
She could feel her heart beating, her pulse pounding in her throat, her wrists, her belly. Her voice rose in fury. “You did, didn’t you? Your own cousin, who took you in, loved you, taught you his business.”
He sniffed and crossed his arms.
“How dare you stand there and say nothing. I lost our baby after that. I lost my husband and my baby,” she shouted. “Over that blasted necklace? Over the price of an inn?”
“You don’t get as much money when you take stuff to a fence,” he said conversationally. “It wasn’t the price of an inn.”
She stared, incredulous. Who was this monster? How could she have nurtured him? “Why didn’t you leave? How could you stay?”
He shrugged and thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “Not enough money to break free. I was comfortable here.”
“No one has ever expected very much of you,” she spat.
He sniffed again. “Harry said that was all you had left from your mother. I don’t think that’s true. I bet you have more, and it’s enough to get me out of here. Out of working for people. What about it, Ann? Where’s the rest of the family jewelry?”
She stepped back, but before she could do more than lift one boot, he had a knife in his hand.
“Come, Ann, tell me where the jewelry is. I won’t hurt you. I just want enough money to go. I can’t stay now.”
She set one boot down, then moved the other back, but her muddy heel slid and she started to fall. How could she have put herself in so much danger? Why hadn’t she believed Gawain? She called out. “Harry! Gawain! I’m in here!”
Jeremy reached out and grabbed her by the arm, his corded fingers digging into her flesh. He lifted the knife and flashed the blade in front of her eyes, so triumphant with his power that he didn’t stop her when she twisted her arm away from his grip and stepped back, shouting again, but knowing she was too far away from any possible salvation.
“I’ve searched time and again. Found nothin’. Where are they?” he demanded.
Chapter Sixteen
“I don’t believe you,” Harry said, the skin tightening around his eyes. He looked much more awake now.
“I am sorry,” Gawain said, “but you can see why I need to remove Ann from here.”
“She does not want to see you,” the man said stubbornly, as if this point was the important one.
Gawain clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. “That may be true, but I am still her husband. I’m a reasonable man. I will return to my father’s house in London and she can stay in Battersea, if that is what it takes to remove her from Leeds.”
Harry pushed the hair out of his eyes. “You would do that?”
“Of course.” He sighed. Time was wasting when he should have been calling in the authorities, but he had no access to Ann except through Harry. “Did she tell you why she is angry with me?”
“She said you were making life unbearable.”
He gripped his cane, ashamed of what he had to admit. “I was mean to Fern. It was inexcusable. I was in a rage. That is what I am sorriest about.”
“I’d like to punch you,” Harry muttered. “Fern is a defenseless little girl.”
“Later. For now we have a common enemy,” Gawain said. “Listen. I didn’t want Ann hanging out her shingle as a healer, as if I couldn’t pay the bills for my own household.”
“I thought all the women in your family worked.”
Gawain would have laughed if he weren’t under such strain. “Not all of them, no, but I seem to be related by birth or marriage to a few such women.”
“It surprises me that you’d worry what people thought about your financial status. You’ve always had money.”
Was that the impression he made? He wouldn’t have credited himself with so much polish. “Not me. I was a factory brat from the age of nine, then the army. I wasn’t the heir until after I’d left for India and my older brother died. In some ways, Ann married beneath her. Her people were Indian royalty and English country gentry.”
“I don’t think she thin
ks that.”
Gawain put his hand out to Harry. “Let me see her. Let me protect her.”
Harry scratched his ear. “It would be best to have the family out of the way when I confront Jeremy.”
“I’d have the police nearby when you do that,” Gawain said. “He’s killed once.”
“You don’t know that. He might have stolen the necklace during the madness after Wells died and Ann lost her baby.”
“So he’s either a killer or a man willing to steal from a new widow. Either way, no conscience,” Gawain growled.
Harry dropped his hand from the lintel to his stomach and turned so Gawain could squeeze by.
Thank God. He’d won. “Where are they?”
Harry pointed to the left. “Second door.”
They were in an ancient part of the inn, and the floor sloped downward. Gawain had to use his cane for support. When he reached the door he rapped twice then opened it. Inside was a close-smelling room with a fire burning in an old fieldstone fireplace directly across from the door. Fern sat on a blanket in front of the fire, rocking a low cradle.
Gawain stepped in and glanced around, but Ann wasn’t there.
“Where’s Ann?” Harry asked from behind him.
Fern glanced up, frowning when she saw Gawain.
“Sweetheart, we need to find Ann,” he said in his gentlest voice. “She might be in danger.”
Fern used the cradle to pull herself up, then went to the window and pointed. Gawain stepped closer to her and looked outside.
“What is that building?”
“Storage,” Harry said, following him in. “Then the chicken coop. Then food storage to the right.”
“Which one did Ann go into?” Gawain asked.
Fern pointed to the storage building on the left.
“What is in there?”
Harry started to answer, but Fern’s eyes grew wide and she turned to Gawain. When her lips parted Gawain put up his hand to silence Harry.
“J-J-J,” Fern stuttered.
Harry looked as upset as his sister. “What did you say?”
“Jeremy,” Gawain said grimly. “I expect she’s telling us that Jeremy is out there. Right, Fern?”
She nodded.
“Did you see him take Ann’s necklace from Wells’s body in the stable?” Gawain asked.
“J-J-J,” she stuttered again, then nodded hard.
“Sweet Baby Jesus,” Harry swore, as Fern gave up trying to speak and nodded again.
“Did you see Jeremy kill Wells?” Gawain asked.
Fern held up her hand, tightly balled into a fist, then slammed it to her chest repeatedly.
The two men glanced at each other.
“I’m going after my wife,” Gawain said. “Watch over Fern and my son, please.”
“Should we go for the police?” Harry asked.
“No time,” Gawain shouted, rigid with the urge to act. “Why would she have gone out there?”
“I can’t think of a reason,” Harry admitted. “Except that is Jeremy’s hidey-hole. Ann never goes near that building.”
Fern went back to the cradle and knelt protectively over Noel.
“Could she have heard us talking at the door?” Gawain pulled his Enfield service revolver from the pocket of his coat. He hoped the barrel wasn’t rusted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned the gun, but he’d inserted six fresh cartridges just today.
He glanced down at Fern and saw silent tears rolling down her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back safe.”
Fern glanced up and sniffed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to restore the relationship between them unless he did exactly that. “I promise. I’m going to make everything right again.”
“I have a shotgun,” Harry said, swaying from side to side. “She’s a spirited girl, used to making her own decisions. If she heard us talking she might have gone to confront Jeremy.”
“Stay here,” Gawain ordered. “Protect my son in case I can’t.”
Harry started to protest, but Gawain said, “It’s your cousin out there, man. You don’t want to do this.”
“I’ll load the shotgun and stand at the window,” Harry said, his face settling into hard lines that aged him five years in a moment. “Won’t take me but a minute.”
Gawain clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”
“I’ll show you the back door.”
He scarcely felt his old pains as Harry led him into the small pantry in the family quarters and pointed out their hidden exit. They shook hands and Gawain turned the doorknob, noting the door was unlocked. What had Ann been thinking when she went outside?
“If I don’t make it, tell Ann I’m truly sorry.” He just hoped he wasn’t too late to protect her, whatever he found out there.
Harry frowned. “I won’t need to tell her anything. Jeremy isn’t going to hurt you.”
“Lock it,” he told Harry, then shut the door behind him, wishing he had Lord Judah or even Bowler Martin at his back. He had tested true under fire, but he hadn’t been this kind of soldier except in the most unusual circumstances. Never had he taken a battle to an enemy.
The old habit of being aware of one’s surroundings returned. He might have been back in a Northwestern village in India. When he scanned the yard, he saw nothing amiss. The only movement was chickens pecking at the dirt behind their fence. He had to turn his head to catch the full spectrum and swore. In India he’d had both eyes. He lifted his patch, hoping his eye had continued recovering, but no, he could only see color. Wait. No, that was wrong, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his bad eye. He turned to the left and saw a mouser slinking around the side of the inn. Good, the eye had some value after all. He could smell the stables even though they were out of sight, back where the cat had come from.
Fingering the revolver in his pocket, he stared hard at the storage building. Three windows provided light to the ground floor, but they were covered by dark brown shutters. A second story had open windows but he didn’t see Ann or Jeremy through them. They had to be on the ground floor, behind a closed door.
He assessed the risks awaiting him. Lit lanterns, most likely. Pantry items that could be thrown, even if there weren’t farm implements and the like. An unfamiliar landscape. His wife, whom he couldn’t possibly risk hurting.
On the plus side? He’d have no problem hurting Jeremy Haldene, who was at best a heartless thief and at worst a cold-blooded killer, and had continued to live under the roof of the blameless woman who had lost her child in the grief over the events in that stable.
He walked forward slowly, his shoes burping in the mud, watching for any sight of shadows behind the shutters, but the building did not give up any secrets. He debated breaking through one of the shutters and going through that way, but didn’t know if there were glass panes. A deep puddle sucked his shoe down, rotating his hip unpleasantly. He swore soundlessly and pulled out his foot. His cuff dripped with muddy water but his sodden shoe remained on his foot. His limp returned as he moved toward another side of the rectangular building, gripping the walnut handle of his revolver.
The door, on the shorter side, had a latch hook and lock, but they weren’t open. He slid his fingers around the crack between the door and the lintel and opened it, hoping it wouldn’t squeak. Nonetheless, the light would give him away unless Jeremy was distracted.
Inch by inch, he pulled it open with one hand, using the door as cover. When he had it just wide enough, he debated going in gun first, but he didn’t know if Ann had really gone in to confront Jeremy. A small chance existed that he could just walk them out of there and deal with Jeremy without the added risk of Ann’s presence. He prayed for that scenario.
When he slipped in, he noted three lanterns illuminating a central aisle. Tall oak shelves forked out from the walls, creating dark recesses. The pungent scent of onions filled the space. On the south side was a long loft. He couldn’t see the access point.
Down the main aisle,
past where he could see, he heard a man’s voice. He stepped forward, trying to hear.
Then the voice rose to an angry shout. “Where are they?”
Gawain’s pulse began to pound in his temples. Jeremy. He pulled the gun from his pocket and cocked the hammer. Ann was in danger. His wife.
He crept down the aisle, his wet shoes and trousers leaving dark dots on the rough wooden planks of the floor. When he brushed past a wreath of garlic, it swung gently in the air. Bundles of dry herbs fluttered from where they hung along clotheslines strung across the shelves. How long until the movement gave him away?
Ann’s voice floated down the aisle to him. “There isn’t any more jewelry, Jeremy. The money you have now is all there is. You need to take it and go.”
Jeremy laughed harshly. “I don’t believe you. You were always a deceitful bitch.”
The gun’s handle warmed under Gawain’s grip as he crept forward. He heard staccato footsteps. Was Jeremy moving toward Ann? Did he have a weapon?
As he came to the end of the building, he saw Ann, surrounded by a nimbus of light that must be coming from an open window on the south side of the building. An arm, holding a sharp knife, came out of the shadows of a shelf. Gawain saw a ladder just to the right, leading to the loft. Could he take Jeremy down before he had Ann under the control of his knife?
“What lies have I ever told you?” Ann cried. “I have never—”
“You used to lie to Wells all the time,” Jeremy snarled.
The boards creaked as Ann moved a step down the aisle. “Never.”
Good girl. Stay in the center, don’t let him trap you between the shelves.
“You lied all the time,” he countered. “Promisin’ you’d stop seeing sick people because of the baby, when you let ’em in every day. That’s why your baby died. You caught somethin’ from one of them filthy niggers.”
Ann took another step. “Not true.”
Gawain saw her more clearly then, as she stepped under a lantern. She only wore a gray wool robe. The white hem of a nightdress peeked out underneath, though she had stout, unlaced boots on her feet. He watched closely as she reached behind herself, fumbling for something on a shelf. She must be trying to find a weapon.
His Wicked Smile Page 22