Murder on the Moor

by Julianna Deering

  The stone church was not far up ahead now, the late-afternoon shadows accentuating the strange angles of broken stone that had once made up its walls and the barren hillside it had been set into. Drew walked toward it, looking over it but not really seeing it.

  “And what,” he said half to himself, “has that to do with the hound?”

  “The hound,” Nick breathed, coming to a dead stop beside him.

  “Yes, the hound. Don’t try to be spooky. It’s annoying. I said the hound and I meant . . .” Following Nick’s wide-eyed stare, Drew caught a half-choked breath and froze.

  There in the open doorway of the tower, huge and black, gleaming teeth bared in a heaving snarl, eyes smoldering with malevolence, stood the hound.

  “What do we do?” Nick asked. “Run?”

  “We’d never outrun him if he comes after us.” Drew scanned the ground for a stick or a rock or anything that might ward the beast off. Moving nothing but his eyes, he looked over the remains of the wall nearest to them. It was a long shot, but better than trying to escape a mad dog across the open moor. “What do you say, old man? Climb?”

  There was a low command from inside the tower, and the dog lunged forward.

  “Climb!”

  Drew shoved Nick toward the hillside, toward the stones that jutted out, rough and uneven. They both leapt up just as the beast reached them, still snarling, drool hanging from its gaping jaws.

  “Climb, man!” Drew urged again, feeling the hound’s hot breath at his heels. “Climb!”

  Nick clambered higher up, almost at the top of the wall, and the dog made a final, frantic leap. He caught the cuff of Drew’s trouser leg, just enough to drag him off-balance. But Nick seized Drew by his coat collar and held him where he was until he could kick free and scramble up beside him.

  “What now?” Nick panted, keeping a wary eye on the dog that still snapped and barked as it sprang up again and again, black legs flailing for purchase on the stones above its head.

  “Someone’s in there,” Drew said, forcing his breathing back to normal. “In the tower. And I’d bally well like to know who.”

  Nick didn’t look away from the dog. “I don’t think he’s of a mind to let us go find out.”

  The slanting shadows were darker now against the plunging hillside, the afternoon sun fading fast. Drew had to squint to make out the beast’s still-leaping shape. He couldn’t tell much, but it was clear this was no spectral hound from hell’s fiery maw. It was also clear that, ordinary or not, the dog would likely tear them to pieces if they moved from where they were.

  Before he could say as much to Nick, there was a low whistle from the open tower door, and with a yip the dog turned and trotted to it. A figure cloaked in black emerged and, after tilting its hooded head to look up at Drew and Nick, motioned to the animal and then vanished with it into the crevice between the hillside and the mound next to it.

  Drew stood silent, watching to see if the figure or the dog would reappear, but there was now once again only the wind-whipped emptiness of the moor. He swung himself down to the ground, inspecting the paw marks left behind there.

  “Not the same dog.”

  “No?” Nick looked where he was pointing. “I do believe you’re right. Those aren’t nearly the size of the ones we saw before.”

  Drew spread out his hand and shook his head. “Not by any means. I shouldn’t be surprised if what we just saw was the elusive mastiff once owned by old Mr. Bloodworth. Come on.” He strode over to the still-open tower door. “If nothing else, I’m going to see what’s in there.”

  He leaned into the door and then struck a match. That was enough to show him there was a lantern hanging from an ancient hook on the nearby wall. The lantern itself was rather new and well-stocked with oil. He tossed away the spent match, struck another and lit the lamp. It gave enough light to show the tower was now unoccupied by man or beast.

  Nick followed him inside. “Disappointing. Clearly no one has been living here.” With the toe of his boot he nudged an empty bowl that sat on the floor next to a bowl of water. “Except perhaps that dog.”

  “No wonder Delwyn could never catch it. I’m surprised it didn’t bark when we were here before. If it was in here then.”

  Nick made a face. “Clearly whoever has the dog here has him well-trained. Did you hear him, when he called the dog off us?”

  Drew nodded. Laughing. The villain had been laughing at them.

  He blew out the lantern and hung it where he had found it. Then he stalked back out onto the moor. The wretch wasn’t going to get away so easily. Not now.

  “He can’t have just disappeared, Nick.”

  “You wouldn’t think so.” Nick looked in the direction their adversary had gone. “You’d think as little cover as there is out here, we’d see him miles away.”

  “True. Come on. Hurry.”

  He followed the path the cloaked man and the dog had taken, around the side of the hill and then up the back.

  “We can see a good distance from here.” He scanned the moor again. “Look there.”

  Two dark shapes, one on four legs, one on two, loped across the moor toward Midgley’s cottage and the abandoned kiln with the cot and other things in it.

  “Come on,” Drew urged. “We can at least see where they go.”

  They hurried along the top of the hill, looking down into the dale where the man and the dog were, and Drew glanced back at Nick with a grin.

  “He hasn’t seen us yet. He doesn’t know we see him. We should be able to—”

  There was all of a sudden no ground under his foot, only an open hole beneath him, and he fell headlong, landing on his stomach at the overgrown edge of the hole and then sliding down into it, clutching frantically at grass and rock and earth to keep from falling into the dark emptiness beneath.

  “Drew!”

  Nick flung himself down on the ground, catching him by the coat sleeve and one wrist. Drew hung for a moment in the blackness and then flailed his free hand, trying to find something to grasp. All he felt was a tunnel of old brick just big enough for him to fall through.

  “What is it?” Nick called, his voice strained with effort. “Can you get out?”

  “Must be part of one of the old chimneys. A big one.”

  Drew’s head spun as he thought of the drop from where he was at the top of the hill all the way down to where the grim mouths of the kilns opened below. He tried to brace himself with his feet.

  “Don’t!” Nick tightened his grip, and Drew felt his arm slip down further inside his sleeve. “I can’t hold on!”

  Drew reached up with his free hand to get a better hold, yet he was at an awkward angle and caught only air. “Nick.”

  Nick was breathing in labored gasps now. “I. Can’t. Hold—”

  “Nick.” Drew felt the wool of his coat sliding against the linen of his shirt, slipping away from him, pulling against his arm and shoulder. “Nick!”

  Then he felt something grab the back of his shirt and coat collars both together. An instant later a strong hand grasped his free wrist and then his upper arm. And with Nick tugging at his other side, he was hauled back onto the grass.

  He lay there squinting into the dim sunlight, trying to make out the face above him. “Delwyn?”

  Before Drew could say another word, the gamekeeper grabbed Nick by the front of his shirt, shoving him back.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Selden? Trying to keep him from finding out what you and your mate have been about? Trying to kill him?” Dark eyes fiery, Delwyn shoved again, the palms of both hands slapping against Nick’s chest, making him stagger. “I ought to toss you down that stack myself. You and that devil Midgley along with you.”

  “Steady on,” Nick protested.

  Drew struggled up to one elbow, breathless, not with panic but with laughter, for the moment too relieved to be out of that hole to worry about the man in the hooded cloak. “Selden, you cad.”

  Nick scowled at him,
obviously not knowing whether to stay in character. Delwyn merely looked puzzled.

  “No, no,” Drew managed, sitting up. “I think at this point proper introductions are in order. Delwyn, this is Nick Dennison, a friend of mine. He’s here to help me with the investigation.”

  Nick gave a wary little wave.

  Delwyn looked him over, his dark brows coming together, and then he looked at Drew. “A friend of yours, sir? I thought he and Midgley—”

  “It’s what you were meant to think,” Drew said, accepting a hand up from both men. “And so is Midgley. I trust we can rely on your discretion.”

  “You mean will I tell anyone? No, sir, I will not. You can be sure of that. I’d be more than happy to see Midgley get what he deserves, alongside whoever else he’s in with.” He turned again to Nick. “Beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t know the way of it.”

  “No harm done,” Nick said with a grin. “Though I’d rather have a Welshman on my side than set against me.”

  “Either way, I’d prove you right.”

  “I daresay,” Drew said, and then he sobered as he peered across the moor once again. “Did you see him? Did you see where he went?”

  Delwyn shrugged. “All I saw was Selden, as I thought, chasing you and then you going down the shaft.” He looked at Nick with a shake of his head. “I’d never have taken you for a toff, and that’s pure truth. You ought to be in the cinema, you had me that fooled.”

  “How did you happen to be out this way?” Nick asked. “We’d have had a rum go without you.”

  “Oh, uh, one of the cows got loose, and I told Johnson I’d have a look for her. I’m glad I wasn’t too late to save the gentleman a tumble.”

  “Believe me, so am I.” Drew hadn’t taken time to be thankful that he was not now lying broken at the bottom of the kiln, though he knew very well it wasn’t mere luck that had prevented it. “You are a godsend. Literally.”

  There was a touch of a sneer in Delwyn’s mouth. “Doesn’t seem very likely, if you’ll pardon me, Mr. Farthering. As I told you before, God and I have an agreement. I’m fairly much the last man on earth He would send on His errands. And it’s odds that, if He did send me, I wouldn’t go.”

  “I fancy you just have.”

  The gamekeeper’s sneer turned up into an almost pixyish grin. “Now what would He want with a reprobate like me?”

  Drew scooped up the hat he had lost when he first missed his footing and put it back on his head. “You might ask Him one day.”

  Delwyn scoffed.

  “For now,” Drew continued, “I want to go talk to Midgley. He’s had time to get back to his own place by now, worse luck, but I’d like to talk to him all the same. There’s definitely a hound, Delwyn. I nearly had his teeth in my leg.”

  “What was he like?” Delwyn asked, eyes narrowed, and then he nodded as Drew told him. “Old Baxter, from up the house, I don’t in the least doubt. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Midgley with him, as well.”

  Nick frowned. “If we’ve driven him out of here, then he’s likely, whether it’s Midgley or someone else, to duck back into his lair in the kiln out near the cottage.”

  “No!”

  Drew looked at Delwyn, surprised by the force in his objection. “Why not?”

  “I, uh . . . I mean, I don’t think Midgley would be out that way now, come to think of it. He’s already gone into the village, like as not. For the send-off.”

  “Send-off? What send-off?”

  “Oh, it’s not much of anything really. One of the men is leaving the village, and the lads thought we’d all give him one last drink before he goes. Nothing fancy, mind, but I expect most everyone’ll be there. Any excuse, eh? Midgley will certainly be there. He was never one to miss a round on someone else. Why would you want to go out to that old kiln anyway?”

  “Because,” Drew said evenly, “I’ve been there before. Someone’s clearly been living there, at least temporarily. We’ve spoilt one hidey-hole for our man. Why wouldn’t he dash back to his other?”

  “I think you’re wrong there, sir.” Delwyn gave a shake of his head. “You might check the cottage if you think you ought. It’s a bit early for the pub, even for Midgley. But that old kiln’s nothing. Some tramp taking shelter, like as not. Nothing that need trouble you.”

  Drew’s jaw tightened as he studied the man’s face. Clearly he didn’t want anyone near that old kiln. Had he really been out looking for a stray cow just now? Or was someone there at the kiln waiting for him? A partner in crime? A lover? Or both?

  “Any reason you wouldn’t like us going out there, Delwyn?”

  “Me, sir? No. It makes no odds with me, but if Midgley or whoever he’s in with is who you want, it would be a waste of your time—”

  “It’s mine to waste after all, though yours isn’t.”

  “Sir—”

  Drew looked pointedly toward the Lodge. “I expect Mr. Bloodworth would rather you got back to your job. Anything you need to be doing out at the kiln just now?”

  Delwyn ducked his head, more baleful than sullen. “No, sir.”

  “Then you might do well to be off.”

  “Yes, sir,” the gamekeeper muttered, tugging the brim of his cap. “Thank you, sir.”

  Drew didn’t move, watching to make sure he went back to the Lodge and not some roundabout way to the kiln. Just a few yards away, Delwyn stopped and turned again.

  “Mind where you step, sir,” he called with a sardonic smile, and then he loped down the hill toward the Lodge.

  Nick’s eyes widened. “You don’t think it’s Sabrina after all, do you? And Delwyn?”

  “I’m not quite sure what to think,” Drew admitted. “I want to like the fellow, I really do. He just saved me from a reasonably grisly death after all. But just when I think I can count on him, I realize I haven’t a clue what he’s really about.” Drew watched for a moment more, but though Delwyn was making good time along the footpath, he seemed to be headed straight for the Lodge. “How do you think things are between him and Midgley?”

  “Bad as can be. No love lost, to be certain.”

  “You mean rather the way it is between that ruffian Selden and the toffy detective Bloodworth brought in?”

  Nick’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t—wait. You don’t think theirs is all put on as well, do you?”

  “Might be.”

  “But why did he help you just now? Why not let Selden finish you off when the opportunity was there? Neither of us had seen him. He could have just strolled off and left us to it.”

  “The only thing I know to do is to get out to the kiln as quickly as we’re able. If he was meeting someone there, whoever it is can’t know he’s not coming. He—or she—will still be there.”

  “This should be fun,” Nick said. “And Delwyn? If anyone knows a back route to anywhere on the moor, it’s our gamekeeper.”

  “True. Even so, he still can’t reach there before we do. Unless we dawdle here all day.” Drew gave Nick’s arm a tug. “Come on.”

  They made a swift trek across to the kiln. When they were atop the grassy mound that covered it, Drew put a cautioning finger to his lips.

  “Let’s just bide here a while and see if anyone comes out. If Delwyn was coming here, he’s late by now. His companion may want to look out to see if he’s on his way.”

  “Should I let myself be seen with you?” Nick asked, voice low. “There’s nothing to be done about Delwyn at this point, but if he does keep quiet about me as he promised, we wouldn’t want to spoil our little masquerade for everyone else, eh?”

  “No. Not at all. Good thinking. If need be, I’ll go down alone and talk to whomever is down there. You stay up here. Keep out of sight behind that old wall. That way you’ll be close if anything happens.”

  “Right.” There was something mischievous in Nick’s solicitous expression as he concealed himself. “And mind where you step.”

  Drew didn’t have to wait long before someone did come out. Coat o
ver his arm and collar undone, hat perched hastily on his head, the man peered out of the kiln’s gaping mouth, took a furtive look right and left, and then, with a touch of a self-satisfied grin, he began doing up his tie.

  It was Morris Gray.

  Sixteen

  Watching from above the opening to the kiln, Drew was too stunned to do anything but stare. Morris Gray? What did it mean? Were he and Delwyn confederates in murder? If so, why? Or was Gray meeting someone here after all, and for whatever reason Delwyn didn’t want the lovers found out? Could he possibly be protecting Sabrina? Or was it the master of Bloodworth Park Lodge he wanted to shield from scandal?

  “Morris?”

  The voice came from inside the kiln. A woman’s voice, too soft and too distorted by the surrounding brick dome to be recognized. Sabrina’s perhaps? Drew couldn’t tell.

  His expression tightening with annoyance, Gray turned back to the kiln. “I promise it won’t always be this way. Think of Paris and Venice and the Mediterranean, maybe even the South Seas, but you must be patient. These things take time.”

  Drew waited. Come out, come out, whoever you are.

  The woman said something more, and with a sigh Morris shrugged into his coat. “Please, my dear, don’t let’s start all that again. I told you I do. Of course I do. How could you ever think otherwise?”

  “You always say that.” The woman’s voice grew louder, closer. She was coming out. “You say that, but you never do anything about it.” She stepped into the waning light, slender, girlish, dark hair down around her shoulders, with the glimmer of pearl at her ears. Drew nearly fell from his perch.

  “Miss Midgley.”

  She turned her frightened face up to the sound of his voice, her cheeks flushed with red. Gray gaped at him, and Drew could almost hear the thoughts whirring through the man’s head. How much did this infernal meddler hear? What did he know? How could it all be made to look like something other than what it was?

  “F-Farthering. You— We—”

  “I was just looking for Mr. Midgley.” Drew made his way down the side of the mound to where they were, his manner as mild as if they had just met at a garden party. “He’s not in there as well, is he?”