“True,” Drew said, then he drained his cider and stood. “Oh, I say, Delwyn.”
The gamekeeper sniffed and blotted a fresh trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “Sir?”
“I thought you might like to know that there were . . . developments out by Midgley’s today. Mr. Gray will not be going out to the kilns anymore.”
Delwyn looked wary. “No? Why’s that?”
“He’s got no reason to. I have it on very good authority that if he does, he’ll find nothing waiting for him but an empty hole in the ground.”
For a long moment, the gamekeeper’s expression did not change. Then the tiniest smile flickered across his lips, only to be sternly banished. “What’s that to do with me?”
“Whatever you care to make of it,” Drew told him, and with a wink he walked out into the October night.
Drew strode down the high street as if he were headed back to the Lodge, but as he passed a narrow alleyway between the tobacconist’s and the post office, he turned aside and made his way along an unpaved path, through another alley and around the side of a mechanic’s garage that was closed for the night. Nick was slouched against the garage wall, waiting for him.
“Selden,” Drew said quietly, joining him next to the seven-foot-high letter A in the name of the petrol company painted there.
“Stapleton,” Nick replied. “Glad to see you’ve arrived in one piece.”
“Your mate Midgley is a fine fellow. You must be proud of the acquaintance.”
Nick made a face. “I’ll be glad when this is done and I can toss these rags into the fire. You think it’s bad having him as your enemy. Try having him as your friend.”
“You’re a brave man, Selden,” Drew said, clapping his shoulder. “Now, did he happen to say anything about where he was this afternoon?”
“Sadly, no. We went back to his cottage and he got well soused on some vile sort of rum he had there.” Nick shuddered. “I left him snoring in his armchair, and his daughter practically ordered me out.”
“Poor girl. She’s had quite a day. But Midgley didn’t tell you anything new?”
“He did mention he’s about to come into some money. Wouldn’t say how much or from where, but it couldn’t be a small matter. Not the way he was chortling over it.”
“Or perhaps he was just chortling over us,” Drew said. “His didn’t happen to be a chortle you recognized, did it?”
“You mean from earlier today? I’m sorry to say I didn’t in particular. It could have been the same, but I was too busy dealing with the barghest to really notice much else.”
“Droll, Mr. Selden, very droll. But you do remind me of a very important fact. That dog we saw today was definitely not the maker of the enormous paw prints we’ve seen.”
“True. Which means that something else is making them, and we haven’t the slightest notion what that something else might be.”
“Leave that to me, old man. I have a job for you, if you will.”
Nick saluted. “So long as it doesn’t involve great black hounds or fathomless black pits, I’m your man.”
“I’ve been thinking about Sabrina rather a lot since Beaky’s accident. Suppose she is involved with someone—”
Nick opened his mouth to protest, but Drew held up one hand.
“I merely say suppose. If she has nothing to gain by Beaky’s death save her freedom to go to someone else, then I can’t see her resorting to murder. She’d simply divorce him. For mental cruelty or something of the like.”
“From what you’ve told me about her, that seems a reasonable assumption.”
“But if his will or his life insurance names her to get everything, I’d say she’s firmly in the running still.”
“So you want me to go find out how Beaky’s set up for insurance and all that. Shall I go down to London and start asking gents on street corners if they happen to know the names of his solicitors?”
“Of course not.” Drew reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I happen to have the names written down for you.”
Nick’s eyes widened. “You didn’t go through Beaky’s desk, did you?”
“No. Just his mail.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an actionable offense?”
“Only the envelopes. Just to get the names and addresses. They weren’t new letters, but he had them there in the tray on his desk, and I took just a quick look. I can’t imagine he’s changed solicitors or anything lately.”
“All right.” Nick took the paper from him, glanced at the London addresses, and then put it into his waistcoat pocket. “And if they want to know what business I have asking?”
“That’s where you must employ the Dennison charm, my lad. Surely some file clerk or girl from the secretarial pool can be persuaded to give you just that morsel of information.”
Nick didn’t look entirely convinced, but he made no more objections. “And after that?”
“Well, with Mr. Midgley being such a shy, retiring creature, unwilling to speak of his own excellences, I think we should spend an evening watching his cottage and seeing what arises.”
“You mean sit out in the cold for hours so we can catch him bringing in a few of Beaky’s grouse.”
“Or see our killer come to plot with his chief henchman.” Drew narrowed his eyes. “Whether he was aiming for Beaky or Sabrina, he missed with the brakes on the Austin. I can’t imagine it will be long before he has another go at it. But if Sabrina’s mixed up in this in any way whatsoever, I want to know. Or count her out of it.”
“Fair enough. I’ll head to London in the morning and be back as quickly as I’m able. You are going to tell Madeline what you’re about, aren’t you?”
“She might otherwise wonder why I didn’t come home that night.”
“Just don’t start out without me,” Nick warned. “I don’t want you falling down any more holes, am I understood?”
Drew ducked his head as if he were spending his first night away at school. “Yes, Matron.”
“Off you go then. No running in the corridors.”
Drew chuckled. “See you tomorrow night. Say after sundown? I’ll bring sandwiches.”
“Not those nasty things with fish paste.”
“No fish paste. On my honor.”
“Right you are,” Nick said. “At the kiln?”
“That’ll do nicely. From there we’ll set up near Midgley’s and see what’s what.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Nick said, and then he sprinted off toward Partridge Row.
Drew returned to the Lodge just before time to dress for dinner.
“Drew!” Madeline leapt up from the drawing room sofa and hurried to him as he stood there in the open doorway.
He gave her a lazy smile. “Hullo, darling. Miss me?”
“You could have told me you’d be this late.” She frowned, looking him over. ”What have you been doing? Are those grass stains on your waistcoat? And on your knees?”
He was mortified, but whether it was from the stains themselves or her notice of them or the smirk on Sabrina’s face as she looked up from her magazine, he wasn’t certain. “They’re not so bad, are they?”
But the light was brighter here than it was in the Hound and Hart or along the path from the village. The stains were, in fact, just so bad.
Madeline smoothed his hair at the side. “Maybe we should go upstairs and change, and you can tell me all about it.”
The mantel clock whirred and then struck. The dressing gong sounded half a moment later.
“Time anyway,” Sabrina said, standing and putting her open magazine facedown on the sofa. “I’d better get Beaky. He doesn’t notice the bell half the time, not when he’s busy with something, but he’ll want to know what you’ve found out. Come along, Raffie. Din-dins.” She disappeared into the corridor with the dog yipping at her heels.
Madeline took Drew’s arm. “I know you don’t want to say anything in front of anyone. You’
ve got that look.”
He kissed her cheek. “You know me too well.”
“Just tell me you’re all right.”
“Darling.” He kissed her lips. “Of course I am.”
“And that you’ll be more careful.”
“I will. I promise.”
She pressed close to his side. “Well, come get all tidy and beautiful again and you can tell me everything.”
He laughed as he followed her up the stairs. While he changed for dinner, he told her what had happened at the stone church, at the kiln, and later at the pub.
“I told you those earrings didn’t come from Iris’s father.”
He nodded as he struggled with his cuff links. “That would be the first thing you commented on. You’re perceptive as always.”
“Though it would have been better for her if she hadn’t had them at all.” Her mouth tightened. “Oooh, that Morris Gray. If I ever see him again, I may not be able to keep from slapping him.”
“Now, now, I am beginning to suspect your heart is not so filled with Christian charity as one might wish.”
“What I wish is that this would all be over so we could go back home. Nick, too. Carrie has enough to handle without anything happening to him.”
“True. But try not to worry, love. We’ll have her come visit the minute her father doesn’t need her. How would that be?”
She flounced one shoulder at him. “I’ve already invited her. I can’t think of any time that wouldn’t be good for her to come for a visit.”
“Excellent.” He looked her over and then tapped his finger against her powdered nose. “You are as kind as you are beautiful, my darling. And Carrie is always welcome.”
“I’m glad. Now, what are we going to do about Beaky and Sabrina?”
He sighed. “I don’t know, but I’m still betting that Midgley is in with whomever is behind everything. I’ve decided there’s nothing for it but to spend the evening watching his cottage.”
“Oh, Drew, must you? I don’t like the idea of you being by yourself out there. You were nearly killed just today.”
“I won’t be by myself. Nick’s coming along. And so is the Webley.”
Now she looked annoyed rather than apprehensive. “I’m glad Nick’s coming, but I don’t like the idea of the gun. I know. You need some kind of protection. I just wish you didn’t have to go into places where you do. Couldn’t the police watch him? It is their job after all.”
“Trenton thinks Midgley’s harmless. I expect he’d rather be home by his fire than huddled out on the moor waiting for something that may never happen.”
She pouted but made no other objections.
“Don’t be cross, darling, and don’t wait up for me when I go. I’m likely to be very late, if not all night.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
A sudden thought came to him. “I want you to be careful, too. Something or someone has definitely been in the north wing. If Sabrina is involved somehow—”
“Drew—”
“I mean it. I can’t say whether she is or isn’t. Nick’s going to London tomorrow to find out about Beaky’s will and insurance. It’s possible what he learns can more or less rule her out. But for now I want you to be extra careful. Don’t stay in the room with her unless someone else is there. Preferably Beaky, but at least one of the servants. Ring for coffee or tear your hem or something so one of the maids will have to help you. And when you go to bed, keep the door locked.”
“I think it’s ridiculous, but if it will make you feel better . . .”
“It will.”
“Silly boy.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek and then took his arm so he could escort her down to the dining room.
After dinner, as Madeline and Sabrina were looking at pictures of furniture that might go in the refurbished north wing, Beaky pulled Drew aside.
“A word, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. How’s the leg tonight?”
“Oh, tolerable, I’d say. Aches something fierce from time to time, but I suppose that’ll go away before long. I’m more concerned about the car. Trenton phoned me up to let me know they’d had the remains looked at.”
“And?”
“The brakes on Sabrina’s Austin were definitely tampered with. The man at the garage says there can be no doubt of it.”
“And the Bentley?” Drew asked.
Beaky winced, leaning against the mantelpiece and briefly rubbing his injured leg. “There’s nothing very certain there, but Basset thinks something could have been put into her petrol tank. Just enough to make her hiccup a bit and put her out of commission for a day or so.” He glanced over at Sabrina. “Don’t tell her just yet, eh? She’s jittery enough thinking someone might have wanted to kill her.”
“Or you.”
Beaky blinked behind his thick spectacles, then licked his suddenly dry lips. “I—I just don’t know why anyone would want to kill either of us. What have we done?”
“It’s not always what you’ve done, old man.” Just then Sabrina laughed over something Madeline had said, and Drew didn’t dare look back at her. “Sometimes it’s merely because you’re in the way.”
Seventeen
The next day, not long after sundown, Drew made his way out to the abandoned kiln. By now it was truly abandoned. The lantern was gone, the books nowhere to be seen. Only the empty crate, the cot, and the battered woolen blanket were left. Drew sat down on the crate.
“Start at the beginning,” he told himself aloud. “Start with the vicar.”
He went over everything he knew about the case, bit by minuscule bit, from when Beaky had turned up at Farthering Place up until Midgley and Delwyn had had their last squabble at the Hound and Hart. Motive . . . motive. Who would want to kill the vicar or the nursery maid or Beaky himself?
The time crawled by. The kiln was no more than a black pit now, but he didn’t turn on the electric torch in his pack. It was better this way. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see almost clearly where the moonlight shone over the moor outside the bricked opening. His stomach growled, surprisingly loud in the night silence, but he didn’t take out one of the sandwiches he had brought. Nick would likely be hungry too when he arrived.
“Where are you?” Drew growled, peering out of the kiln but seeing not the slightest movement.
It wasn’t like Nick to be late. Perhaps he’d run into difficulties in London. Anything could have delayed him. Drew paced in the darkness. He didn’t want to have to come back here tomorrow night and do this all again.
“Come on, old man.”
He paced a while longer. The vicar and the nursery maid, they had to have seen something they shouldn’t have. They had to have been silenced. But over what? Sabrina wasn’t seeing Gray. Delwyn had it bad for Iris, so that ought to let Sabrina out, as well. If whoever sabotaged the Austin meant for Sabrina to be driving it, what would he gain from her death? If it was meant for Beaky after all, then who would benefit from his death? Sabrina. It seemed there was no other alternative, but Drew wouldn’t know. Not until Nick told him what he’d found out in London.
Again his stomach grumbled. He took out his watch and held it so the moonlight fell over it. It was nearly eight. Nick should have been here well before now. Drew rummaged in his pack and took out a sandwich, the eating of which cheered him immensely, but that cheer was short-lived.
He waited until after nine and then slung his pack over his shoulder. Feeling the comforting presence of the Webley in his pocket, he stole out of the kiln and out toward the cottage. Nick would just have to come find him.
There was a stone wall running along the edge of the path that went down to the cottage. It wasn’t very high. In several spots it had tumbled down altogether, but here in the dark, if he was quiet and kept low, Drew thought it would give him a decent view of the front of the cottage and just the cover he needed. He crept over to it and, in a few quick strides, settled himself behind it. There weren’t many places to
hide anywhere else, so he didn’t doubt that Nick would find him quickly.
Drew wasn’t sure if he was angry or worried or both, but he wasn’t going to waste the time he’d already spent by giving up now. He waited a long while more, ate another sandwich, and wondered what Iris was doing inside the cottage. Spinning, most likely. Or maybe cleaning up after her supper. Had Midgley eaten there too, or was he off somewhere as he was most nights? How was she feeling now that she had broken off with Morris Gray? Sad? Betrayed? Or perhaps she was relieved to be free of someone she knew in her heart of hearts was not the man she had imagined him to be. Perhaps now she—
Drew froze when he heard a door open on the other side of the cottage.
“You there?”
That was Midgley, Drew was sure. A man’s voice came in reply, but Drew didn’t recognize the speaker and could make out none of the words. Midgley’s voice was equally muffled, and Drew dared to peer around the wall that concealed him. There was a candle in the window, but the poacher was nowhere in sight.
His muscles and bones protesting his long inactivity, Drew crept nearer, but the two voices were still only a low muddle of sound, nothing of any use. He was about to move closer still when he heard a piercing cry and then a gurgling gasp. Then came the thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
“Midgley?” Drew slipped his hand into his coat pocket, around the solid little Webley concealed there. “Midgley?” There was a scrabbling noise, and Drew stole up to the cottage. “Come out where I can see you!”
No response, only silence.
Drew peeked around the corner of the cottage. There was no one there but Midgley. The poor rotter was huddled on the ground, something darkly red soaking into the mud beneath him. Already dead.
“Da?” The door flew open, rattling against the back wall as the girl flew into the yard, using her distaff, still wrapped with wool, as a makeshift guide. “What happened? Da?”
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