A Death in Norfolk

by Jennifer Ashley

  "What say you, Gabriel?" Lady Breckenridge said, a sparkle in her dark blue eyes. "Five guineas on the game?"

  "Of course," I said. "I always pay up my wagers."

  Her smile grew satisfied. She referred to the wager we'd made the first day we'd met, when I'd played billiards with her in a sunny room, and she'd challenged me.

  I had to search through the grass for my ball, while Donata went on to score double points behind me. I took the opportunity to coerce Reaves, the young vicar, into helping me look for the ball, and so into conversation.

  "What became of the Quinns?" I asked him, "when you took the living? Dr. Quinn, you said, passed on. What about the rest of his family?"

  Reaves blinked. "Devil if I know. No, a moment. I believe the wife lives in Blakeney with her sister-in-law. I know her nephew is still about."

  "Terrance, yes. I spoke to him last night. What about the Quinns' daughter? Helena?"

  "Couldn't say. She was gone before I arrived. Some scandal, I think, but I know little about it. You know what villagers are. Rattle on amongst themselves but close ranks against outsiders."

  Reaves was certainly an outsider. He was a city man, probably had lived his entire life in the circle of Cambridge and London.

  "I remember Helena," I said. "When I was a boy, she'd follow me about, wanting me to teach her to climb trees and so forth. I thought her a nuisance."

  "Yes, well, apparently about--oh, ten years ago?--she up and ran off. Probably with someone her family did not approve of. Provincials can be quite close-minded. She's likely living in some cottage not far from here, teaching her own daughters not to run off with scoundrels."

  Reaves bent to tap his ball, finished with gossip.

  Ten years ago. Had Helena Quinn gained entrance to my father's house, changed her debutante's gown for traveling clothes, and then gone off with her unsuitable man? My father had still been alive then. I could not see him helping illicit young lovers, nor could I see him allowing anyone outside the family into my mother's sitting room.

  Perhaps one of the Lacey maidservants had found the dress discarded by Helena after her flight and had put it into the sitting room for safekeeping, knowing no one would disturb it there. Said maidservant could always bundle it away later to sell.

  But if so, why hadn't she, why had the gown been spread so neatly, almost reverently, across the chaise, and why had my father allowed it to remain there?

  I renewed my intent to find Helena Quinn, or whoever had left the gown, and ask for the story. In spite of Donata trying to persuade me out of my fears of the discarded gown meaning something sinister, I could not shake the feeling.

  I gained some respect from the house party by winning half the wickets, but Lady Breckenridge and Grenville won the game.

  "That is five guineas you owe me, Gabriel," Lady Breckenridge said as we returned to the shade of the terrace. The butler passed among us with a tray of lemonade.

  "And I will pay the debt," I said. "At the moment, I need to return a horse and make some inquiries."

  "Lady Southwick has planned an outing for us, it seems," Grenville said, sipping lemonade. "She's going to cart us all down to Binham to stroll about the ruins of the priory. And have a picnic."

  "I will have to join the house party there," I said. "Or perhaps I should excuse myself to Lady Southwick altogether and take rooms over the tavern at Parson's Point."

  "Do not, Gabriel," Lady Breckenridge said severely. "I do not tell you this only because I'd never forgive you if you left me to deal with Lady Southwick alone, I tell it to you for your own good. I know that other matters are pulling at your attention, but they will accuse you of not being able to hold your own at a society house party. The story will be told and retold through the shooting season and on into spring. They'd make a laughingstock of you."

  I hardly cared, but I knew Donata did. She had to live among these people, and she was drawing me into her world. She had once told me that she liked me because I did not behave as expected, but she took a large risk, socially, attaching herself to me.

  "Then I will stay," I said. "But I must see about the horse, and I must make certain that the Lacey house remains in one piece."

  "I will placate Lady Southwick for you," Donata said. "And continue my discreet inquiries about the gown."

  "Ask Lady Southwick about Helena Quinn, and whatever scandal surrounds her."

  Lady Breckenridge looked surprised. "You have a woman in mind already for the owner of the dress?"

  "I might. She disappeared about the same time that the gown was made. Helena was the vicar's daughter; I imagine Lady Southwick knows the story, or at least the gist of it."

  "Hmm." Lady Breckenridge took a sip of lemonade, made a face, and dumped the rest of the glass's contents into the rhododendrons. "I shall endeavor."

  "What shall I do, Lacey?" Grenville asked.

  "Look after Donata, for now," I said. "Especially on this jaunt to the priory, and stay on guard for yourself. Ferguson was killed in a brutal fashion by someone very strong. That someone is still at large. I'd rather not have him decide that you saw him and can identify him."

  Grenville's exuberance dimmed. "Do you know, Lacey, when I found the man, I felt a very sharp pain in my chest--exactly where that knife went into me. I thought, for a split second, that the killer was there and had stabbed me to keep me silent. I swore I felt myself falling to the ground. But no, Matthias was next to me, holding me up, taking me outside. When I looked down, there was no knife in me, no blood. I even opened my waistcoat and stuck my hand inside my shirt to make sure I was whole. Is that not odd?"

  Not at all. I woke in the night sometimes, thinking I hung upside down from a tree, my left leg a torn and shattered mess, while French soldiers laughed up at me. They'd enjoyed themselves swinging me like a pendulum.

  "It is to be expected," I said.

  "I make too much of it," Grenville said. He drew out his handkerchief and dabbed his face. "I've styled myself as a man not afraid to face danger, but I realize that before someone stabbed me in the dark, I'd never truly faced it. Stepping into that place last night, finding Ferguson there . . . Please tell no one how suddenly terrified I was."

  Donata touched his arm. "You are among friends."

  I said, "I am not astonished at your fear. What astonishes me is that you went into the place at all."

  "Curiosity and arrogance. I had stout Matthias with me and no idea that violence lurked in the corner. I will take more care at the priory."

  "Please do." I said. I kissed Donata's smooth cheek and left to make my excuses to Lady Southwick.

  *** *** ***

  When I reached the stables, I discovered that the horse Buckley in Parson's Point had lent me had been returned to him by one of the under grooms. The head groom told me this, and also told me, looking very put out, that the horse I'd borrowed from Lady Southwick yesterday had not turned up.

  I told the man I'd hunt for the horse and asked if anyone nearby would allow me to hire a horse for the day. Before he could answer, Grenville's coachman, Jackson, stepped up and said that Grenville had told him to keep the carriage ready for my use whenever I wanted it.

  Because I did not much want to drag myself to the next village to try to find a horse for hire, I took up Jackson on the offer. Grenville had brought his landau, open for the warm weather, and I rolled off in this luxury.

  I was anxious to reach my own home, but I was equally anxious to talk to Bartholomew, who'd gone to search the windmill. I directed Jackson to Easton's house, and we reached it in a short while.

  Easton's household had definitely gone. One of Denis's pugilists came out of the house to open the carriage door for me. This particular man had helped me search for missing girls from Covent Garden earlier this year, and knew Jackson, who'd also helped with the search. He gave me a salute and stayed behind to speak to Jackson while I started to walk down the footpath toward the windmill.

  Another man came out of the hou
se before I could get far and told me Denis wished to speak to me. I did not want to see Denis; I'd come to the house to look at the windmill and to inquire whether Cooper had returned.

  The man stood solidly in front of me, however, until I agreed to follow him back to the house and inside. He led me upstairs and ushered me into Brigadier Easton's study.

  Denis had commandeered the desk. Easton's personal papers and trinkets had gone, replaced by Denis's usual thin stack of paper, one inkwell, and a pen tray. Denis had been writing but when I entered, he laid the pen in the pen tray and moved the paper aside.

  "Captain," he greeted me. "What have you discovered?"

  "Nothing," I said with some impatience. "I came to find out whether Cooper has returned."

  "No." The word was succinct but conveyed Denis's unhappiness. "And I want you to make every effort you can to find him."

  "I thought you wanted me to discover who killed Ferguson," I said. "Or do you think the tasks are one and the same?"

  "No." Again the short sound, charged with meaning. "I have sent Ferguson's body back to his family. I did not like that I had to send him home dead. The surgeon I employ confirmed what I told you a coroner would, that Ferguson had been beaten, and that one of the blows certainly killed him." Denis twined his long fingers together. "My fear, Lacey, is that Cooper has been murdered as well. And I do not like to contemplate this idea."

  "You are well and truly worried about him."

  A long pause followed. Denis looked at me, but not at me, then he turned to the man who stood guard inside the room. "Leave us," he said.

  I stilled, surprised. James Denis never let himself be alone in a room with anyone, especially not with me. The pugilist looked surprised as well, but he stifled any question and left the room without a word.

  Denis stood up. He walked to the window, his back to me, and looked out to the sunny day. The tall windmill stood silently, arms still.

  "I am worried," Denis said, his back still to me. "You need to find him, Lacey. If something has happened to Cooper, I am not certain I could bear it."

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  I had never in the year or so I'd known James Denis heard him speak with concern about another human being. He did not, even now--his voice held the stiffness of a man confessing something he did not want to, nor thought he'd ever have to, confess.

  I did not reply. If Denis wished to tell me more, he would. If he did not, he would not, even under torture.

  After another silent moment, Denis turned around, his face as impassive as ever. "I had an unusual childhood, Captain. I will not give you the details, but suffice it to say, urchins who pick pockets on the streets have more usual childhoods than I. I met Cooper when I was ten years old. He had just retired from exhibition fighting--not of his own will. The man who'd trained and kept him commanded him to lose a fight to a younger man the trainer was trying to bring out as his next sensation. Cooper refused, and so he was turned out without a shilling.

  "I tried to rob Cooper on the street. When picking his pocket did not work, I pulled out my knife and tried to fight him." He shook his head. "Me, a stripling of ten, and Cooper as large and tough as he is now, but twenty years younger. He bested me easily, but instead of turning me over to the Watch, he took me home. He told me that he'd teach me to fight if I stole for him so we could eat. I tried to tell him to go to the devil, but he landed me on the floor and left me there to think about it.

  "I did think about it, long and hard, and decided his scheme might be a good one. If this man taught me to fight, I reasoned, in time, I'd be able to fight him, and get free of him. Meanwhile, if he protected me and kept me away from the magistrates, we might be able to make a good living together. I called to him and told him I agreed, but that I would choose the targets and do nothing I thought too dangerous for me. The only way this would work, I said, was if neither of us got caught. We made a pact then and there, a contract, if you will, about what I would do and what he would do, and that we would protect each other."

  Denis let out a breath. "So it began. Cooper taught me how to fight--with fists, with knives, with pistols. He taught me how to take down a larger opponent with a minimum of moves, and how to render them unconscious before they realized what was happening.

  "I scoured the city looking for targets, reported to Cooper, and planned our moves. Simple robberies at first, of things that were easy to take and easy to sell. We made a good team, me slipping in while Cooper provided a distraction, Cooper getting in the way of any who might have caught me. But as I grew, so did my ambition. Our targets became more complicated, more lucrative, and I started to hire more men to help us. Cooper remained in thick with the world of pugilists, and he knew who could be trusted, who would be loyal, and who would welcome employment."

  He opened his hands. "So you see, Captain, Cooper has been with me every step of the way. He protected me, fought for me, taught me how to fight for myself when no help was coming. It did not take long before I abandoned the idea of besting and killing him and so ending the association. We got on, and nothing could stop us. And now, he is missing, and one of the men he handpicked is dead."

  Cooper had always been deferential to Denis, calling him "sir" and doing his slightest bidding. I imagined that Cooper had recognized, even in the ten-year-old Denis, a being of intelligence and great ambition. Cooper must have realized that his impulse to use the little boy had been a stroke of luck so pure he could bathe in it.

  Relationships were never simple, I well knew. What was between Denis and Cooper, changing and developing as the two men grew older, would be enmeshed and complex.

  "Cooper would never have killed Ferguson without telling me or explaining why," Denis said. "I know this."

  I understood what he feared. The killer could have struck Ferguson and then gone after Cooper. Or the other way around. Perhaps we simply hadn't found Cooper's body.

  "I will look as thoroughly as I can," I said.

  Denis looked straight at me again, as cold and hard as ever. "See that you do. Report to me or send messages through your lackey."

  I did not bother arguing that I did not work for him. "If a fine-blooded horse wanders into the stable yard, please tether it for me. I mislaid it, and it belongs to Lady Southwick."

  "I will have my men keep an eye out. I will also send my regrets to Lady Southwick that you will not be attend her outing to Binham Priory. I prefer that you keep searching for Cooper."

  How the devil he knew about the Binham ramble I did not know, but I had learned long ago not to be surprised at the information Denis had at his fingertips.

  "I confess that riding about the heath and marshes will be preferable to another game of bloody croquet," I said.

  "Have a care, Captain. I am certain that wedded bliss with the upper classes will land you in many more games of bloody croquet."

  I turned back. "Is that why you've never married? An objection to croquet?"

  Denis gave me the barest hint of a smile. "You will get no more stories out of me today, Captain. Good afternoon."

  He sat down at the desk, pulled the half-finished letter back to the center of the desktop, and lifted his pen. I'd been dismissed.

  *** *** ***

  I went downstairs and told the man talking to Jackson to fetch me a horse. I'd search much better on horseback through back country than from the landau on the roads. If Denis expected me to scour the land, he could provide the means.

  I traversed the footpath to the windmill, but Bartholomew was not there. I found nothing more than I had the night before--blood I'd not been able to soak up with the dirt was now dried on floor and walls. Someone from Denis's household had brought at ladder reach the upper floors. I climbed this to a much cleaner room above, wide windows on two sides letting in daylight.

  This floor had been part of the keeper's rooms, but every stick of furniture had been removed. A thick layer of dust coated the floor, undisturbed. No one had been up here, i
ncluding Bartholomew or Denis's men. They must have looked at the dusty floor, and concluded, as I did, that no one had been there and it was not worth the bother to ascend.

  I left the windmill, took the horse led out for me, and rode north and west toward Blakeney, crossing a river and cutting over fields.

  Farmland rippled around me, the centuries-old practice of draining the marshes rendering the land dry and fertile. Late crops were still growing, this year a little thicker than had been in the past few years, when a cold summer had meant small yield. I saw the blight the bad years had left--farms abandoned, cottages standing empty. Farmers and farm laborers had gone to the cities to find work, to be buried in the dirt and smoke of the factories.

  As I rode, I saw farmers bending to labors, and as I neared the sea, fishermen walking back to the villages from their day out, nets over their shoulders, ready for mending. Nowhere did I see the large form of Cooper, nor did I see Lady Southwick's blasted horse.

  As I rode into Blakeney, I took a chance, dismounted in front of the public house, and asked inside where I could find Mrs. Quinn, widow of the Parson's Point vicar. I knew fewer men in this taproom than I had in the Parson's Point pub, but still a good many greeted me with quiet acknowledgment.

  The publican told me that Mrs. Quinn lived in the high street near the pump, next door to him, in fact. He pointed the way, I thanked him, left the horse with the hostler, and walked to the house.

  The cottages in Blakeney, as they were in Parson's Point, were made of, or partly of, flint, which was found in abundance in this part of the country. The walls of the Blakeney cottages were pebbled with the gray stone.

  I knocked on the green-painted door of the house, to have the door wrenched open from within by Terrance Quinn.

  "What do you want, Lacey?" was his greeting.

  I removed my hat and bowed. "I came to pay my respects to your aunt and mother."