The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  When they reached the bottom step, Beth shook herself as if to erase her tormented thoughts. She glanced at James, once again placing a cheerful expression over her bleak one. “I usually start screaming when I realize I am about to die.”

  She released his arm and smiled as if she had just been discussing the weather.

  “You are safe, Beth,” James said, ignoring her feigned nonchalance. “It is possible these dreams are caused by a sense of insecurity. But you know, or at least you should know, that the family is here for you, in whatever capacity is needed to keep you safe and sound. We are your friends and your protectors.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “I’m here for you.” His last words were spoken in a hushed tone—almost reverent.

  Beth blinked, dumbfounded by his fervor, and shifted her gaze to the floor. She was lost in the memory of their shared looks, the joy she felt in his presence and the bliss of his laughter. While her affections were most ardently given to the entire Ellerby family, Beth realized that her feelings for James Ellerby were stronger than affection—much stronger.

  It was going to be difficult when he left for London.

  * * *

  AFTER BREAKFAST HAD been cleared away, Beth took up what had become her usual position on the settee, embroidery in hand. Walter perched on the settee’s arm beside her, trying to be helpful. He made thread color suggestions and exclaimed great distress over nonexistent stitching errors. Caroline sat at her desk composing a letter to Dr. Brant.

  Settling back on the settee, Beth sat with her shoulder turned slightly so that she might be attentive to the door without appearing to be doing so. She noticed that Walter glanced constantly in the direction of the windows.

  It was no wonder, for the day was a delight. The morning dew and heavy skies had broken into a heated spring day. The air was fresh with the smell of new blossoms. Beth was not surprised that Walter found it hard to concentrate on anything but his desire to be outside.

  “Beth, how about a drive through town?” he finally asked. “We could take the curricle, chat up a few of the locals. See if anyone has encountered Mr. Pat—”

  “Perhaps now is not the best time,” James said, entering the morning room.

  Beth felt a rush of pleasure at his sudden appearance. Her heart beat faster, and she had to remember to breathe. She drank in the sight of his profile but dropped her eyes when his head turned toward her. His sigh elicited a brief glance, but when Beth saw that James was still looking her way, she quickly returned her eyes to her stitching.

  James cleared his throat. “I have been giving it some thought and … well, I believe we should head to London.”

  Caroline scratched out another line on her note and then signed with a flourish. “Yes, James,” she answered absentmindedly. “It is when you are going that is in question.”

  “I said we, Caroline.” He glanced at Beth. “I’m certain I said we?”

  She nodded just as Walter jumped to his feet. “All of us?” the younger gentleman exclaimed. “To London? We are to make a holiday of it?”

  “Yes, indeed. I thought a change of scenery might do us all some good.”

  “This is capital! Capital indeed!” Walter bounced around the room.

  James smiled at Walter. “Within a fortnight or so.”

  “Wait till Henry hears this! He’ll be wild with jealousy! Mrs. Thompson and Mr. Renfrew are taking Sophia into the city without him and now,” Walter added with great glee, “he’ll be beside himself.”

  Walter was halfway through the door when he called back over his shoulder, “I’m off to Risely.”

  Caroline dropped onto the settee beside Beth, forcing James onto the ornate and undersized parlor chair across from them. He dusted a nonexistent piece of lint from his trousers.

  “Why?” Caroline asked without preamble.

  James hedged. He regaled them with the splendors of the city such as the opera, balls, and assemblies. He spoke of the need to purchase goods at some finer shops, and the chance to meet friends.

  None of it rang true.

  Beth, like Caroline, remained silent—hands neatly folded on her lap. Her face, again like Caroline’s, was devoid of emotion. Finally, their passive nonacceptance bore fruit.

  “Paul found a note in the stall that contained Mr. Paterson’s pony.” James pursed his lips and handed Beth the piece of paper. “It was not addressed to anyone, but the words make it plain that the note is meant for the family, and you in particular, Beth.”

  Beth opened the folded paper. The message was hastily written but succinct.

  You will pay dearly for this charade.

  Caroline squeezed Beth’s hand. “I think London an excellent plan, James.”

  “We are just prolonging the agony.” Beth stood and began to pace the room. “Paterson could easily follow us to London, if he has a mind to.”

  But while James and Caroline agreed in principle, they argued that it was unlikely. And so Beth marched from one end of the morning room to the other, and then back again, thinking. While she was aware that James and Caroline were arranging the journey to London, Beth took no part in the discussion. She had devised an alternate plan.

  * * *

  CAROLINE PLUNKED HALFHEARTEDLY at Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 5 in E-flat Major. Her mind was not on the music but on the list of preparations for what James thought might encompass as much as a two-month stay in Town. Had the journey been for other reasons, the prospect of spending the last of the Season with the Ton would have been exciting. However, July in the heat and stench of London was another matter.

  Caroline thought that a simple change of residence would not be enough to deter those pursuing her companion. She had suggested to James that she take Beth to their mother in Bath instead. James and Walter could take up residence as expected in Berkeley Square, hopefully confounding their adversaries. James had been against the idea. Caroline did not assume it was her company that he could not do without.

  Should Dr. Brant come to dinner, Caroline hoped that he would be able to make James see reason. With that thought, a light knock alerted Caroline to a visitor.

  “I had not expected you so soon,” Caroline said, leaving her position at the piano and greeting Dr. Brant with affection.

  “Your missive arrived just after luncheon, and as I already had it in mind to pay a call, I felt no need to delay.”

  Caroline tried not to look disappointed. “Oh dear, I had so hoped for news about the Patersons in Pencombe.”

  “Well, that is the beauty of it. I did not need to pay the town a call to learn of them. Our cook was born and bred in Pencombe and was a veritable fountain of information.”

  Caroline brightened. “Is there such a creature as Diana Paterson of Pencombe?”

  “There are no Patersons in Pencombe. Cook went so far as to say, nary a one in the whole parish.” Dr. Brant laughed. “I now know that Matilda Prattle lives in the town proper, and her two sons Douglas and Stephen are out to sea. Molly and Dillan Patney are beyond—”

  “So,” Caroline interrupted. She was both relieved and disturbed by Dr. Brant’s answer. She led him out of the music room toward the drawing room. “Everything, every word that spilled from his lips was nothing but a lie.”

  “No surprise to any of you.”

  Caroline nodded. “True enough.”

  Dr. Brant looked around the drawing room as they crossed the threshold. “Should we speak to Ellerby? Let him know?”

  “Yes, indeed. But, unfortunately, Mr. Strickland sent James a note. He left a quarter hour ago, looking quite grim.” Caroline sighed heavily.

  Dr. Brant looked grave. “You have had darker days and survived,” he said, alluding to the tragedy of her father’s death and her mother’s … well, desertion. “You can only take each day as it comes.”

  Caroline nodded with little vigor. “There is one more piece of news I haven’t related to you as yet.”

  “And that is…?”

  “We are to Londo
n.”

  “This is marvelous! I am as well. Dr. Poole has agreed to come out of retirement while I’m gone. We shall make a party of it.”

  “Really? Why are you to London? Are your parents well?” Caroline knew Dr. Brant to have a distaste of city life.

  “Yes indeed, quite well. Although, my mother is suffering from acute boredom. Every year she must attend part of the Season. See and be seen, as she puts it, only to find the tedium of gossip and the marriage market overwhelming. No, it is not for their sake that I am bound to make the journey, but for Beth.”

  “Beth?” Caroline frowned slightly. “How so?”

  “While I was waiting for an answer from Edinburgh, I received word of Dr. Stewart Fotherby in London. His specialty is the study of injuries to the head. I thought I might present Beth’s case to him and ask his advice. With Beth in London, she could see him in person.”

  “That is splendid.” She smiled and then turned toward the doorway as footsteps quickly approached.

  Walter burst in on them. His new staid manner of dress was slightly offset by the return of a wild waistcoat. This particular one was a patchwork of bright colors, but he was not there to discuss fashion, for a change.

  “Dr. Brant.” Walter nodded a greeting and then turned to his sister. “Where might I find Beth?”

  “I believe she mentioned the conservatory, something about an orchid in bloom.” Caroline winked at Dr. Brant, knowing Beth to be ensconced in the gallery.

  “I’ve looked. There, and the morning room and the gallery and the music room.” He raised his eyebrows. “Any other suggestions?”

  Caroline was surprised to learn that Beth was not in the gallery. “Just the obvious. I am surprised that you have not checked the stables.”

  Walter’s face brightened. “Of course. The puppies.” He turned without a by-your-leave and left.

  “The stables?” Dr. Brant’s question drifted over Caroline’s shoulder as she stared after her brother.

  “I hope so, because I don’t know where else she might be.” Caroline tried to ignore the catch of fear in her throat.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fluff and Feathers

  Without guidance, Tetley cantered through the front gates of Hardwick Manor and turned toward Welford Mills. James was deep in thought, mulling over Mr. Strickland’s short note requesting his presence. It was most disturbing and had far-reaching implications.

  Lord Ellerby,

  I found the questioning of Daisy Bartley’s death to be worthwhile. If it is your convenience, I would meet you at the foot of Old Risely Road.

  Derrick Strickland, Parish Deputy

  Just after the Torrin Bridge, the east-west London road veered south, toward Welford Mills and the coast. The byway to Risely had been abandoned decades ago to a newer, finer drive past Welford Mills. Consequently, grass had grown to some length between the old wagon ruts, and the forest bracken had encroached on the road. As it continued up the hill, the road became no more than a widened horse path, Old Risely Road.

  Spotting Mr. Strickland’s pony tied nearby, James dismounted, called Jack back from where he was exploring the bracken, and tethered Tetley.

  Instantly, Jack leapt to James’ side and around his master’s legs. “What are you doing, you foolish dog?” He patted the enthusiastic creature and calmed him with a command.

  James looked around the small clearing. The sun was making its descent in the sky, and thus its rays entered the forest on a sharp angle, casting deep shadows. An outcrop and large boulder pushed the trail into an arc, narrowing the rough road further. Surrounded by an unnatural hush, James stood in the silence for some minutes, trying to catch a glimpse or sound of the deputy. Nothing was evident.

  James patted Tetley’s flank, called Jack to heel, and started up the hill.

  “Aha!” a voice rang out, cutting through the quiet. “Just as I thought.”

  After a moment—needed to settle his startled heart—James continued to climb the hill. His smile was forced. “What are you doing, Mr. Strickland? Playing a game of hide-and-go-seek?”

  Mr. Strickland met James on the path. “Not at all, Lord Ellerby. I was testing a theory.” Pulling at his mustachio, he pointed toward the path just past the narrowing. “This is the site of an ambush.” He paused, shook his head as if to clear it, and pulled a wad of paper from his breast pocket. “Thought I’d deal with young Daisy Bartley’s death first.”

  James slipped his top hat off with one hand and raked the other through his hair. He stood silent for some moments in preparation. “What have you learned, Mr. Strickland?”

  “First off, Daisy Bartley drowned. Doc Triden says her lungs be full a saltwater.” Mr. Strickland pointed to his paper. “As you know, the Torrin is fresh, so she didn’t drown in the river or a well or even a bathing tub. So we can conclude”—he nodded at the word—“that Daisy Bartley drowned in the channel.”

  Strickland walked to the edge of the boulder and peered around it before looking back at Ellerby. “The poor girl was right some mess when they finally got hold of her. She had been crashing against those rocks for hours afore they could bring her in. And who knows how long she had been hitting the shore afore she were noticed.”

  James shuddered and swallowed against the lump in his throat.

  “She had bruises all over her body. You don’t bruise up when you be dead. She coulda fallen down the cliff and tried to get back up. Yet, some a those bruises didn’t make sense—especially round her neck. Doc Triden thought someone strangled the poor thing.” He glanced up at James.

  James swallowed again. He wanted to yell stop, but fought to keep his face passive; he nodded for the man to continue.

  The mustachio twitched as Mr. Strickland’s head bowed once more over the paper wad. “Just afore Daisy left her ma’s, her sister, Nora, gives her a parcel. A pillow she’d stitched herself. Wrapped it up with red wool.” Mr. Strickland snapped his tongue. “Last they saw a her, she be heading into Welford Mills past the mill.” Mr. Strickland patted the retriever sniffing at his leg.

  “Daisy were supposed to meet Jeff at the bottom of this here road.” Mr. Strickland waved his arm about but didn’t look up. “And a Sparks boy saw her doing just that. She were waiting, humming, an’ hugging that there parcel.”

  A frown clouded the deputy’s face. “Jeff didna meet her, as one of the Thompson horses had the colic. He figured Daisy’d come looking for him, and when she didn’t arrive, he figured she were mad.”

  James recalled Jeff Tate at the funeral, standing before Daisy’s newly dug grave, distraught and alone—locked in grief.

  “So, when she tired of waiting, she either continued on to Welford Mills, or she headed up this path to Risely.” James tried to sound calm, not impatient.

  “Or she could have returned to Hardwick, but you had men working in the fields and they didna see her. I asked round town and no one seen her there, neither. If she’d come through, people would have been a whispering for some reason or another. Nobody can sneeze in this here town without someone figuring it’s their business.”

  James nodded.

  “So as I see it,” Mr. Strickland continued, “she decided to head up to Risely. But…” The deputy hesitated and looked farther up the path. “Here, I’ll show ya.” He motioned for James to follow.

  James stepped around the boulder and found that the path widened just beyond. He called several times to Jack, who was engrossed in the multitude of scents in the bushes, and proceeded. It was a relatively steep climb but not long, and within a few minutes the two men were standing at its peak.

  The vista was expansive. The sheltered woods behind them gave way to the clearing of fields and gardens; beyond, Risely Hall stood out boldly against the horizon. This was the manor’s service face, the kitchens and stable yards clearly visible.

  “It be an active house with the hands in the fields, gardeners tending flower beds, and laundry maids in and out of the washhouse,” Mr. Strickland
said. “So … I can’t figure on how she got into the bay. Past all them servants.”

  James stared at the large manor, searching for a theory but coming up short. He veered away from his empty thoughts. “What of the ambush you mentioned?”

  “Oh yes, come see.” The deputy headed back into the woods and down the path. They stopped just before the sharp bend. Mr. Strickland hunkered down beside the large rock and pointed to a large patch of flattened grass. “Someone sat here waitin’, an’ I found more trampled grass opposite. There be two a them.”

  James shook his head. “But why? Why would someone wait for Daisy?”

  “Heaven bless us, Lord Ellerby, so many reasons: an old beau, someone she owes money, or now that she’s known to be walking out with the Tate boy, it might have had something to do with him. A foe from his wilder days? Almost anything. Almost anything.”

  “But none of those are reason to…” James had a hard time saying the words. “Strangle her.”

  “True, I haven’t quite got me head around that one yet. But that’s not the biggest problem. If someone did grab Daisy here, how did she end up in the bay?”

  James cast his eyes slowly through the woods on all sides of him. The underbrush was thick and shadowed. Why would the killer not simply dump her body in the brambles? Why take her out to the water? Bewildered, James shook his head. “Nothing makes sense.”

  “Not yet, but it will. I’ll keep investigating, Lord Ellerby. Just thought you should know the direction I’ll be heading.”

  “I appreciate that.” James half turned. “Have you had a chance to look into the assault on Mill Road? That was an ambush.”

  Mr. Strickland looked up quickly, brows again drawn together. “On my list a things to do.”