“Had, wait!”
Eilian trailed behind her. His stomach lurched as vomit rose in his throat at the blood smeared across the man’s face. Rivers of blood trailed over his forehead, across his eyes, and between his full lips as they parted to release a heavy breath. If Nadir Talbot hadn’t been the only man of Egyptian descent in town, it would have been impossible to tell it was him with his dark hair matted and his face painted in blood.
“Mr. Talbot! Good lord, Nadir,” she cried as she dropped to his side and turned him onto his back. Placing a hand on his chest, she jostled him until he released another groan. “Nadir, wake up.”
“Pat, fetch Dr. Sturgis!”
“Should I fetch the police as well?”
“Yes but after. Tell Sturgis a man is gravely wounded.” When the butler disappeared out of sight, he turned his gaze to the shadows beyond the dim glow of the auxiliary lights. The person who attacked Mr. Talbot could still be there, waiting for their chance to finish them off next. He slipped his arm under Nadir’s shoulder, but when he maneuvered his prosthesis to carry him back to the library, his eyes fell upon the bare titanium rod.
Eilian dropped his voice and leaned close. “Had, we need to get him out of here. Grab his left side. I don’t know if we still have company.”
They slipped their arms under his and dragged him toward the library. Nadir’s body thumped along the cobbles as he weakly struggled to shrug off their hands. They laid him down on the rug in front of the hearth, but as Eilian turned from shutting the door, he recoiled at the sight. The amount of blood and torn flesh was worse than he had imagined. Blood dribbled down his face from the wound on his scalp. It cut from behind his ear to an inch from his temple where his flesh had shredded and peeled back to reveal the musculature and bone below. Before he could suppress it, Eilian ran to the desk and vomited into the rubbish bin as quietly as he could muster as not to alert Hadley. His throat burned as he wiped his mouth and rested a steadying hand over his stomach. He had to pull himself together. When he turned back, his wife had Nadir propped up against the sofa and was carefully parting his hair to get a better look at the wound. He averted his gaze as another wave of nausea gurgled through his gut.
“It doesn’t seem too deep. I wish Eliza and James were here; they would know what to do.” She pushed past him to fetch the scissors from his desk, but as she passed the garbage pail, she stopped. Her light eyes darted from the metal can to her husband’s ashen face. “Are you all right? I can do this myself if you can’t stomach it.”
“I can help. I just can’t look at it too much.”
“All right. Hold his shoulder then, so he doesn’t fall over.”
Eilian swallowed hard and averted his gaze as he laid his hand on Nadir’s shoulder. With the scissors, Hadley quickly cut off the bottom six inches off her nightgown and bunched it up against the bleeding wound. Nadir’s eyes opened a crack, but as she pressed her hand to the side of his head, he clenched them shut and drew in a hissed breath.
“Where am I?” he mumbled, his words slurred against his thick tongue.
“Brasshurst Hall. You don’t remember coming here?”
His glazed eyes widened as he looked past her. “No... I don’t know. You’re hurting me, Lee.”
“It’s not Leona; it’s Lady Dorset. I’m sorry I’m hurting you, but I have to.” She ran her hand along the back of his head to feel for injuries when her fingers drifted over a hot lump. “You have an egg on your head. Did someone hit you?”
He stared ahead for a long moment before nodding.
“Do you remember who?”
Images drifted through his mind, dim and just out of reach. It had been dark, and there had been that disgusting smell.
“Was it Mr. Nash?”
The breath caught in his throat. Nadir tried to catch the threads of his mind and draw them together despite the throb of nausea and pain. He had to tell someone. He had to tell. Gathering his wits, he said, “He’s dead.”
Hadley and Eilian locked eyes, their gazes traveling to the fogged window. Turning back to Nadir, Hadley raised his chin until their eyes met. The haze had nearly cleared for the time being, leaving the proud writer to grit his teeth and breathe in shallow gasps against the sear of pain in his temple.
“If you don’t,” Nadir paused to swallow down the pain in his head, “believe me, go check. He’s by the pool.”
Hadley looked toward the window again before returning to the bleeding wound and the growing stain on the cloth. Could she risk leaving him alone?
“I will go. Give me your gun,” Eilian replied as he released Nadir’s arm, happy to escape the sight of his torn scalp.
Reaching into her dressing gown, Hadley handed over her derringer. Her heart thundered in her throat. She watched Eilian fumble to position the gun in his real hand and slip into the orangery without looking back. Even if he ran into the culprit, she knew he wouldn’t be able to protect himself. She reached to sweep her hair behind her ears but stopped short when she remembered they were coated in Nadir’s blood.
“I think he’s gone,” Nadir said when she turned to him, her face blanched with fear.
“Who?”
He raised his hand, which still felt as heavy as his head, and held the rag to his wound. “The murderer.”
“Oh. Did you see his face?”
“No, he hit me from behind. Then, it was dark. He grabbed me, and I ran. I— I dropped my lantern at some point. Not sure when. I should have thrown it at him.” A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, rattling his throbbing head. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain radiated through his scalp and burned the cartilage of his ear. “Did he shoot me in the head?”
Hadley met his half-glazed eyes and nodded. “You were lucky this time. It isn’t too deep.”
“Lucky,” he repeated under his breath, his fingers trailing into his pocket to retrieve the smooth bead.
“Nadir, I hate to ask, but I need to know before the police get here. Did you kill him?”
His dark eyes shot to her face. “What? Of course not!”
“Then, what were you doing sneaking into the orangery?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “If you got into an altercation with him and things went badly, I don’t know if I could blame you. I need to know the truth before everyone gets here and turns the house into chaos again.”
His bloodstained mouth hung open at the implication. At the rush of emotion, his head swam and the library tilted before righting itself. He swallowed hard and squinted his eyes until they focused.
“Lady Dorset, you must believe me, I did nothing of the sort! I snuck in to confront him, and that is all. All I wanted to do was give him a piece of my mind, maybe— maybe threaten him a little, but not kill him. When I got here, he was already dead or at least I thought he was dead. There was lots of blood.”
“What happened after you found him?”
That part was still fuzzy. In his mind’s eye, he could see Nash beside the pool with his hand dangling into the water. He drew in a ragged breath and closed his eyes to picture the scene, but as soon as he relaxed his body, the countess shook his shoulder, rattling his brain against his skull.
“Wake up!”
“I am! God, you’re as bad as Leona.”
“Don’t you know you are not supposed to let a person who got hit in the head sleep? Now, focus and tell me what happened.”
He groaned. “I don’t know. Someone hit me, that much I remember, but after that, I’m not sure. I could barely see straight; he hit me so hard.”
“How did you get in?”
Nadir swallowed and tried to hold his head still as the subterranean passage floated before his vision. “There’s a tunnel by the beach. It leads under your house, all the way to the dower house. There’s a trap door or loose tile that opens into the orangery. It was open when I got there. It looks like a sewage tunnel or something.”
Hadley suppressed her surprise by busying herself with the bandages. She would have to
take a look at that passage later. Cutting another length of fabric from her skirt, she carefully peeled the blood-sodden bandage away from the wound and handed Nadir the new one. As he shifted and repositioned his head, she caught a glimpse of the couch behind him. The cream brocade had wicked up the blood, creating a scarlet halo where his head had once been.
“How bad do you think it is?” he asked, pointing toward the gash.
“Bad enough for stitches. The bleeding is slowing down.”
“I guess I will have to part my hair the other way now. Then again, to the right audience, maybe I could show off my battle scars. A writer has to gain a little infamy after they have been shot in the head and lived to tell the tale... even if it is exaggerated.”
Her light eyes narrowed as she wiped her hands on her gown. “Mr. Talbot, A man has been killed only a few yards away and you’re thinking about showing off to your lady friends. Do you not realize how serious this is? Eilian could be in there with the murderer.”
“Of course I do. I’m just trying to take your mind off it. I know you’re worried about him,” he replied, wincing as a bolt arced across his scalp. “That man would have overpowered you in an instant. Lord Dorset at least looks like he could hold his own. I’m sure he will be fine.”
The anger seeped out of her as she sat back on her heels. In his dark coat free of cut flowers or vibrant colors, Nadir Talbot had lost his dandy’s mask. He sat before her with his head resting against the sofa and the wad of once-white cotton pressed to his head, no pretention or preening left to hide behind. She had never noticed how much intelligence flashed behind his gaze or how his palms were stained with faded blotches of ink. A line of script cut across his thumb on his empty hand where it had rested across his manuscript until the words set in. With the fan of blood surrounding his head, he reminded her even more of his cousin. He could have been one of the Renaissance’s doe-eyed saints, suffering but maintaining his unearthly glow. How had the gravity of his well-sculpted features been hidden so well behind layers of vibrant silk and velvet? For a moment, his brown eyes glazed before snapping back to her face as she brushed a few strands of blood-crusted hair from his forehead.
“I appreciate it, Nadir. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m going to have a horrid migraine tomorrow.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t more light-headed from the bleeding. Hopefully Patrick will return with the doctor soon.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m light-headed. I’m just trying very hard not to think about it. If I dwell on it, I may vomit.” He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly as he readjusted his blurring eyes again. “I wonder how long it will last.”
Picking up the used rag, she wiped a stream of blood trailing down his neck that had escaped his notice. She frowned when his hand trembled as he readjusted the cloth and shook out his wrist.
“It will probably wear off in a few days. You know, you still haven’t told me why you were in there. How did you know Nash would be there?”
Nadir kept his gaze on the looping vines of the carpet beside them, tracing them with his mind to buy him time until he could figure out what to say. He had Leona to protect. He had failed before, but he wouldn’t now.
“I received a letter.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Too Late
Through the trees growing beneath the dome, the dusky pink and blue dawn emerged to chase away the shadows lurking in the far corners of the orangery. Eilian held the gun ahead of him as he followed the path past where they had found Mr. Talbot. He had seen Hadley do it several times, but it felt wrong. It wasn’t that her derringer was too small or that it fit awkwardly in his hand, it left him feeling exposed. If someone leapt from the cover of the brush, he knew he wouldn’t fire. He would throw his prosthetic arm in front of him to protect himself before swinging with his real arm. Unhooking his fingers and twisting the gun into his palm, he stopped in the middle of the fern-like trees and listened in the still greenhouse for the assailant. As he expected, the only sound came from the murmur of the water in the pool and the engine behind it. Whoever had broken in was probably long gone now.
Forging ahead, he stopped as his foot collided with the thin metal of a lantern. With a crack, it shot off the path and banged into an unseen tree. The noise reverberated off the dome, shattering the fragile stillness. Before he would have frozen, waiting for the sound to pass, but there was no one left. As the path crested the hill, he sighed as his eyes locked onto the body lying face down at the water’s edge. In the growing dawn light, he could make out the man’s grey hair and long, thin arm, which dangled across the old stones. On his little finger, a gold signet ring glinted. Blood had pooled beneath his narrow chest and dripped into the water beside him. Somehow, this blood didn’t turn his stomach. He should have felt queasy knowing his father’s cousin had bled out while he slept, yet any nausea he should have felt was overpowered by the weight of guilt.
He hadn’t known Randall Nash well. While he had been a nuisance with a miserable disposition, he had been family—practically his father’s brother—and he was gone now. There would be no chance to salvage any semblance of a civil relationship. No one would tell him stories of his father’s childhood or know what Laurence Sorrell was truly like. That entire generation of his family was dead, and now every Sorrell in the family bible would have their lives defined by birth and death. He had hoped to find bits of himself in stories of Laurence or Harland. Randall could have helped things make sense and confirm what he read in Laurence’s journals. He should have done more to mend their relationship.
Swallowing hard, Eilian turned on heel and headed back to the house. He and Dylan were all that tied his family to the Brasshurst and Folkesbury. If either of them were to die— He banished the thought from his mind. Now was not the time for morose ruminations. Dylan and Constance were to have a child, and even if he never did, at least the house and all its history wouldn’t go to seed again; he would make sure of that. At the bend in the path, he paused and watched the sun pierce the misty bluffs. Through the murk, the shadow of a steamer passed down the road to town while three others with their headlamps alight charged across the old bridge toward the house. The light-less steamer fell in behind them, following the caravan.
Inhaling the perfume of water and earth, Eilian braced for the chaos about to descend upon them.
***
“Two bodies, right?” Sergeant Purcell asked when Eilian met him on the front lawn.
The normally sharp policeman’s mustache hung limp at the edge of his lips while his wool uniform, which had been pressed with care, had been thrown over a rumpled, collarless shirt. Behind him, his men looked as if they had rolled out of bed. One still wore a nightshirt under his wrinkled uniform while the other was dressed but looked as if he might fall asleep if left alone.
“No, just one.”
The sergeant’s light eyes sharpened. “Oh? I thought your man told my boys there were two.”
“Randall Nash is dead. Luckily, Nadir Talbot is merely wounded. Dr. Sturgis is already inside tending to him.”
“How fortunate for him. A double murder would have been a record for us.”
When they reached the orangery through the drawing room, Purcell sent his men ahead. Standing before the nobleman, Purcell’s eyes traveled toward where Nash lay as he opened his notepad. He gave the earl a onceover, probing him for any signs of guilt before lingering on the bloodstain on the cuff of his nightshirt where it had grazed Nadir’s bloodied head.
“Lord Dorset, do you know anyone who would have wanted your cousin dead?”
“No, I didn’t know him well.”
“What about Mr. Talbot? Do you have any reason to believe he killed Nash?”
Eilian recoiled at the tang of sweat leaking from beneath the man’s starched collar. Shaking his head, he stepped back, but the sergeant immediately filled the gap.
“I highly doubt it. I don’t know why they were trespassing in the orang
ery, but I blame Nash for it. He broke in whenever he pleased, so I assume he set up the meeting.” His wife was so fond of Nadir that he hoped what he said was true. “Nadir appears to be the victim of the same assailant who attacked Nash. I don’t think it’s possible that he could have shot himself.”
***
By Purcell’s smug, knowing smile, Eilian should have realized his interrogation wouldn’t end at that. For hours, he, Hadley, and their entire staff were paraded in and out of the morning room, which the sergeant had designated as his makeshift office, all while still in their robes and pajamas. There he sat with his fingers tented in front of his now pomaded mustache, staring down whichever victim had been offered up for questioning. Little Lidia came out in tears followed by Charlotte who returned colorless, and during his turn, Bernard’s rough accent reverberated through the walls. The only one who had escaped his investigation was Nadir Talbot, who had been sent back to his cousin’s to rest at Dr. Sturgis’s furious insistence. With each round of probing, Eilian watched Hadley’s face grow redder while her lips whitened with rage.
“They’re wasting time. This is ridiculous, acting like one of us did it when the real killer is probably halfway to London by now,” she muttered, crossing her arms and storming over to the bay window where she perched on the cushion, away from the others.
Charlotte half-rose to follow her, but Eilian raised his hand to keep her at her younger sister’s side. Crossing the room, he stood behind her and squeezed her shoulder as Patrick was summoned before the sergeant again. Rain pattered against the mullioned windows, casting streaks of grey across her freckled cheeks.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 73
