by Anna Elliott
“You mean they might have known something that he knew,” said Lestrade.
“They had to be killed before they could tell others.” Holmes glanced at the constable. “Did they reveal anything to you?”
The constable shook his head. “Miss Janine was crying too much to talk. I told them to keep away from the streets and said I’d come back later.” His gaze was downcast. “I should have stayed with them.”
“Not your fault,” Lestrade said. He nodded to the two attendants who were waiting to take away the bodies.
“It’s not right,” the constable said. “They came here for understanding and comfort. Somebody came into the pew behind them when they were praying and killed them. Somebody’s got to answer.”
“Somebody will,” said Holmes.
“We’ll take it from here,” said Lestrade.
“Will there be a funeral?” Holmes asked.
The constable shook his head. “No family to make the arrangements. All they had was each other.”
“A shame,” I said, and immediately felt the inadequacy of my remark.
“They both worked at a clothing factory,” the constable said. “Maybe the manager will do something.”
“If there is a funeral, let me know,” said Lestrade. “I want to keep an eye on whoever attends.”
We waited in an awkward silence as the two attendants shuffled into the pew and bent over Miss Janine. They lifted her.
“Wait,” Holmes said.
He sprang forward, picked up a scrap of white paper, and held it out so we could read it.
In clumsy block capitals of black ink were printed three words.
NOT DONE YET
16. FOLLOWED
Lincolnshire
LUCY
“What do you think?” I asked Becky.
Despite the cold and the gray weather, she had decided that she would rather walk the two miles back into town, so I had paid off our carriage driver and let him go. Now Becky and I were making our way down Lynley House’s long carriage drive.
Becky bit her lip. “He’s a very bad liar.”
“You’re right about that.”
“He said that he’d barely ever talked to Alice,” Becky went on. “But he knew that her mother was a baker and that she wanted to go to London?”
It was also odd that—from the sound of things—he had personally inspected the missing girl’s room. That was the kind of task the master of the house definitely didn’t do himself. Ninety-nine percent of men in Lord Lynley’s position would delegate the task to their housekeepers, or at the very least, their wives.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“He doesn’t like to talk about his wife being sick.”
I nodded. It wasn’t terribly unusual for a man to dismiss his wife’s nervous tendencies as mere female hysterics. But there had been an odd note to Lord Lynley’s voice when he’d spoken of his wife’s health. Impatience mixed with something almost like guilt was the nearest that I could come.
Becky took a little skipping step beside me. “He’s hiding something. What do you think it is? Do you think he’s secretly done away with Alice and buried her body on the grounds? Or maybe he threw her body into one of the irrigation dikes!”
I wasn’t sure whether I should be disturbed or thankful that the prospect of a potential murder to investigate had brought life and color back into Becky’s expression.
Thankful, probably, that she still had enough ten-year-old child in her to see a murder investigation as more in the light of one of Watson’s stories come to life than a human tragedy.
“If he’d done that, it probably would have been found by now. Besides, that doesn’t account for whoever sent the snakes.”
“True.” Becky shivered a little, her smile fading as she glanced over her shoulder at the house behind us. Lynley House was still visible through the bare, skeletal branches of the trees that lined the drive. It stood, its white marble columns and domed roof bleak and solitary, set off from the gray and brown landscape like a half-buried skull in a muddy field.
“There’s something badly wrong in that place,” Becky said. Her voice was smaller now. “Is that why you didn’t ask to question any of the other servants?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure whether Lord Lynley would agree to let me for one thing. But I also wanted to let him think we believed that Alice had just gone off of her own accord, too.”
It was also the reason I’d changed my mind about my final question for him. I’d come to Lynley House ready to see whether I could talk my way into being allowed to spend the night as a guest there.
It wouldn’t have been an unreasonable request. I’d come in response to his wife’s plea for help, and I’d counted twenty bedroom windows on the second and third floors. They weren’t exactly hurting for spare rooms.
Becky slipped her hand into mine. “You think something has happened to Alice? Something bad?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
I still had no idea why Alice had left her post—whether she’d chosen to go or been dragged off. I didn’t know whether she was alive or dead. But I was sure, with a cold, deep-rooted certainty, that whatever unseen forces were at play behind all of this were dangerous.
I hated that feeling. I’d followed my father into his chosen profession because a part of me couldn’t be happy without a problem to solve or an injustice to put right. But I hated standing on the outer edge of a problem or danger and not knowing what I was dealing with.
Becky turned to look up at me from under the brim of her winter hat. “You’re worrying that you shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“What?”
“Your face got all frowny,” Becky said. “The way it does when you’re worried that something is going to be dangerous. But I can help you!” She spoke with fierce determination. “I know I can!”
I sighed. My father had a book on eastern philosophy that he’d picked up during his travels to the Dalai Lama in Tibet. It was probably karma that I’d spent most of my own childhood jumping to take every possible risk I could find—and now I had charge of Becky, who insisted on doing exactly the same.
“I know you can help,” I said.
I was telling the simple truth. Becky had been invaluable during our past investigations. She was bold, quick-witted, and she had one surpassing advantage: that no enemy would ever perceive her as a potential threat.
I’d learned a long time ago that one of my own best weapons was that men tended to underestimate anyone who was both young and female—and there were few people easier to underestimate than a small ten-year-old girl.
“Do you want to keep investigating Alice Gordon’s disappearance?” I asked.
Becky nodded instantly. “Yes.” She was still looking up at me, her blue eyes clear in the gray winter light, her cheeks rosy with the cold. “Not just because it’s exciting.” She bit her lip, seeming to search for the right words. “No one really minds that she’s gone,” she finally said. “You said before that Lady Lynley didn’t care about her. And Lord Lynley just wants to believe that she’s gone off and not have to think about her anymore. Someone needs to care that she’s missing.”
I suppressed another sigh. I might still wince at the thought of leading Becky into another investigation—without Jack, without even the benefit of Holmes’s presence, this time. But she wasn’t wrong.
“All right.” I squeezed her hand. “We’ll keep asking questions. But we have to promise each other that we’re both going to be very, very careful about this. No going off alone. No doing anything dangerous.”
Becky nodded solemnly. “I promise—”
Something rustled in the bushes behind us, off past the right side of the drive. I stopped Becky with a quick hand on her arm, and she fell instantly silent, her eyes widening.
I tipped my head just fractionally in the direction the noise had come from.
It could be a rabbit or a bird or even a deer.
Keep talking. I mouthe
d the words silently at Becky, taking her hand at the same time and drawing her further up the path.
Her eyes were still big and round, but she nodded, taking a breath.
“It’s frightfully cold, don’t you think, Lucy? Do you think we’ll see any snow while we’re here? Those trees would look so pretty all covered in snow, and then maybe we could find somewhere to go tobogganing …”
Becky could, when asked, fill a silence with an almost endless supply of cheerful, innocent prattle.
I listened hard, straining above the creak of wind in the trees to catch any more sounds from behind us. For a moment, everything seemed quiet. Maybe it really had been just a bird or a rabbit, combined with my own overly-suspicious—
A twig snapped behind us with a sharp crack.
And there went all thoughts of there being a non-human explanation to the sounds of our being followed. Birds and rabbits didn’t snap branches as big as that when they walked.
My heart sped up as I took quick stock of our surroundings. There was a huge, solid oak tree standing maybe ten feet up ahead of us, and perhaps five feet from the edge of the gravel drive. The trunk had to be nearly five feet in diameter. Easily big enough for our purposes.
I touched Becky’s arm, motioning to the tree silently. She swallowed, nodding again, and I held out one hand in front of me, silently counting down on my fingers.
3 … 2 …
On one, Becky stopped speaking and we both broke into a run, sprinting as fast and as quietly as we could towards the big oak tree.
We reached it, and I pulled Becky behind the enormous trunk. We flattened ourselves against the rough bark.
“What—” Becky started to whisper, but I shook my head, putting a hand to my lips. This was the part of any attack that made my skin crawl, far more than any actual fight—having to just keep still and wait for it to begin.
Every second that passed felt like rough burlap being dragged over my nerves, and I had to fight the urge to step out of our makeshift hiding place and demand that whoever was following us just step into the open and get it over with.
But I was currently unarmed, and I had Becky’s safety to consider. I couldn’t give up the element of surprise; it was one of the few advantages I had.
Twigs snapped again, as though someone was pushing through the bushes with less consideration for stealth than before.
Gravel crunched under booted feet.
I breathed slowly, running through quick calculations as the footsteps came nearer. The person paused as though scanning the scenery, looking for us, then started towards us again.
Male. Over six feet tall and heavyset, judging by the amount of noise he was making and what I estimated to be the length of his stride.
The crunch of gravel stopped again.
Our follower had just stepped off the drive and was coming towards us across the grass, approaching our tree.
Closer … closer.
I held myself tight in check, waiting for him to come near enough for this to work.
Becky’s eyes sought mine, questioning, and my pulse sped up another notch. What were the odds that if I told her to stay safely behind the tree she would actually obey?
Probably zero to none.
Stay low, I finally mouthed.
She nodded.
The footsteps were very close, now, starting to circle round the massive tree trunk.
“Now!” I whispered.
Becky dove out of our hiding place, so fast she was practically a blur of motion, and struck our attacker full in the legs, knocking him off balance.
Before he could regain his footing, I was already beside him, stepping out to twist his arm up behind his back in the way Jack had once shown me.
“Unless you woke up this morning hoping for a dislocated elbow joint, I suggest you don’t move.”
The man was big, and broadly built. He wore the clothes of a farm worker or stable hand, and beneath the threadbare wool of his coat, his arm muscles felt like bands of iron under my grip.
Despite what I’d just said, if he fought back, I wasn’t sure that I could hold him.
But his breath caught in a wheezing gasp of surprise, and he flung up his free arm. “Sorry, miss! I didn’t mean any harm!”
I exhaled slowly. “Explain yourself. Why were you following us?”
The young man gulped and turned his head back over his shoulder to look at me. “My name’s Connor Faraday. I need to talk to you about Alice Gordon.”
17. AN UNREQUITED ADMIRATION
LUCY
“I ma-manage His Lordship’s stables,” Connor Faraday said. Seen up close, he looked to be somewhere in his late twenties, with wheat-blond hair, and a square-cut, rugged face. He also had big, work-roughened hands, broad shoulders and arms slabbed with muscle.
“I help t-train his horses,” he went on.
We were standing in the partial shelter of the big oak tree. The branches overhead might be bare, but at least we were somewhat shielded from the biting wind.
“Is Lord Lynley fond of horses and riding?” I asked. My heart was finally settling back into its normal rhythm.
Connor nodded.
Despite his size, there was something hesitant, almost diffident about the way he spoke. His eyes rested on the ground far more often than they met mine, and he brought each word out slowly, with a perceptible effort.
“Rides every d-day,” he said. “Lady Lynley, too. Or she used to. Hasn’t been riding so much anymore lately.”
He stopped, looking down at the ground again and twisting his cloth cap back and forth in his hands. I could see a pattern of a raised scar on his right forearm, disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt.
Another scar ran up his temple and into his hairline.
“Did you manage to get the snakes out of His Lordship’s desk?” Becky asked.
Connor’s gaze flashed to her in quick surprise. Becky gave him a patient look. “Lord Lynley told his butler to get Faraday from the stables. That’s you, isn’t it? So were you able to get the snakes out? They didn’t bite you, did they?”
The young man’s face softened slightly as he looked at her. “No, miss. I didn’t get bitten. I—” He stopped. “Well, let’s just say the snakes won’t be troubling anyone else again.”
He stopped, still twisting his cap in his hands.
“You wanted to speak to us about Alice?” I asked when the silence had gone on for a beat or two.
Connor’s blue eyes flashed up to my face. “When I was up at the house dealing with the snakes in His Lordship’s office, I heard from Nell—she’s the house parlormaid—that you were talking to His Lordship about Alice. Do you know her? Do you know where she’s gone?”
There was urgency in his voice, and in his gaze as he looked at me.
Becky had said just a moment ago that no one seemed to care that Alice was missing, but this young man obviously did. All the anxious worry that had been missing from Lord and Lady Lynley was visible in Connor Faraday’s tight expression.
Although, as an aside, it was worth noting that apparently Lord Lynley’s parlormaid listened at doors. I remembered a pert-looking dark haired girl who had served us our tea, but I had been very careful to make no mention of Alice Gordon while she was in the room.
It meant that I had to be equally careful in approaching this conversation now.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where Alice is.” I watched Faraday’s expression as I spoke. “I’m a distant cousin of hers, on her mother’s side. Our families have been out of touch for years, but I’m visiting England for a month this winter, and I thought how lovely it would be to look her up. But apparently she’s left her post here. No one can tell me where she’s gone.”
Connor’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. But he didn’t question my assertion that I was Alice Gordon’s cousin. Which meant that either the parlormaid hadn’t heard the details of my conversation with Lord Lynley, or else she hadn’t communicated them to Connor.
>
“Sorry,” he said. “When Nell told me you were talking to his lordship about Alice, I thought maybe—” He shook his head. “I’m s-sorry to have troubled you.”
“Can you help us at all?” I asked. “If you and Alice were friends maybe you have an idea of why she decided to leave?”
“Me?” Connor’s eyes widened, then he shook his head. “No, I can’t help, m-miss. I don’t know anything about where Alice might have gone off to. She never said a word to m-me.”
I studied him for a second. He was still twisting his cap so hard it was as though he were trying to wrench the fabric apart, and his big body fairly quivered with agitation.
“Were you with the army?” I asked him.
Connor looked startled. “How’d you know that?”
Becky had been quiet, but now she spoke up, gesturing. “Those scars on your arm and your cheek. They’re from saber cuts, aren’t they? Were you in India?”
Connor tipped his head in a nod. “I was, miss.” Almost unconsciously, his fingers went to touch the raised mark on his temple. “Four years ago. That’s where I got this. I was struck in the head with a horse’s hoof t-too. I stayed unconscious for almost three weeks, after. My eyesight wasn’t qu-quite right after that. Get headaches, too.”
That probably also explained the difficulty he had with speaking—as well as the look that occasionally flashed in his eyes, as though he were looking at us and through us at the same time, bracing himself for any sign of threat to appear.
Uncle John’s eyes sometimes held that same look, and he’d been out of army combat a good deal longer than four years.
Becky was eying Connor, as well, then she tugged lightly on my hand. “Lucy? May I go and climb that tree over there?”
She gestured to one of the maples a short way off, which had an inviting spread of branches low to the ground.
Knowing Becky, I was certain she really did want to climb it. But she’d also clearly decided that Connor would be more likely to speak freely to me, an adult, than he would in front of a child.
“You may. Just don’t go too high, all right?” I told her. “And if you could avoid falling and breaking any bones, too, that would be ideal.”
