A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  “He’s had a good crack, all right, but I think what he needs most right now is air.” The older man gave us all a look and tossed his head, indicating we should back away.

  “Did Hazelton have a fall?” Alonzo tugged on my arm, pulling me away. “How did the fire start? What the devil happened, Frances?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” The demanding voice behind me could belong to only one person.

  I turned to face her. “Mother?” The word came out in a croak. In reaction, her expression changed from outrage to, well, outrage mixed with a bit of concern.

  “What on earth happened to you? Look at your clothes. Look at your face. Look at your hands.” Grasping my wrists, she held up my hands. “Those are not the hands of a lady, Frances. What have you done?”

  “You’re supposed to be with Rose.” My voice was now a gravelly whisper. “Why are you out here?”

  She produced a handkerchief and proceeded to wipe at my face in a way she hadn’t done since I was a toddler. “I sent Lady Fiona to the nursery. When my daughter runs headlong into danger, my place is with her.” She waved the now-blackened handkerchief at a groom hauling a bucket of water to the cottage.

  “You there! Bring that over here.”

  Startled, the young man complied, sloshing water as he hurried over. Mother dipped the now gray square of fabric into the bucket and returned to her ministrations. “Now, are you ever going to answer the question? What happened?”

  “Yes,” Alonzo prodded. “Did someone strike Hazelton?”

  “Mr. Winnie must have.” Heavens, I’d forgotten all about Winnie. What was I doing lingering here while he made his escape? I pushed my mother’s hands away. “Have you seen Mr. Winnie since the fire started?”

  I’d meant to shout the question out to the crowd, but only those nearby could hear my feeble rasping.

  “You’ll strain your voice, Frances. Take this.” Mother opened a small tin and placed a lemon drop in my hand. She caught my stare as she secreted the tin away in her pocket. “I enjoy a sweet now and then. What of it?”

  The drop eased the rawness enough to help me speak. “Alonzo, we must find Winnie. Go and ask around.” He ran off as if pleased to have something to do.

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I’ve seen him.” It was the groom with the bucket of water, still standing by my mother’s side, waiting for another order. “Saw him in the stables when I left to help with the fire.”

  Of course. He thought his work of revenge was complete. What better time to make his escape than while everyone tended to the fire?

  I pushed away from my mother’s support and glanced around to orient myself. There, the gamekeeper’s cottage. The stables were directly behind it.

  “Frances, surely you’re not foolish enough to go after this man.”

  “You give me far too much credit, Mother.”

  I ran as fast as my boots, the terrain, my burning lungs, and my corset would allow, which was to say, not as quickly as I’d have liked. By God, if I made it through this crisis, I’d never wear a corset again. A crunch of gravel sounded behind me, and I threw a quick glance over my shoulder. My mother followed me at a much faster pace than I would ever have thought her capable. She had a handful of the groom’s jacket and dragged him along behind. He still clutched the sloshing bucket.

  We all reached the stables at the same time. Mother’s chest heaved from her exertions. “Now what?” she asked.

  An excellent question. Would Winnie have already made his escape? Time had seemed to stand still when I was in the steward’s cottage with George, but in reality, I had no idea how much had passed. I leaned closer to the groom so I could whisper, “How long ago did you see him here?”

  “Ten minutes. Maybe more?”

  “Where?”

  He nodded to our right. “Headed toward the loose boxes.”

  The stables were a long rectangle. We’d entered on the north side by the office and tack room. Farther down were the boxes for the horses and two doors suitable for driving a cart or carriage through. The near door stood open, the farther one, closed. We were likely too late, but we might just as well look.

  The groom near my shoulder must have read my thoughts. “He’d have to saddle a horse, my lady, and collect the saddle and tack himself. Everyone’s at the fire, so no one’s here to help him.”

  We still had a chance. “Let’s go then.”

  We scurried down the short hall and out into the open. At least a dozen horse boxes lined the wall to our left, a daunting number. Winnie could be in any one of them, or he might already have fled. A few horses pushed their heads over the half doors in curiosity as we scurried past the open door to our right. I heard Winnie before I saw him.

  “Come on, you beast. We’ve a ride ahead of us.”

  A horse snorted in response. The groom tapped me on the arm and nodded to an empty box. I gestured to my mother, and we squeezed ourselves inside and out of sight. Though it didn’t contain a horse, the box wasn’t empty. We found it full of well-used straw and a pitchfork. I hadn’t thought I’d ever smell anything but smoke again, but this refuse from the horse boxes proved me wrong.

  The groom seemed remarkably unaffected by the stench surrounding us. He leaned close to whisper to me, “He’ll have to pass by us or go to the trouble of opening the other doors.” The clump of hooves on the wooden floor told me Winnie was leading the horse from his box.

  “Steady, steady.” Through the wall I just picked up the sound of leather stretching. Winnie, tightening the girth? He’d be mounting in a moment, then what? Would I let him ride right past us? The horse blew out a breath of air. The jingle of a harness rang out as he tossed his head. There was no time to wait.

  I snatched up the pitchfork and strode out to the aisleway. And gasped at the sight I beheld. Winnie sat atop the largest horse I’d ever seen. Big enough to trample me without even taking notice.

  “Frances, get back here.” Mother hissed from her hiding place. But it was too late. Not only had Winnie seen me, but fear seemed to have frozen me in place. I couldn’t move if I’d wanted to. There I stood like a statue of Poseidon, trident and all.

  Winnie jerked in surprise at my sudden appearance and set the horse skittering to the side. “Don’t block my exit, Lady Harleigh,” he said, struggling to get the great beast under control. “I’ve done my job, and I’m getting out of here. I’ll go right over you if I have to.”

  How had I ever thought him a nice young man? Anger helped me focus on him rather than the frightful horse. “He’s not dead, Mr. Winnie. You’ve failed once again.”

  His brows drew together in a thunderous rage.

  “I don’t think you really want to kill him. Either you’re not cut out to be a killer. Or you don’t really believe Mr. Hazelton deserves your vengeance.”

  “Oh, he deserves it all right. He pretended to be my friend. Led me to trust him, then he betrayed my father and ruined our lives. He deserves to rot in hell for what he did.” The giant horse became restless and skittered forward. Winnie took that as a signal to move. “He may not be dead, but I did my best, and I’m not waiting around for the constables to drag me off to jail.”

  He held up a finger. “I’m giving you one more warning. You’d best move out of my way.”

  Winnie gave the horse his heels at the same time my mother had heard enough. She snatched the bucket the groom had abandoned and, with a battle cry that would have done any ancient Scotts warrior proud, leaped out of the stall and flung the water into Winnie’s path.

  Her scream set the horse’s ears back, and when the water struck him, he reared up on his hind legs, causing bile to rise in my throat as those hooves waved frighteningly close. Winnie fought for balance as the horse came back on all fours and danced around in the close confines. In a panic, the beast turned back to his box, I lunged forward and swiped at the young man with the pitchfork. I heard and felt a sickening thunk as the handle met with his head. Winnie lost his ba
lance at the same time the horse twisted, sending the man spiraling off his back and into the wall. Sliding down, he landed in a heap on the wooden floor.

  I rushed over to Winnie, my mother ran to my side, and the groom ran to the horse, snatching up the reins and making soothing noises to the frantic animal.

  Winnie was just as frantic. While crashing into the wall had subdued him momentarily, he’d already scrambled to his feet. After all this trouble, I was not about to let him get away. I called on any remaining reserves, and by pure determination alone, I threw myself at him, quite literally.

  We both crashed to the ground, but Winnie broke my fall, his rib giving way under my elbow. As I struggled to rise, his breath rushed out with a groan of pain.

  “In here.” Mother pulled open the door of a box, and we shoved John Winnie a few feet across the floor into the straw as a horse sidled away. Mother closed the door behind him.

  Exhausted, we both sank down to the floor with our backs against the door, and spent the next few minutes breathing heavily until the groom, in a rage, stomped back into the walkway.

  “That brute scared the wits out of poor Hector,” he said.

  It took a moment to realize Hector was the enormous horse, and the brute was Winnie. “He took a few years off my life as well.”

  The groom glanced up and down the stable. “Where is he?”

  Mother jerked her thumb behind us.

  The boy’s eyes rounded. “You put him in with Satan?”

  A gurgle of insane laughter bubbled up through my throat and emerged as a snort. “You had best go and summon assistance.”

  He gave me a nod and trotted off, back to the cottage, I assumed. “Perhaps Mr. Bradmore has arrived with the local authorities by now.”

  Mother heaved a sigh. “Mr. Bradmore. And just look at you. Your hair, your clothes, and I hate to say it, dear, but you have picked up a rather unpleasant odor from the floor. I suppose it’s just as well you’re not interested in Mr. Bradmore.”

  This time I did laugh, enough to make Satan snort and fidget.

  “Stop that, dear, or there’ll be nothing left of that man behind us to turn over to the authorities, and I do so want to see him brought to justice. You may laugh at me all you wish at some other time.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve always tried to do my best for you children and I don’t know why you all find that so endlessly humorous. I’m just trying to be a good mother.”

  “I’m not sure managing your adult children’s lives is part and parcel of motherhood.”

  She tossed her head, causing another lock of hair to fall from her coiffure. “Well, then, I don’t know what is.”

  I turned to her with a weary smile and placed my hand on her leg, palm up. She slipped hers on top, and I closed my fingers around it. “You came after me when I was in danger. You saved me from a charging horse and a madman at the same time.” I squeezed her fingers. “You shared your hidden cache of lemon drops. You are not a good mother,” I croaked. “You are the best.”

  Chapter 22

  Bradmore returned, but without the constables we’d hoped for. Nonetheless, as the only person officially on the case, he wrote down our account of the incident for the local authorities. He then engaged the services of one of the larger grooms and dragged Winnie from the box where Satan had been as docile as any angel. Bradmore bound the young man and took him to the local constabulary in the village.

  By the time Mother and I emerged from the stables, not only was the fire extinguished, but the groundskeepers were cleaning out the debris from the cottage. George had been carried on a makeshift stretcher back to the manor, though by all accounts he’d been conscious and grumbling all the while that he could walk on his own. Alonzo and Durant had countermanded his orders, insisting he’d walk when the doctor said it was safe to do so.

  Mother and I parted at the door to her chambers. With her hairpins lost somewhere in the stables, her hair was half up, half down, and with the advantage of five inches in height, I could see all the streaks of silver mixed in with her golden waves. Her bodice was torn along the side seam from her exertions, and I picked away a few stray pieces of straw clinging to her arm. Still, her eyes were bright and her brow, for once, unmarred by disapproval.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoyed confronting a murderer. You are positively glowing.”

  She raised her brows and lifted her chin. “And just what makes you think you know better?”

  With a pat on my cheek, she stepped into her room, turning back to me before closing the door. “I suggest you clean up a bit before checking on Hazelton, dear.”

  Hmm. Judging from her appearance, I could assume I looked—and smelled—even worse. It might be wise to at least bathe before visiting George, but frankly, I couldn’t wait that long. Fiona told me he’d been taken to a room in the family wing just down the hall. The stairs to the bachelors’ quarters had been deemed too difficult a climb for those carrying him. The doctor was still with him, and I hoped to hear from him personally as to George’s condition. I knew George would pooh-pooh any cautions or restrictions Woodrow might advise.

  His new room was right at the turning of the hallway. I gave the door a light rap with my knuckles before walking in. He lay in bed, his sooty clothing replaced with a robe, the sheet pulled up to his chest. He gave me a weak smile before Dr. Woodrow stepped between us, red-faced and blustering.

  “Lady Harleigh, I beg you to remove yourself. Mr. Hazelton is in no state to receive visitors.”

  A movement in the bed caught my eye, and I peeked around the man blocking my way. George composed his face into an expression of misery, like a child pleading for a treat. I stiffened my spine.

  “I am hardly a visitor, Dr. Woodrow. I am Mr. Hazelton’s fiancée. Though I realize that is not the same as a wife, it’s simply a matter of unfortunate timing. His care will be my responsibility, and I wish to gain an understanding of his state from your lips, sir.” I glanced at George who now wore a boyish grin. “I’m not certain I can trust his version.”

  The doctor’s lips twitched. He cast a glance at George who gave him a nod. “Well, then, Mr. Hazelton is to be congratulated not only on his impending nuptials but on the thickness of his skull.”

  “I’ve always considered it one of my best features,” George added. His voice was surprisingly clear, with just a suggestion of the rawness I felt.

  “That sounds rather like good news, Doctor. Please don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “It is cautiously good news. One can never tell with a blow to the head if there is internal bleeding or swelling, but at this point, everything looks good.” Woodrow retrieved his bag from a chair beside the bed. “I’ll want him to stay in bed this evening. I’ll check back in the morning.” He leveled a warning look at George. “If you continue without symptoms until then, you’ll be free to do as you wish.”

  Woodrow gestured to me. “Lady Harleigh, if you please.” He jerked his head toward the lamp. “I’d like to examine your throat.”

  I reluctantly moved into the glow of the lamp and obediently opened my mouth. After a minute or so of Woodrow turning my chin from one side to the other, he proclaimed I’d be fine in a day or two.

  “Use a saltwater rinse,” he advised. “And of course, send for me if you experience any pain.”

  I would have seen Dr. Woodrow to the door, but George called me back. “Frances, please stay.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. He wore such a beseeching expression that I could not deny him, and I must admit my heart tripped a beat or two at the thought that he couldn’t bear for me to leave him. With a shake of his head, the doctor left, and I pulled a chair next to the bed. Seating myself, I took George’s extended hand.

  “Thank you for staying with me,” he said. “Woodrow could tell me nothing of what happened, and while I recall some of it, there are far too many blank spaces.”

  So much for my romantic musings. I disengaged our hands and rose to loom ove
r him. “Blank spaces? You poor dear. It must be terrible to be left in the dark when so much is going on.” I poured myself a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and took a few sips to ease my throat.

  “Indeed.” He looked somewhat bemused. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  “Just exactly how would you like me to explain everything, George? In the same way you informed me you’d received a threat from a man you’d put in prison? Or maybe the way you told me you’d just shrugged off his threat? Shall I fill in your blanks in that manner?”

  The corners of his lips inched downward. “You’re angry.”

  “Well, aren’t you a first-rate detective? Yes, I’m angry. We are partners. Yet you kept valuable information from me, and it almost cost us your life.”

  He at least had the sense to look sheepish. “Ah, yes. About that.”

  “Yes, George. Tell me all about that.” I sat back down and folded my hands in my lap. Waiting.

  “It was wrong of me. In many ways. I didn’t take the threat seriously. Bracken was still in prison, so his note struck me as nothing more than impotent bluster. I still saw Jamie as an innocent, young boy. It never crossed my mind he’d come after me. As far as I knew, either the accidents were truly accidents, or Leo was the target. I didn’t deliberately mislead you. I really couldn’t credit that anyone wanted to harm me.”

  “Well, I suppose I could fill in your blanks.” I gave him an offhand shrug, which brought the crooked smile I loved so much to his face.

  “Please do. I’m eager to hear how you determined John Winnie was actually Jamie Bracken?”

  I told him about my logic and that the answer had come just as someone alerted us to the fire. “I thought my heart would stop, George. I knew you were with him and felt certain he’d left you in that fire.”

  “Whacked me over the head the moment I turned my back on him. Since we were finally taking action, he must have seen this as his last chance.” He frowned. “If the cottage was on fire, how did you get to me?”