by Rebecca King
Harriett stared nonplussed at the closed door for a moment before turning a slightly stunned gaze back to Hugo.
“Who was that?”
Hugo smiled. “That was Marion, the doctor’s housekeeper.”
Harriett froze. “The doctor?”
He winced, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he had to tell her, but he could hardly keep her whereabouts a secret. “I didn’t know what else to do for you the day before yesterday. You were so ill, and didn’t seem able to keep anything down. When you fainted, I brought you to the doctor.” He ignored her startled gasp and continued. “Caused a real stir amongst the villagers, I can tell you,” he admitted ruefully, casting her a sheepish look.
Harriett remembered vividly the humiliation of being sick in a bucket while Hugo held her hair back off her face. Of him witnessing her pain and discomfort, desperately asking her what he could do. She thought of the villagers witnessing her seeking the doctor’s help, and knew that most of the people she usually treated would probably never come near her again.
She looked at Hugo, and saw the guilt clearly written on his face. “It’s all right, you did what you had to.” She couldn’t be mad at him.
“We nearly lost you,” Hugo muttered, his voice growing hoarse with emotions he simply couldn’t acknowledge.
“Was it the apple pie?”
“It looks that way,” Hugo replied. “I take it you don’t like apples any more either?” His gaze was rueful as he looked at her. Although she was still deathly pale, there was at least some of the old spark back in her eyes. It went a long way to reassuring him that she really was going to be all right.
“They will certainly be off my menu for a while, I can tell you,” Harriett replied fervently. “Do you think they were just bad apples?” she asked, thinking of the strange aftertaste and over-sour flavour.
“No, it was definitely poison of some sort.”
Her eyes met and held Hugo’s briefly, silently asking the question.
“I don’t know who it was yet, Harriet, but I am going to find out,” Hugo said, pouring Harriett a drink and handing it to her, waiting while she emptied the cup and held it back out for a refill. “You need to eat something,” he added, pushing a piece of toast into her hand. He only took a seat beside the bed and began to eat when she began to nibble tentatively on the coarse bread. As casually as possible, to prevent her from trying to leave the bed again, he placed his booted feet on the covers at her hip, relieved when she didn’t seem to notice.
“I have sent for reinforcements,” he added, shooting her a stern look. “Some of the men from the Star Elite are on their way to help investigate. We will get to the bottom of it.”
“Do you think they were after me, or you?” Harriett asked, looking pointedly at Hugo’s arm. “How is your arm, by the way?”
“It bled a little yesterday, but Joshua, the doctor, took a look at it and applied another of your poultices to it. It’s healing well.”
“The doctor applied one of my poultices?” She lifted round eyes to him, not sure if she had heard correctly.
Hugo smiled at her. “It appears he has a lot of questions for you and wants to learn all about your amazing skills.”
She frowned at him, and studied him closely. Was he jesting? His knowing smile made her wonder if he was being entirely truthful, and she remained silent.
“So?”
“So, what?”
Harriett rolled her eyes, as though perplexed by the density of men. “So, do you think they were trying to kill me or you?”
“I don’t know yet,” Hugo answered truthfully, swallowing his mouthful of toast. “But I am going to find out. I also have a spy smuggler to capture, and need the help of my men if I have any hope of achieving anything.”
“Do you have a list of people who have been in contact with the pie?”
Hugo’s feet landed on the floor with a heavy thud, and he scowled at her sternly.
“Wait a minute! You are not getting yourself involved in finding the culprit. That’s my job.” But his blood ran cold at the stubborn tilt of her chin. A small voice inside him reminded him that a battle was looming, when she turned to stare haughtily at him.
“Might I remind you that it was I who nearly died?” Harriett snorted inelegantly.
“You are still recovering,” Hugo argued, calculating the number of days he had to root out the culprit. With the help of the Star Elite, they should be able to uncover a rural backwater, would-be murderer relatively easily, certainly before Harriett was up and about. “My men and I can manage by ourselves.” His voice was cold and hard as he shot her a warning look, which she blithely ignored.
“I may be a bit weak physically, but mentally I can put as much into this as you can,” Harriett persisted.
This time, Hugo snorted before realising his big mistake. He watched her warily, noting the faintly peachy tinge to her complexion. Her beautiful green eyes were now shooting sparks of fury at him. With her hair cascading wildly around her shoulders, she was stunning, even if right now she wanted to gouge his eyes out.
“I am not saying you are incapable, just that it is too dangerous.” Hugo lifted a hand to halt her objection. “You need to spend your time recovering, and thinking of anyone who may hold a grudge against you.”
“You mean, besides half of the village?” Harriett snapped, unwilling to be appeased so easily.
“From what I saw yesterday, the villagers are waiting to welcome you into their fold with open arms; you just need to relax a little around them and not be so defensive,” and he lapsed into silence, realising he had said too much when Harriett stared woodenly at him.
With a sigh he tossed his toast onto the small plate at his elbow and sat on the side of the bed, taking Harriet’s hand in his much larger one. He knew that what he had to say, he needed to say there and then, not only to get it out of the way, but to give her time to think about things while she was recovering. Even if she was angrier with him afterward, he had to accept it in order to help her.
“I caused a stir, riding through the village with you unconscious in my arms, and clearly ill. I was too worried at the time to pay much attention to them but, by the time I arrived here, there was a large crowd of villagers following us.” His eyes met and held Harriett’s, his gaze solemnly. “Those villagers remained outside for most of the night, until Joshua sent them home, but even then some remained until the wee small hours, waiting for word of you. They were willing to do anything to help you. Someone is tending your gardens, someone else went to fetch your herbs and poultices, another man has secured your cottage, and several ladies have brought you flowers. Some villagers are still out there right now. Harriett, these people really want you to become one of them. They were genuinely worried for you, and even went so far as to send a boy to knock on the door every hour for updates on your condition. Whatever has happened in the past, you have to let it go. The people in the village now have nothing but respect and admiration for you. Look at Mrs Partridge; she was crying last night, for heaven’s sakes!”
Hugo shifted uncomfortably, knowing he had probably stepped over some invisible boundary by commenting on something that was none of his business. But if there was one thing he could do before he left, it was make sure that she didn’t spend any more of her days alone and ostracised from society.
A tiny voice inside him asked if it would really make leaving her any easier, but he quickly silenced it. He wasn’t the marrying kind and his future didn’t belong in the village, whatever emotions the woman in the bed roused in him. He’d been as close to terrified as he had ever been in his life while watching her retch and not be able to help. The idea of her dying had given him pause to consider life without her, and the possibility shook him far deeper than was wise. It made him realise that while his time with Harriett was precious, he had to leave - soon.
He was better off capturing the would-be murderer, helping Harriett take her rightful place amongst the villagers, bef
ore taking his leave and heading off to rejoin the Star Elite somewhere else. Until then he had to remember Harriett was a friend, nothing more, and keep his hands to himself.
“Hello, Harriett,” Simon said, poking his head around the door. “I am so glad to see you are faring better.” He nodded briskly at Hugo as he entered and approached the bed.
Harriett’s gaze flicked from her father to Hugo and back again. She knew instinctively that something had happened between the two men to make the atmosphere frosty, to say the least.
“What’s happened?” she asked, feeling the tension shimmering in the air between them.
“What do you mean?” Simon asked nonchalantly, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed.
“You two.” Her gaze swung from one man to the other, and back again. “You are like two dogs sizing up the same bone. What’s happened?”
Simon’s eyes met Hugo’s over the bed, his silence leaving Hugo with no option but to answer her.
“I questioned your father about the apple pie when he arrived last night and insisted he stays out of the investigation. I don’t want anyone at the Manor being aware that I will be investigating,” Hugo replied, knowing Harriett wouldn’t settle for anything except the absolute truth.
“So how are you going to investigate?” Harriett asked when neither man made any attempt at conversation.
Hugo could feel Simon’s gaze on him and felt his hackles rise. Was the man guilty for his daughter’s near death? Could anyone poison their own daughter? He wasn’t certain, but there were far more questions than answers and he couldn’t yet rule anyone out.
“Some of my colleagues from the Star Elite will help. There is not only the attempted murder to solve, but I also need to capture the spy smuggler.” He said the last with his gaze firmly locked on Simon, and noted the raised eyebrows of the man on the opposite side of the bed. His eyes met and held Simon’s for several moments while he waited for Simon to ask questions, or probe for further details, and was perturbed when he made no attempt to do either. He didn’t look all that shocked either, either at Hugo going out to capture the spy smugglers, or the knowledge that the spy smugglers were in the area.
“So, now that Simon is here, he can tell us who came into contact with the pies,” Harriett said, breaking her gaze from Hugo’s and folding her hands on top of the crisp sheets.
She knew she couldn’t do much about capturing the spy smuggler; that she would definitely have to leave to Hugo. But she could take an active part in capturing the person who had added the poison to the pie.
“You are not going to get involved, Harriett,” Hugo warned, his voice dropping in warning.
“If you don’t include me, I will just have to find the poisoner myself,” Harriett snapped, unrepentant.
“Harriett, you are in no condition-”
“Phah! I’m fine, just a little weak, that’s all.” She waved her hand dismissively.
Hugo rolled his eyes, and wondered if he should just tie her to the bedstead. Immediately his body responded to the thought and he quickly closed off the images that flashed through his mind at the prospect.
“Fine!” she huffed when Hugo made no attempt to answer her. “If you two would kindly leave, I need to get dressed.”
“Harriett-” Hugo sighed.
“Out, please,” she persisted, pushing the covers back to sit on the edge of the bed. Besides being tired, and sore around her stomach, she felt reasonably well, and wondered if her herbs were responsible for her not feeling too poorly after such a bad bout of illness.
Simon shifted from his seat when Harriett made to stand, and hesitated, clearly unsure whether to offer her assistance or leave her to struggle.
“All right!” Hugo half shouted. “You can help, but don’t do anything unless I say so, do you understand?” he asked, watching as Harriett sat back down on the bed. “Today, you just rest. Tomorrow I should hear something from my colleagues, so I can decide who is going to do what. Until then, Harriett, I want your absolute word of honour that you won’t go off and do anything rash.” His scowl was dark as he glared at her.
He would leave her to mull over the possibilities while safely tucked up in bed recuperating. He and his men would be the ones going out and about. He just couldn’t tell Harriett that. His arm was recovering well; the hole was already starting to harden over and had begun to itch fiercely, a sure sign it was on the mend.
He flicked a warning look at Simon who wisely remained quiet, and carefully resumed his seat once Harriett was back in bed.
“So who are the suspects?” Harriett asked.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hugo rolled his eyes and shook his head, glaring across the bed at a smirking Simon.
“Simon, for one,” Hugo remarked, watching the smirk on the man’s face vanish. He turned his stare to Hugo, one brow raised in enquiry. “After all, it was his pie,” he added, watching the man closely for any reaction.
Simon twisted his lips in a rueful grimace and shrugged. “I suppose that does make me look guilty,” he admitted reluctantly. “But in my defence I will say that I adore Harriett, and would never do anything to harm her. I brought her the pie purely because I know she loves apple pie, and I thought she might enjoy it. I would never do anything to put her life at risk.”
Hugo wasn’t convinced. There were many questions he wanted to ask Simon, and fully intended to. Just as soon as Harriett was busy doing something else.
“Because it was Simon’s pie, although I don’t believe he would do it, we have Simon on the list of possible suspects,” Harriett added, shooting an apologetic look at Simon before turning to Hugo. “Who else?”
“Mrs Partridge,” Hugo added, thinking of the older lady who had helped Marion the previous night.
“Mrs Partridge?” Harriett stared at him aghast. “How can she be a suspect?”
“She doesn’t usually come to call on you in your cottage. Why did she call on that particular day? Did she have access to the pie while your back was turned or anything?”
Harriett frowned, thinking over the unusual visit. “She may have, when I was closing the door and briefly when I turned to get some tea cups. The pies were on the table so were within arm’s reach.”
“It would have to have been quick though,” Simon added. “If you were in the room, she couldn’t be caught with her finger in the pie, so to speak.”
“It just seems odd that she calls on the same day that you are poisoned,” Hugo surmised, thinking aloud. “That definitely makes her a suspect.”
“But she is ill,” Harriett protested. “She was still wheezing for heaven sake.”
“She managed to walk up the hill,” Hugo argued.
“The man who tried to kill you,” Harriett added, nodding at his wounded arm.
Hugo paused, and frowned. “Did you leave the pies anywhere on your journey, Simon?”
Simon paused, and frowned absently at the bedcovers while he thought about the day when he delivered the pies.
“No, I balanced the box on the saddle and had to ride carefully all the way from the Manor. I daren’t dismount until I got to Harriett’s house in case I dropped the box. When I got to the cottage, I rested the box on the wall while I dismounted, but I was standing right beside it all the time. Nobody was around and could have had the opportunity to get to the box.”
“So, it must have been tampered with either while in my cottage, or at the Manor,” Harriett surmised, her thoughts immediately turning to her stepsister.
“So it can’t be the assassin, unless he went to the Manor to do it. He would have to have known I was in the cottage in order to poison the pies, and why just the apple pie? It is a tall order to go to somewhere unfamiliar and poison a random pie without the staff at the Manor knowing, and the right person eating the pie,” Hugo countered.
“Because they knew that I would eat the apple pie,” Harriett replied quietly.
“Romilla,” Simon said, his voice dropping in disdain, causin
g Hugo to raise his eyes and look at him enquiringly.
“Romilla is my stepdaughter – my wife’s daughter. Thoroughly spoiled, and a bit of a brat. She also hates Harriett.” Simon shot his daughter an apologetic look for being so blunt.
“It’s all right. I know Romilla doesn’t like me,” she replied, smiling gently at him. “But does that make her a murderer?”
Simon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I have told her recently that I was bequeathing everything to you upon my death,” and he flicked a glance at Hugo before turning back to his daughter. Although this was a private matter between him and his daughter, he wanted the man across the bed to understand just what Harriett meant to him. “I promised your mother I would look after you and I fully intend to keep my promise. You will inherit everything when I am gone; the Manor, my fortune; everything.”
Harriett winced. “You shouldn’t do that, Simon–”
“You are my daughter; my own flesh and blood. I cannot conceive of leaving it to anyone else,” Simon declared flatly. “I don’t care what Romilla says or wants - she isn’t mine. She has relatives of her own in Lancashire.”
“So why did she stay with you when your wife died?” Hugo asked, frowning at Simon.
“Because she doesn’t like her uncle, and at the time I was too busy-” he paused, glancing cautiously at Harriett. He didn’t want to add that he was too busy thinking about the ways he could re-establish contact with his estranged daughter to think about Romilla. He had never questioned why she had remained at the Manor rather than leave to live with her blood relatives when her mother died.
“Romilla doesn’t seem to like anybody,” Harriett added, mumbling an apology to her father.
“You are quite right, my dear. Romilla is spoilt and not a particularly nice person. But I am not sure even she would resort to murder.”
“But being left out of your will could make her vengeful and very dangerous. When did you tell her you changed your will?”
