by Rebecca King
“Take turns to keep watch on the house in St Issey. Also keep an eye on Simon de Mattingley,” he ordered.
“Do you think he is involved?” Archie asked.
“I think it is a possibility we cannot ignore. Simon made it clear that he wanted Romilla out of the house, and he seems to be around when attempts are made on Harriett’s life.”
“Do you think what is happening to Harriett is connected to the spy smugglers in any way?” Pie asked, trying to understand what was happening. He made a mental note to ask Rupert to bring him up to date with events later.
“I think that they are separate, but we cannot discount the notion that they may be connected by the doctor and this Marion woman, if only through Romilla’s spite. But I can’t see Pierre and Marguerite willing to get themselves involved with a spiteful woman’s vengeance. They have far too much on their hands as it is.” Hugo’s voice was cautious.
“We will meet back here tonight,” he added, turning away.
“Sir?” Archie’s voice stopped him, and Hugo turned and watched the man approach. The remaining members of the Star Elite paused to listen. Hugo could sense the uncharacteristic hesitancy in Archie and frowned.
“What is it?”
“Simon went to St Issey last night.”
Hugo’s brows rose.
“To the house?”
Archie shook his head. “He went to the inn, and spent about half an hour huddled in the corner with someone. Unfortunately I don’t know who they were, but they were deep in conversation, and a pouch was passed between them before they both left. They went in separate directions.”
“Then where did Simon go?”
“He was moving really quickly and I lost him for a moment. When I did find him again he was back at the Manor, but about twenty minutes were unaccounted for.”
“Did you find out who the man was he was meeting?” Hugo’s voice was sharp. He knew Archie couldn’t be in two places at once, but cursed at the sheer number of possibilities they had open to them.
“The farmer who lives next door to Harriett’s house.”
“Could be asking the man to keep an eye on Harriett, and paying him for his services,” Archie muttered, unable to think of any other reason for the money changing hands.
“Could be. Are you sure the person trying to break in to Harriett’s house was a woman?”
“Most definitely,” Rupert replied, his voice adamant. “Unless many men in Padstow take to wearing skirts.”
“So, does anyone have any suggestions what Simon might have been doing for the twenty minutes he went missing?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“What I don’t understand, is why kill her now?” Rupert argued, nodding toward Romilla.
“Because she was being forced out of her home by Simon. He wants Harriett to live there and Romilla has made her hatred of Harriett perfectly clear to everyone. Harriett won’t live at the Manor while Romilla is there. So Romilla went to her lover and asked for too much,” Pie’s tone was grave as he studied the lifeless body on the floor.
“Alright,” Hugo said with a sigh. “We know Romilla was murdered by Pierre. Harriett’s strangling may be down to the spy smugglers, but it could also have been Romilla. It doesn’t make sense for the smugglers to attempt to kill Harriett, and not succeed.” Hugo muttered, frowning in consternation at the complexity of the investigation.
“They tried to kill you and failed,” Rupert warned.
“Yes, but I am not a female lying defenceless in bed,” Hugo argued.
“Which points to the fact that someone else tried to kill Harriett.” Archie sighed, wondering if they had enough men to cover everyone.
“Are you certain the person who tried to break into Harriett’s house was a woman?” Hugo asked again, staring thoughtfully at Rupert.
“Do you think it could have been Simon?”
“Why?”
The simultaneous questions came from Archie and Pie.
“He could have been trying to frighten Harriett out of her cottage to get her over to the Manor.” Rupert’s voice was thoughtful as he considered the cloaked figure who had moved swiftly through the village. “It was a woman,” he repeated with a shake of his head. “Even if you discount the amount of time it would take Simon to get back to the Manor, why would he scare his own daughter?”
“Do you think Romilla was the attempted murderess at the doctor’s house?”
“She could be. I just know that, until we find out what Simon is up to, I need to keep a very close eye on Harriett because she is still in danger.” Hugo sighed, wondering how she would react if her father had been the one who had tried to frighten her to get her to move to the Manor.
As he returned to the Manor, his thoughts turned to Simon de Mattingley. Although he was Harriett’s father, and his future father-in-law, he couldn’t discount the notion that Simon was involved with the spy smugglers.
Thinking back over the events as they had happened, Simon appeared soon after, or during the attempts on Harriett’s life which, for an assassin, was very clumsily done. Hugo wondered if they were the attempts of a trained killer, or something contrived to make Harriett scared, and encourage her to live at the Manor. But to what end? Why go to so much trouble to get her there? Simon’s guilt would certainly explain his driving need to get Hugo out of the house at the same time as Romilla.
Simon certainly seemed to spend a lot of time out and about, rather than at home running his estates. Harriett had admitted that Simon’s visits to her cottage had become more frequent of late. But was that because Simon was eager to establish a relationship with his estranged daughter, or because he wanted her at the Manor for some reason?
It would certainly be easier to kill her while she was at the Manor. There would be ample opportunity to smother her in her sleep and spirit her body away before anyone realised she had even left her cottage. But why?
Once again his thoughts turned toward the events of the previous evening, when he had been caught in a compromising position with Romilla. Although they had spent some time after dinner sharing amusing anecdotes and occasional flirtatious banter, nothing about either of them had hinted at driving passion. He had been stunned when she had suddenly launched herself at him, clinging to his neck like a harlot while pushing her breasts against his chest. He had barely managed to wrench his mouth away from the marauding warmth of hers, only to find her legs encasing his hips. There had been nothing sensual or appealing about the whole episode. So why had she done it? He had no hesitation in thinking that she had staged the entire scenario. But why? He wondered if Romilla had somehow realised Harriett was in the house, and wanted to twist the knife. It was the only possible reason for her strange behaviour. Now, though, he had no way of knowing for certain and it had to remain a question that was for now, unanswered.
Romilla’s death did confirm one thing to Hugo though. It told him that the attempts on Harriett’s life weren’t of the same calibre and looked increasingly like the actions of someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Any trained assassin would have cut her throat long before now. Someone else wanted Harriett dead.
Shaking his head, Hugo reached the far edge of the garden. The huge Tudor manor house sprawled before him. Situated well away from the village, the only sounds that could be heard were the occasional cries of seagulls as they swooped and dipped through the skies, and the gentle rustling of the trees surrounding the property. It sat in tranquil solitude, the small mullioned windows sparkling in the morning sunshine.
Within moments, Hugo eased open the French doors to Simon’s office and wandered over to the table. The door to the hallway was closed, giving him the perfect opportunity to sift through the papers stacked haphazardly on the desk, before rifling through the drawers. He had no idea what he was looking for, and wasn’t surprised when he found nothing other than accounts papers, and some correspondence; certainly nothing that was incriminating in any way.
Scowling, he ea
sed out into the hallway, aware of the soft murmur of voices coming from the front of the house. Heading in that direction, he paused for a moment outside the door to listen. Harriett seemed to be taking tea with someone.
He raised his brows at the footman standing just outside the door. Their eyes met for a moment before the footman nodded moved to one side to allow Hugo in to the drawing room.
Hugo squared his shoulders and entered the morning room.
“Good morning, ladies,” he chirruped, smiling blandly at a clearly startled Harriett and Mrs Partridge.
“Mrs Partridge,” Harriett said, motioning toward Hugo. “May I introduce Sir Hugo Dunnicliffe?” She could see the curiosity in the older woman’s gaze as she stared at Hugo, but felt no need to expand further and explain who he was, and why he was there.
Hugo played the affable host and, having taken the seat closest to Harriett, accepted the cup of tea she held out to him with a gentle smile and a nod.
“Has Harriett told you her news? She has decided to live at the Manor.”
“Oh – yes, dear. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Everyone in the village will be so pleased,” Mrs Partridge wheezed. Although her answer was amenable, her dark, almost obsidian, eyes glinted gleefully. Hugo had no doubt that the news would be rife throughout the village within minutes of her leaving the house.
“Mrs Partridge came to ask me which colours I prefer. She will start to make the shawl soon,” Harriett explained when the silence that had settled over them began to feel tad uncomfortable.
Hugo was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off Harriett. Unless he was mistaken, the dark shadows beneath her eyes had grown considerably darker, and she was paler than usual. Although her smile at first appeared genuine, there was a sadness lurking in her eyes that disturbed him. He knew immediately that she had seen the little scenario Romilla had created the night before, and cursed his ill-fortune. Sitting back in his chair, he listened with half an ear while the ladies chatted about the upcoming church fete, and the missing doctor and his housekeeper, who everyone assumed had run away together.
Harriett looked warily at Hugo at the mention of the missing doctor and his housekeeper, and she wisely kept her mouth shut. Although Mrs Partridge was being perfectly friendly, there was something about the woman that didn’t sit well with Harriett, although for the life of her she couldn’t explain what it was. It was enough to prompt her not to take the older woman into her confidence too much.
It was almost a relief when, half an hour later, Mrs Partridge reluctantly took her leave. It took an age for the woman to shuffle across the large hall toward the front door, breathlessly taking her leave before wheezing out of the door.
Hugo eyed the buns sitting in a basket on a small side table before following the ladies into the hallway.
As soon as the door was closed, he turned to Harriett, who had begun to move away, clearly intending to make a break for freedom.
“I want a word with you,” Hugo growled, refusing to relinquish his hold on her when she would have twisted away.
“I don’t believe we have anything to say to each other,” Harriett spat, her eyes glinting fire as she glared at him.
“Well I do have something to say, and I would appreciate it if you would listen,” he said, ignoring Harriett’s gasp and tightening his hold on her wrist.
“Let her go!” Simon’s voice cut across the hallway, making them both pause.
“Simon, this is between Harriett and me, so stay out of it.” Hugo snapped, refusing to relinquish his hold on her. He turned hard eyes on the older man and waited to see what he would do.
“It’s fine,” Harriett sighed, flicking a glance between Hugo and her father. The men looked as though they wanted to tear strips off each other. She could feel the tension in the air between them. “If you will let me go, we can move into the sitting room.” She twisted her wrist, she was relieved when Hugo released her. His hold on her had been firm, but not painful, and although she rubbed her wrist, he had no left a mark on her flesh. She scowled at him.
“After you.” Hugo bowed and waved her toward the sitting room, shooting Simon a warning look as they passed. There were certain things that Simon could get involved in, but Hugo would not allow him get involved in Hugo’s relationship with Harriett. That was strictly between them.
Carefully closing the door behind him, Hugo watched Harriett resume her seat and nodded toward the plate of buns on the side table.
“Where did they come from?”
“Mrs Partridge - why?” She watched as Hugo picked up the buns and cautiously sniffed them. He tore off a bite and tasted it warily, scrunching his nose up at the bland taste of the offering. Picking up the plate, he walked over to the fire and tossed them in, standing back to watch as the fire hungrily hissed and consumed the home made bread.
“What do you think you are doing?” Harriett’s voice rose in consternation as Hugo carefully replaced the empty plate on the side table. She stared into the fire for a moment, watching the faint outline of the buns disappear within the flames. “Have you gone mad?”
“Have you forgotten what happened when you ate the apple pie?” Hugo countered, his voice harsh.
“But they were buns from Mrs Partridge,” she protested weakly, her stomach dropping to her toes. There was something about Hugo, something mysterious that hadn’t been there before, and she knew the circumstances had changed.
“The apple pie you ate was from your father,” he reminded her pointedly. “Don’t eat any offerings. They may be perfectly innocent, but they may not. I am certainly not prepared to give them all a taste test to see if they are poisoned – and you certainly won’t.” He held up a hand when he sensed Harriett’s protest. “I am not saying that Mrs Partridge is a poisoner. But until we can be sure that nobody contaminated any of them, we cannot take the risk. The next time you may not be so lucky.” He didn’t want to scare her, but could see no way of softening the facts. It would help her to remain on her guard.
“But Mrs Partridge-” Harriett replied, her voice full of confusion.
“I know, but there is no standard format to murderers. They come in all shapes and sizes, and are of all ages.” Hugo’s voice dropped in an effort to soften his tone. He hated to see the abject fear on her face. “I am not saying that Mrs Partridge or your father are poisoners, or pose any risk to you, just that you cannot take any chances.”
“What’s happened?”
Hugo sighed; he should have known Harriett was perceptive enough to pick up on his underlying tension, but he wasn’t in a position to tell her anything about Romilla’s demise yet either.
“I want to talk to you about what you think you saw yesterday,” he began, watching the blank look settle over her face. He would have preferred it if she shouted, or threw something. At least she was talking to him though, which is more than he thought she would do.
“I know what I saw.” Her voice was cold.
“You saw me in a compromising position with Romilla,” he replied. “If you had been watching a couple of moments prior to that, you would have seen me put down my goblet and bid her goodnight. I was on my way out of the door when she threw herself at me.”
“Oh, did she? And you are perfectly incapable of fending off a lecherous female, aren’t you? And you, a big, brave agent fighting for king and country! It makes me wonder why we don’t just hand over the keys to the country to the French and be done with it, if you are the best we can do,” Harriett snorted disparagingly, her temper rising.
Hugo’s brows rose, and he stared at her for a moment. Now that she was angry, he almost preferred the wounded silence.
“Wait a minute-” he began.
“No, you wait a minute. If you expect me to believe that nonsense about you being an innocent in Romilla’s seduction, then you are a fool. I know what I saw last night, and you most certainly weren’t protesting. Now, if you don’t mind, I have better things to do.” She snapped at him, her chin rais
ed in defiance as she stalked around him toward the door.
“Like what?” Hugo growled, following her out of the room.
“It’s none of your business,” she snapped, glaring at him. “I am afraid that Romilla isn’t here, so you had better turn your attentions somewhere else.” Whatever else Hugo was going to say was cut off by the door slamming as Harriett swept toward the staircase, almost regally.
In the hallway, her fury burned, and she wished she had smacked him across the face for betraying her. She hated him – almost as much as she loved him.
“Harriett?” Simon asked hesitantly from the doorway of his study, wariness stealing over his face as he took in the unfamiliar bad temper on his daughter’s face. He made no attempt to approach her, merely stood partially shielded by the door.
“I am fine. I would be much better if it weren’t for idiotic men but, yes, I am fine,” she snapped, ignoring Hugo, who had appeared behind her.
“Harriett-” he began, only to stop when Harriett spun on her heel to stare at him, one long finger inches from his nose.
“I’ve heard enough from you!” she shouted.
All of her fear, hurt, confusion and dashed hopes blended with disappointment and crippling betrayal to create a wild storm of fury that made her tremble with the force of it. For the first time in her life, she came so close to slapping another human being that she began to wonder how she managed to restrain herself.
“You haven’t heard enough!” Hugo argued, refusing to bow down to her bad temper. He knew that the next hour would decide both their fates, and was determined that they should be together.
Ignoring him, Harriett swept across the hall and marched up the staircase. From the balcony that ran around the upper hallway, she saw her father duck back into his study and quietly close the door, clearly glad to be out of the latest battle.
Once in her room, Harriett slammed the door with equal force, and drew to a halt. What now? She wanted to throw something. She wanted to shout some more, and felt almost cheated that she wasn’t able to vent her fury. Without any of her own belongings, she had nothing to do; she had no books to read or anything else to do. Suddenly wishing she had stormed outside, where she would at least have the freedom to stamp around the gardens,she spun around when Hugo burst into the room, a dark glower on his face.
