Capturing Sir Dunnicliffe (The Star Elite Series)
Page 24
She jumped as she turned to find Mrs Partridge standing behind her, mere feet away.
“Oh, Mrs Partridge, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she gasped, glancing curiously at the woman who was staring intently at her.
Harriett watched as, with a visible shake, the woman snapped out of whatever thoughts had absorbed her, and immediately smiled at her. Something about the woman was a little odd, but Harriett couldn’t make out what it was. It seemed as though her smile was forced, and her eyes a little too hard. What was wrong?
“Are you well?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Mrs Partridge replied in a voice that was somehow different from her usual voice. Again, Harriett couldn’t place what it was, but something made her ill at ease. She suddenly wished that Hugo or her father were there.
She didn’t want to invite Mrs Partridge into her house, but couldn’t expect her to stay outside, and it would be rude to send her on her way without offering even refreshments. Feigning a bright smile, she offered the older woman an overly bright smile and motioned to the house with a wide sweep of one arm.
“I was just tidying the garden. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely. I have brought some buns for us to share.” The older lady lifted a covered basket and gave it a gentle shake.
“Lovely,” Harriett replied weakly, wondering what Mrs Partridge would have done if Harriett hadn’t been there.
As they entered the dim cottage, Harriett wondered if Mrs Partridge baked all the time. It was only yesterday that the woman had been at the Manor, bringing several buns with her as a gift. Today she was back again, with more buns.
Unable to stand the darkness within the kitchen, Harriett drew the shutters wide and quickly lit the fire, putting a pot of water on to boil while she prepared the tea things. She was only vaguely aware of Mrs Partridge opening the lid of the basket, and placing two napkins on the table, and a bun on each napkin. The scent of currants, and something else, hung in the air. But instead of having a tantalising affect on her taste buds, her stomach began to turn over.
She was fighting a wave of sickness, leaning against the dresser, while Mrs Partridge carefully displayed a hideous-looking wool thing on the table.
“I do hope you like your new shawl,” Mrs Partridge murmured, standing back to study the ugly brown and orange object.
Harriett had never seen anything so awful in her life, and had a sneaking suspicion that even Harrold would turn up his nose at sleeping on the ridiculous looking object. It didn’t even have straight sides, and was so uneven that it looked as if it had been made in the dark. Politeness demanded that she paste a smile on her face and murmur appreciative noises to the watchful Mrs Partridge, who seemed pleased that Harriett was suitably impressed with her dexterity with knitting needles.
She didn’t think anything of the needles that now lay on the table, on top of the hideous looking shawl, and turned to pour the tea. Moments later she sat on the opposite side of the table to her visitor, and stared down at the bun cautiously. Now she could smell something stronger underlying the currants and knew she had smelled it once before. Unless she was mistaken, it was the scent of mushrooms. Her logic told her that she must be mistaken. One didn’t put mushrooms in currant buns, and she frowned as she studied the bread on her tea plate.
“Eat your bun, dear, I do hope you like them,” Mrs Partridge urged, sipping her tea.
Obligingly, despite her queasiness, Harriett broke off a piece.
“Where is your Hugo?”
“Oh, he has gone away on business. He should be back later,” Harriett replied, glad of the brief respite. Eventually though, the time came when she had to place the small piece of the offending bun in her mouth. Immediately a strange taste exploded in her mouth and she stared up at Mrs Partridge, who was fingering her knitting needles absently while staring at Harriett.
“Hello, Mrs Partridge,” Hugo said, approaching the lady from behind. He lengthened his stride and caught up with her as she approached the front door of the house.
“Oh, hello Mr Dunnicliffe,” Mrs Partridge replied. Although her tone was friendly enough, her eyes were less so.
Hugo frowned, wondering if the woman was aware he had thrown her buns in the fire yesterday.
“Are you looking for Harriett?” It was an obvious question, and he wasn’t surprised when the older woman confirmed that indeed she was. “Let’s go and find her then, shall we?” He didn’t wait for the older lady to follow him, and wasn’t surprised to find her behind him when he opened the front door and stood back to allow her to enter.
Once inside they were met by the butler.
“Where’s Harriet?” Hugo asked, taking a moment to study the old woman, and the basket she held. More buns?
“I’m afraid she isn’t here sir. She left about an hour ago for her cottage, sir.”
Hugo scowled, not at all pleased that his request for Harriett to remain indoors had been ignored.
“I’ll come back later then,” Mrs Partridge replied, turning toward the door and disappearing out of the door without so much as a ‘goodbye’.
Hugo shrugged and turned to the butler. “Where’s Simon?”
“He has gone to one of the mines, sir,” the butler intoned politely.
Hugo sighed at his ill luck. He had planned to inform Simon of Romilla’s disguise, but as the house was empty, decided to make the most of searching Simon’s room for clues instead.
Taking the steps two at a time, he turned his thoughts to what he should do next. Earlier that morning he had met with Jamie, who had reported that Pierre and Marguerite were moving. Jonathan had been summoned to drive the coach they were to their next location. The timing was awful and left Hugo with a desperate problem.
He hated the thought of having to leave Harriett yet, especially when matters were so unsure between them. But in all conscience he had to keep an eye on the spy smugglers, not only for the safety of the country, but the lives of his men were in jeopardy. That left him with a massive problem of how to keep Harriett safe while he was gone.
With a quick glance up and down the empty corridor, he disappeared into Simon’s room. Half an hour later, he paused with a frown and stared at the now empty driveway. His thoughts turned to Mrs Partridge and their meeting in the driveway. There had been something unusual about the woman – something unusual, and very disturbing.
“Oh my god,” Hugo growled, staring in horror at the pale ribbon of drive that disappeared in the direction of Padstow. “The wheezing,” he didn’t stop to think and burst out of the house seconds later, tearing across the garden toward Harriett’s cottage like a man possessed.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Harriett felt everything within her freeze in horror as she stared at the offending – and very poisonous – bun before her. Immediately she spat out the bun, aware too late that the strange taste was the same one she had tasted when she ate the poisoned apple pie, and was indeed mushrooms. Poisonous ones.
It dawned on her then what was different about Mrs Partridge. The seemingly elderly woman was now standing upright, and had walked proudly into the cottage. There was no trace of the previous shuffling movement the woman had used before. Her breathing was also as clear as Harriett’s with no sign of her usual wheezing and gasping.
“Why?” Harriett gasped, staring in horror across the table at the woman who had tried to kill her.
“Eat it!” Mrs Partridge’s voice had lost all bonhomie, and was laced with malice that made Harriett shiver.
“No.” Harriett pushed the plate toward the woman, one eye on the wicked-looking tips of the knitting needles.
“What have I ever done to you?” Harriett’s heart began to pound.
It seemed incredible that the old woman was the person who had been trying to murder her. Surely, she wasn’t strong enough to try to strangle her, and it was equally incredible that she was driving the carriage that had nearly run her over. So what was going on?
�
�You are your mother’s daughter,” Mrs Partridge spat, her voice laced with venom. “We hate witches in this village. There is no place for your kind here.”
“My kind?” Harriett gasped, feeling her stomach drop. There was a slight tingling in her mouth, and sweat had broken out on her brow. She didn’t think she had eaten any, but whatever Mrs Partridge had put into the buns was strong enough to have an immediate effect on her. Luckily, she hadn’t swallowed any of the substance, and the effects she was experiencing were mild compared to her previous experience with the poisoned pie, but it was enough to warn her not to eat any more.
“Your trickery and whorishness is shameful. You bring the village and all of us into disrepute with your wanton ways. Your mother was just the same; threw herself at that Simon de Mattingley, who didn’t have the strength to deny her. He was never the same after that, and destroyed poor Estelle’s heart, he did. We were all glad to see the back of Helena when she died. My mama said we had to get rid of you, but you wouldn’t go.”
“Nobody told me that you wanted me to go,” Harriett reasoned.
“Because they are all frightened of you and your hexes and potions.” Mrs Partridge seemed to have turned into a different person. Harriett could almost see the physical changes in her face, which had grown florid as it sharpened. It was the dribble of spittle coming from the side of her mouth, and the wildness in her eyes, that really frightened Harriett, who began to wonder how she was going to get out of the house without being stabbed by the wicked looking knitting needles now clenched in Mrs Partridge’s fist.
“I don’t do hexes,” Harriett protested.
“You are a witch. You have no place tainting the people in the village,” Mrs Partridge argued.
“So you tried to poison me with the apple pie.”
“Phah! It was easy. Dropped a bit in the top and you were too stupid to know, but didn’t put enough in it obviously.” Her eyes were almost feral as they stared maliciously across the table.
Outwardly, Harriett tried to remain calm and relaxed. Inwardly she was trying desperately to think of a way to get out of the cottage so she could shriek for help, and hope that one of the Star Elite was around too hear her.
“So it was you who strangled me,” it wasn’t a question.
“I nearly succeeded – if it wasn’t for that lecherous beast of yours who turned up when he did.”
Harriett felt her stomach churn at the realisation that evil had visited her not once, but twice.
“Hugo isn’t a lecherous beast.” For the life of her, Harriett had no idea why she felt the need to make that last comment, but it helped to distract Mrs Partridge who, for the time being, was willing to furnish Harriett with all of the facts.
“He is no better than your father. They sleep with witches, and you are a hoyden. No better than your mother. You don’t deserve to live in a village like Padstow; tainting everyone with your evil potions.”
“The buns yesterday-” Harriett paused and waited.
“Weren’t poisoned. I know that man of yours is suspicious of everyone. But he isn’t here now, so there is nothing stopping you eating that.” She nodded once toward the bun she pushed across the table at Harriett.
“No, I am not,” Harriett declared flatly, shoving the bun back across the table.
She realised she had made a huge mistake when Mrs Partridge let out a hideous wail and launched herself across the table at her.
Immediately jumping out of her chair, her ears burning with the curses the older woman was shouting, she lifted a chair and threw it in the path of the older woman as she lurched around the table at her, needles pointed dangerously at Harriett’s face.
If she could get outside, she could make a run for freedom while screaming for whoever was supposed to be on watch to come and help. She could only hope that one of the Star Elite were on watch as they were supposed to be.
“I didn’t want your bloody potions, but you insisted on feeding the vile stuff down my throat anyway.” Mrs Partridge ranted. “Do you know what it is like to be forced to take something you don’t want? Something that tastes vile and that you know is going to kill you?” Her voice rose as she spoke until she was bellowing.
“They are only herbs,” Harriett gasped, pushing another chair in the older woman’s path, carefully backing toward the door.
“You won’t get out of there; I’ve locked it.” Mrs Partridge’s voice was cruel and matter-of-fact.
Harriett daren’t move her eyes from the bulk of the woman before her, because she knew that the woman was waiting for the opportunity to lunge at her with the wicked looking needles. She could outrun an old woman, but she couldn’t do it skewered.
For each step she took backward, the older woman took another step forward in a macabre dance around the large kitchen table. Harriett tried to move toward the door, only for Mrs Partridge to shove the table roughly forward, blocking her exit. While the other woman was still leaning over the table, Harriett took the opportunity to run into the hallway, slamming the hall door behind her before heading into her bedroom. She briefly considered going into her workroom but there was little in there she could use to block the door. At least in her bedroom, there was the bed.
Slamming the door to her room she wedged a chair against it before sliding her bed across the door. Mrs Partridge was screaming and was trying to shove the door open, despite the physical barrier, only to be pushed backward when Harriett wedged the heavy weight of the iron bed against her. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud. Although it prevented Mrs Partridge from entering, it did little to dull the profanities being screeched at her through the thick wood.
She was trembling by the time she lifted the latch on the window and climbed out. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she was considering whether to run down into the village or head for the woods and go straight to the Manor, when the slamming of the front door made her jump.
It was enough to spur Harriett into flight and, without thinking, she headed toward the Manor in the hope that at least one of the Star Elite was on watch in the woods and would come to her aid.
She hadn’t counted on Mrs Partridge being so quick-thinking to come through the hedge directly into her path, leaving Harriett no choice but to veer toward the cliff path at the front of her house.
It was rarely used by the villagers as it was steep and narrow, winding dangerously down the steep, rugged cliffs toward the small cove. The tides turned swiftly in the cove, and more than once people had been caught out and left stranded to be swallowed by the voracious sea. It was enough for the villagers to use the smaller, friendlier paths leading to the beaches on the other side of the village.
Until now, their reluctance to use the dangerous slopes had suited Harriett. It had afforded her the ability to venture down to the cove when the tide was out, and search for seaweed and shells undisturbed by curious locals. Now though, she wished there was at least one villager around who could help her. She wondered where the Star Elite watch was. Hadn’t they seen her leave the cottage?
Lifting her skirts, she ran for her life, her breath sawing in and out. She needed to lengthen her stride and put some distance between her and Mrs Partridge.
She could still hear the woman’s heavy footsteps behind her, along with the wild mutterings and curses she was throwing at Harriet’s back as they ran. Harriett studied the split in the path ahead of them and had two choices. She could either run further along the cliff path, to the farm around the coast in the hope that someone would be at home to help her, or she could take the downward path onto the shale beach. The uneven surface might be enough to slow Mrs Partridge down. Harriett could use the beach to try to skirt around the other woman. She was sure she could run up the hill far quicker than the older woman, whom she could hear panting heavily behind her.
In the end, she didn’t get that far. At the very top of the path, she saw someone running toward her, and gasped at the sight of Rupert, gun drawn and pointing toward the woman.
Harriett started to run toward him, only to be drawn to an abrupt halt by a fierce grip on her upper arm. She cried aloud as the sharp point of a knitting needle dug cruelly into her side.
“Let her go,” Rupert demanded as he neared them. His gun was pointed at the old woman. Mrs Partridge tried to hide behind Harriett, only for Rupert to move to the side to maintain his clear shot.
“What are you going to do?” Mrs Partridge gasped. “Shoot an old lady?”
“She’s the one who tried to poison me,” Harriett gasped. “I think she was the one who tried to run me over too.”
“That wasn’t me, you stupid bitch,” Mrs Partridge spat. “Although I wish it was. You see what I mean? Nobody wants you here; we all hate you!”
“No they don’t,” Rupert argued.
“Shut up!” Mrs Partridge spat, jabbing the needles further into her side. Harriett shifted infinitesimally to one side to ease the discomfort. Her eyes met and held Rupert’s for a moment. She almost thought he was trying to tell her something and realised that if she had any chance of walking away from this, she had to play her part in giving him clear access to the old woman behind her.
“Let her go this instant,” Rupert tone was as dark and contemptuous as his glare. There was something sinister in his stare that even Mrs Partridge couldn’t ignore.
“She’s a witch. We all want the witch to die.” The older woman’s voice was reasonable, clearly expecting him to agree.
“You are the only one evil enough to want that,” Rupert spat, his eyes locked on the woman. Her face warned him that she had lost control of her sanity and was not only reckless, but unpredictable.
“I’m not evil. My mama was right in saying that the villagers should have driven her witch of a mother out when she put a spell on that poor de Mattingley. He didn’t stand a chance. Ruined his marriage, she did, and this one isn’t any better. Cut from the same cloth, she is, whoring herself for that other man.” Her voice screeched, dipped and trembled with maniacal fury.