The Late Heiress: The Amberley Chronicles

by May Burnett

  “My destination is several hours distant, too far when everyone but me is in danger.” Her voice shook a little. “I am not imagining it, am I? Their condition is very serious?”

  “I am no physician, but I fear you are right. From a fish stew, you said? How long past did they eat this dish?”

  “A late dinner, about two hours ago. The inn was mean and not too clean, so I decided to push on rather than take rooms there. Had I known everyone else would get so very sick … The coachman remained fit longer than the others, even after I took the outrider and postilion into the coach.”

  “He is the biggest, perhaps that is why he took longer to succumb.”

  “In that case I must be doubly grateful I did not partake of the stew, or I might be dead by now.” The girl’s voice was bleak.

  “What happened to the outrider’s horse?”

  “It ran off.”

  “We have to find somewhere to bed them down. Do you know this area at all well, Miss …?”

  “I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” she said. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Kinninmont. Anxiety has apparently affected my manners. My name is,” she hesitated for a moment, “Towers, Miss Monica Towers. I was travelling to join friends in Sussex.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Towers, I only wish it were under better circumstances.” Duncan wondered what she would look like in daylight, in a pretty gown rather than the shapeless coat. Would her face match the lovely voice?

  “As to your question, no, I do not know this area well, especially at night. When I last travelled in this direction two years ago I was with my family, and paid little attention to landmarks.”

  “Few people do, unless they are personally responsible for arriving at their destination.” He drove as quickly as he dared, with the poor light and piteous moans audible from inside the carriage each time the vehicle lurched. “This is a side road, with little traffic and few inns. We must stop at the very first place we find, even if it is only a farm house, and I will ride to fetch the nearest physician.”

  “Five people so very sick will strain even the best Samaritan’s hospitality,” she said wryly. “An inn would be preferable.”

  Yes, and the sooner, the better. From the pitiful moans of the sufferers, any one of them might expire momentarily.

  Chapter 2

  As she talked to the stranger Monique clasped the handle of her pistol, discreetly nestled in the folds of her cloak. Mr. Kinninmont’s help was necessary and welcome, but she still doubted whether she could trust him. His arrival just when she had been left alone and undefended was suspiciously fortuitous. For the present she would keep an open mind.

  Yet had he wanted to kill her, he could have done it then, quite easily. Broken her fragile neck and left her on the ground, ostensibly the victim of a tragic carriage accident. Instead he had struggled manfully to heave her poor coachman inside the coach, a feat she would never have been able to manage, and sounded genuinely concerned for her sick retainers. Perhaps Mr. Kinninmont was just an innocent bystander after all. If so, he represented the only piece of luck to befall her on this miserable night.

  Was that even his real name? If not, she could hardly complain, for she had changed hers into a simpler English form. An unwed young lady should not be sitting so close to a chance-met stranger that she could feel his warmth through her cloak and other garments. He smelled of horse, infinitely preferable to the revolting odours emanating from the carriage behind their backs. It must be pure hell for the travellers inside.

  No, a lady should not be sitting so close to a gentleman to whom she had not been properly introduced. But even the highest stickler would have to admit her current emergency trumped social rules. With any luck there would be no consequences, especially if her helper continued in ignorance of her fortune and birth. Who knew what he might do with that knowledge? She had received more than enough pressing offers of marriage for her wealth and pedigree. As pleasant as he seemed so far, Kinninmont might presume on this highly compromising situation.

  Her gaze fell on his gloved hands, holding the reins. Monique could drive a well-trained pair, and would have tried to manage this team if help had not arrived, but it was a relief that it had not been necessary, that she did not have to pit her lamentably light weight and strength against so many large animals.

  “Why were you riding so late, on this road?” she asked him. “I hope we are not keeping you from some urgent appointment.”

  “No danger of that, Miss Towers, my time is entirely my own.” His voice was deep and manly.

  The false name sounded odd to her ears. She had better get accustomed to it quickly, before she gave herself away. “Nonetheless I am grateful for your assistance, after that, um, unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “Who did you think I was?” he asked curiously. “Were you expecting some highwayman to come dashing out of the dark? A hundred years ago such a danger might have existed, but we are civilised now.”

  How much should she tell him? His question was reasonable, and she should have expected it. “Not a highwayman, no. But the ill effects of that fish stew could conceivably be the effects of some poison.”

  “Who would knowingly poison five people – six, if you had eaten the dish as well? And presumably there were other guests?”

  “Yes, at least half a dozen more ate from it during the hour we stopped there.”

  “Then it is most unlikely that anything more sinister than spoiled food is behind this. Only a madman would poison so many, and what possible motive could there be for such a heinous crime?”

  She was silent. She had an enemy – a man with reason to hate her, who had passionately sworn vengeance a mere two months earlier. She had not taken the threat seriously at the time. Could it be that she had underestimated his vindictiveness? Was there anyone else? Her father had always suspected her maternal cousins of coveting her fortune, but since she turned twenty-one the previous month, and come into her inheritance, they no longer had anything to gain by her demise. No, if anyone it would be Alain, but likely she was just letting irrational fears get the better of her judgment. “I daresay you are right. But if you wanted to murder one person in a way that looked accidental, and did not care how many others you killed, what safer way to do away with a person?”

  He shook his head sceptically. “I notice that as badly off as your companions are, none of them has actually died yet. With luck they may all recover. And did anyone know in advance whether you would stop at that particular inn this night, Miss Towers?”

  “No,” she had to admit. “Not even I knew beforehand. It was a small, ill-favoured place. We only stopped there because one of the leaders had taken a stone in his hoof, and the coachman wanted to give him some rest.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Several travellers entered the place soon after we arrived, and any one of them could have slipped something in the stew. If anyone had been following us on horseback, it would have been easy.”

  “Someone you would not recognise? Why on earth would they do that?”

  “I don’t really believe it happened like that.” Dieu, why was she arguing with him? What could his opinion matter? Still, she did not want even a chance acquaintance to think her a fanciful ninny, imagining non-existent dangers. “I do have an enemy who might be capable of such a crime. I never would have imagined him resorting to such ignoble means, but…” Her voice trailed off before she could indulge in more confidences, unwise with a stranger. Monique had not even had a clear look at the young man’s face.

  “I don’t know how dangerous this enemy might be, but this sounds like some melodrama out of a sensational novel, Ma’am. Nobody could possibly want to kill you enough to risk killing a dozen others in the bargain. That just doesn’t make sense.”

  “I hope you are right.” She really should change the subject. “Tell me more of yourself, Mr. Kinninmont.”

  He took a deep breath, taking his time before replying. Was he inven
ting a plausible story?

  “There is little enough to tell. Until yesterday morning, I served as a Captain in the Twenty-fifth Foot Regiment, stationed in Portsmouth. However, I have resigned my commission.” Tough the timbre of his voice was even, she guessed it had not been an easy decision. If there was any truth to his story in the first place. “I am on my way to visit my older brother in Edinburgh, to consider what new course to pursue.”

  “Ah. That is a long way from here. You were going to ride the whole way?”

  “Yes, in easy stages.”

  “I wish I could travel so freely. You see how many attendants were deemed necessary for my journey, though none of them would be the slightest use if we were attacked now.”

  “You still have a protector at your side,” he said drily. “But I feel certain that your fears are unfounded, Ma’am. Logic and common sense suggest that a careless cook has endangered your retinue, and not any kind of deliberate attacker.”

  Monique did not reply. When gentlemen started to talk of logic and common sense they had already made up their minds, and no arguments were likely to sway them. Nor was she sure of her case. Perhaps the fumes of vomit from the carriage and the intermittent, piteous groans were addling her mind. She had not slept well on this journey, in unfamiliar beds, and was hardly at her best.

  As they turned west, following the meandering course of the road, a shot rang out, violently shattering the stillness of the night. Monique started. She heard the carriage’s wall splinter just above her hat, and for a heart-stopping moment feared that the shot had hit the young man at her side. A quick glance showed him unhurt, even as a plaintive cry emerged from the carriage behind her back.

  “Rita!” Monique cried out in horror, recognizing the voice of her maid.

  The outrider gasped, loud enough to hear through the carriage wall, “It’s not a fatal wound, Miss. For God’s sake, get us away from here!”

  Kinninmont gave the horses their head, and despite their fatigue they responded valiantly. Monique held on to him with her right arm, while the left raised the pistol once again as she frantically scrutinized the hedges around them.

  “That was a rifleshot,” Kinninmont told her with icy calm. “You won’t get them with the pistol, unless they come much closer.”

  They sat in tense silence. To Monique’s relief there was no second shot, only the clatter of hooves and snorting of the horses.

  “We are well away,” she said after a few minutes, still feeling breathless. “I rest my case, Sir. That was no accident.”

  “No indeed, it went right past my ear. A fraction of an inch closer, and you could wipe my brains from this seat. I only hope your woman’s wound is indeed a trifling one.”

  Monique repressed a shiver. “We cannot afford to stop now.”

  “I agree.” He spurred the horses to a yet faster pace, talking to them soothingly. The animals would have been startled by that shot, just as she had. Now the immediate danger was past, she was beginning to tremble, and cautiously put the pistol away under the seat.

  They came to a crossroads, and the Captain turned at an oblique angle.

  “Why this direction?” she managed to ask without betraying her shaken state.

  “There are trees ahead that that may hide us from pursuit, and the direction is unexpected,” he explained. “Otherwise it makes little difference. I don’t know this county. You kept your head admirably well, Miss Towers.”

  Did he need to sound so surprised? Her ancestors had held castles in sieges, and fought in countless battles. “It was still a shock,” she said. “You too kept calm and acted quickly.”

  “In an officer, anything less would be reprehensible. We are trained to keep going when someone is taking pot shots at our heads. But in a young lady, panic or hysterics would be more expected.”

  “Not that young.” She did not hide her annoyance. People kept taking her for a child, simply because of her short stature. “I am past twenty-one.”

  “Ah. That would explain it then,” he said. “I beg your pardon if I took you for younger. The light is not good, and that hat shadows your features.”

  “That’s what it is supposed to do. I found it in the attic, and like to wear it when travelling.”

  “I suspect it was originally a man’s.”

  “No doubt.” To dress up in costume made her sound like a fanciful child, but she hardly cared for his opinion on her headgear. “Never mind about that. Do you admit now that you were wrong, that someone is trying to kill me?”

  “Someone shot at us, that much is certain. As difficult as it is to imagine, I must suppose your suspicion is justified. What do you know about this enemy? Why is he after you? What could be the purpose in hunting you like this?”

  “Vengeance,” she said bleakly. “I won’t go into the sordid details, but he blames me for a grim and hopeless situation that he ultimately brought on his own head.”

  Alain de Manteil had been one of her first suitors, and if her father had not wisely counselled her to wait, she might even now be his duchess and share in his tragedy. Seeing him court her friend Renée so soon afterwards had quickly cured her of that youthful infatuation, however, and inspired a general distrust of libertine noblemen. When one had the figure of a waif with no bosom to speak of, combined with a large fortune, it was natural to suspect the motives of one’s admirers. Sometimes she wished she were quit of her wealth. That would quickly winnow the number of her suitors to a more manageable handful, or perhaps none would be left at all… Even so, it might be better to know the truth.

  “Where does this man live?”

  “In France, and he does not speak much English, nor is he fond of travelling abroad. On the other hand he is very rich. If he is behind this, he would have retained someone who will kill for money, whose actions cannot easily be traced back to the person who gave the order.”

  “Such hirelings exist, but one who would poison a whole inn would have to be exceptionally ruthless even for a criminal. So your enemy is French? But you are English, from your name and speech?”

  “My parents were both born in England,” she evaded a direct answer, “but I do have family in France, and have spent much of my life there.”

  He pulled on the reins, slowing the team. “It thought I saw a light over there. Does that look like an inn to you, Miss Towers?”

  She peered into the distance. The moon had once again half hidden behind the wispy clouds. “If so, it is even more modest than the one where we had the dreadful fish stew,” she said doubtfully. “But any port in a storm.”

  “Indeed.” They slowly approached the building. A dog began to bark furiously.

  The carriage came to a stop in front of a large wooden portal. Before she could offer to climb down and knock, or hold the reins while the Captain did so, a head poked out of a window-like opening to the side, and a surly voice asked, “Who is it, so late at night?”

  “Travellers,” the Captain said.

  “We pay well,” Monique added. That promise did the trick, for the man opened the portal wide without additional prompting, and the carriage proceeded into a courtyard that proved larger than Monique had expected.

  “What is that godawful smell?” the man asked as he barred the entrance again.

  “My travelling companions ate something harmful,” Monique explained apologetically. “We need five beds, and my, ah, courier here will ride for the next physician. Is it far?”

  “I don’t know about that,” the man said. “You’ll have to pay extra for any dirty sheets and cleaning. It’s not anything contagious, is it?”

  “Of course not,” the Captain said imperiously. “Don’t keep the lady standing out here. Is there nobody else to help us with the invalids? Who are you?”

  It turned out the surly fellow was the landlord himself, rather than a servant as Monique had assumed. While he and the Captain were consulting about the needs of the sick, a large dog came hurtling out of the stables and jumped up at Monique,
nearly knocking her over. Her hat fell down to the ground. Impatiently she shook out her hair.

  The Captain stopped talking to the innkeeper. Both men stared at her.

  “Who did you say the lady was?” the impertinent landlord asked the Captain.

  “Miss Towers, a lady travelling with her maid and a female companion. The two women need care most urgently, I imagine.”

  “Let me fetch my wife, and the stable hand,” the landlord muttered.

  The dog attempted to lick Monique’s face. She turned sideways to evade the unwelcome tribute.

  The Captain was still looking at her with a strange expression. His own face was pleasant and open, though not outstandingly handsome, let alone beautiful. His shoulders were broad, but otherwise he was slender.

  This was not the time to admire anyone’s physique. She had to see to her poor servants and companion.

  “Help me carry them inside,” she commanded.

  You can continue reading this story right here.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

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  Copyright © 2015 May Burnett. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author.