by Anne Mallory
“Perhaps your accusations and outrage are an attempt to draw attention away from you,” Christian said in a rather lazy manner.
Everyone started to argue. Their voices grew angry and increasingly accusatory.
Kate watched the volley of finger pointing through dazed eyes. Christian nudged her with his foot under the table, an unreadable look on his face.
Mr. Crescent peered from one guest to another until his eyes finally rested on Lake. “Heard about the brawl last night,” he said above the din, the rest of the conversations coming to a sudden halt. “That was you and Janson, wasn’t it Lake?”
Lake nodded stiffly.
“That’s right! It was Lake who wanted to kill Janson,” someone shouted.
Lake stood defensively. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Whoa there, Lake. You keep your murdering paws away from the rest of us,” Crescent declared, tugging his wife behind him.
“When are the carriages arriving?” Freewater demanded, more impatiently this time.
“There he goes again, asking for a way out.”
“Don’t you think we should find the constable?”
Mr. Wicket seemed to recover from his shock. “Old Freddy is the parish constable this month. But last night he left town to visit family. He won’t be back for a week. And Julius’s parents are in London while their manor is being remodeled. Julius was staying here on and off while the construction took place. What will we tell the squire?”
“Why the devil won’t the constable be back? There—”
“Language, Freewater! How dare you swear in front of my wife!” Mr. Crescent shook his fist.
“How dare you interrupt me, sir. I won’t have it!”
Kate felt an oncoming megrim. Christian nudged her foot once more, and her attention snapped back to the quarrel.
“Choose another constable—”
“What we need is—”
“I won’t have it!”
“Murdered!”
“Do you think—”
“Julius is dead? Really dead?”
“Deserved it, lousy bastard.”
“You did this!”
“—he was really murdered?”
“Why the fuss?”
“QUIET!”
“—a Bow Street Runner.” Mrs. Crescent’s voice trailed off in the ensuing silence. Everyone stared at her. Her chin rose imperiously. “Well, it would help, wouldn’t it? Someone to take notes and search all the rooms and do whatever it is a Runner does?”
Kate saw Christian tense.
“And where are we going to find a Runner this far from London and in the middle of a snowstorm no less?” Francine scoffed.
“Right here.”
All eyes focused on Christian as he tipped his chair back against the wall. Kate blinked, but when she opened her eyes, she saw the same mocking grin and calculating air.
“You?” Freewater cocked a brow. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Mr. Freewater. And under Section Two Hundred Seventy-one of the Runner’s Code, I think I’ll search your room first.” Christian smirked.
“Don’t you think you should take a look at the body first,” Kate whispered, in disbelief at the turn of events.
“Yes, of course,” Christian replied smoothly. “But I think the first room will be Freewater’s.” He crossed his arms. “If only for his gross insolence, disregard for the dead, and questioning of my authority.”
That seemed to shut up both Desmond and Crescent. Tiegs appeared amused, almost cheerful, if a man could look jovial under the circumstances.
There was no way Christian Black was a Runner. It was too fantastic, and besides, Kate had never expected Runners to be so, well, virile.
“How are we to believe you?” Freewater asked, his tone a bit more respectful, and Kate marveled at the authority that Christian suddenly seemed to wield.
“I’m here on another case. I had to stay at the inn incognito, as Mr. Wicket can attest. A veritable frenzy it was to stay yesterday. But necessary. Right, Mr. Wicket? Crazy happenings yesterday.”
Mr. Wicket nodded, but from the man’s befuddled expression, Kate had to wonder if the innkeeper even knew to what he was agreeing.
“Then what is your other case?” Freewater demanded suspiciously, although the innkeeper’s nod had dampened his distrustful gaze somewhat.
“Sensitive case. I’m not at liberty to divulge the particulars. Has to do with delicate matters.”
The men seemed to understand what he meant, and they nodded knowledgeably. Mrs. Crescent appeared confused. Kate took that to mean it had something to do with a male indiscretion.
Indiscretions seemed to be right in line with Christian’s character.
“Well then, Mr. Black. How do you intend to proceed? What would you have us do?”
Thirteen pairs of eyes shifted to Christian—ten guests, two bodyguards, a valet, a maid, and twelve employees from the inn.
“Everyone shall remain here in the inn while I take a look at the body with—Gordon, was it?”
Gordon nodded.
“And Mr. Kaden will take notes.”
Kate blinked at him.
“Come, Mr. Kaden. You offered to help with my other case, did you not?”
She gazed around to see the others peering at her and resisted the urge to shrink into the shadows. The unwanted attention was not helping her charade in the least.
She looked at Christian. His eyes were shuttered as he awaited her response. She could say that she hadn’t offered to help him—she hadn’t the slightest notion what he was talking about or why he was including her. He must know that she could destroy his ruse with a few words. Could even claim he was the murderer. Donald Desmond looked ready to string up anyone whose name was put forth.
And she could have her room back all to herself.
“Of course I’ll help, Mr. Black.” The voice seemed to come from far away and it took her a moment to realize it was hers.
The mischievous twinkle reappeared in Christian’s eye as he shook her hand to seal the deal. He rose and motioned Gordon toward the door. Kate hastily pushed back her chair and grabbed her workman’s cloak from a hook inside the entrance hall. Just as Gordon opened the outer door, a strong, cold gust of wind swirled inside.
Christian turned abruptly. “Everyone stays here until we return. No venturing outside or returning to your rooms. Meals can be served, but everyone needs to remain together here on the main floor, understood? Anyone leaving the inn will be arrested immediately. And don’t allow anyone else to enter. Turn away any villagers and don’t breathe a word of the murder, or I’ll prosecute you under Section Eleven, understood?”
A nod from Mr. Wicket seemed to satisfy Christian. Kate wondered where the indomitable Mrs. Wicket was, but then spied her leaning weakly against a back bench, Mary holding her up.
Christian’s cloak whipped around the corner of the door. She admired the dramatic exit, especially after his last statement. He didn’t have the presence of a down-and-out gambler, but a Runner?
Kate slipped through the door. She staggered as the cold swirling snow stung her cheeks. Overnight the world had transformed. A deep sea of white blanketed the ground.
The Dragon’s Tale sign creaked in the howling wind as Christian grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, “Follow close behind me, Kate. Gordon and I will cut a path.”
Kate nodded, but was feeling disoriented. She didn’t know what had prompted Christian to say that she was helping. Perhaps it was the little devil that seemed to reside permanently inside, peeking through his vivid eyes and purring with his silk-smooth tongue. There was no arguing that Christian Black had her full attention whenever he was in the same room. She doubted the same was true in return. Christian was honey to bees. She was just a dandelion.
In any case, despite the dangerous attention working with him would bring to her, her curiosity was piqued. As if there weren’t enough things that were strange about Chr
istian Black, he didn’t look or act like any Bow Street Runner she had ever imagined or read about.
They trudged slowly across the courtyard. The thirty or forty steps that they would normally have walked were doubled due to the difficulty of moving through the high drifts. Snow clung to the legs of her breeches. A narrow path had been somewhat cleared, but visibility was so poor that moving in a straight line was impossible.
Halfway there, Kate yelled over the blowing wind. “Were you the one to clear this path,
Gordon?”
Gordon turned and nodded yes.
“So there were no other tracks?”
He pulled his muffler down. “No, why do you ask?”
Her brother might be a thieving maggot, but he was a damn good hunter and a braggart to boot. He made sure everyone knew of his successes and how smart he was. She had picked up more than one tracking tip from his glorified stories.
“It would show that someone else had been here,” she yelled. “Perhaps dragging Janson’s body from the inn to the stables.”
Wait. She was going to look at a body. A dead body. She shivered, not entirely due to the cold.
She hadn’t thought through what she was agreeing to. She had always been fond of puzzles, and solving a mystery had sounded interesting. Solving the mystery that was Christian Black even more so. It just hadn’t connected in her brain that this puzzle involved murder.
Then again, maybe it was a freak accident. She was intimately familiar with those. And she could badly do with closure on something. She desperately wanted some level of peace.
She just wasn’t sure she deserved it.
They trudged on several more steps when Gordon stopped again and turned.
“Don’t know nothing about dragging bodies or the like. There were a few tracks out here though.”
“I thought you said there weren’t?”
“I said I made the path.”
Seemed like quibbling to her, and again there was that pause in Gordon’s answers. Or was it just a matter of him catching his breath in the cold?
Kate was breathless when they finally reached the stables. Gordon led them inside the middle door of the large brick and stucco building.
“What kind of tracks?” Christian asked.
“Funny tracks. Like someone had been…dragged. Yes, you may be right.”
Kate felt a queer sensation in her chest as they walked toward the body. The straw had been cleared away. Janson’s leg was bent at a weird angle, and so was his neck. The back of his head had been bashed in.
She looked away, nausea rising and the vision of her father’s body appearing before her.
Chapter 7
It could be right under your nose, and you wouldn’t notice a thing.
The Marquess of Penderdale
to Christian, age eight
Christian watched Kate pale and stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Janson’s body.
“When did you find him?”
Gordon gave him a look edged with suspicion. “Just a few moments before I ran into the inn.”
He had to think like a Bow Street Runner. However that was. If he could get through this, he would have a legitimate excuse to search Freewater’s room—barrier free. He could already feel the leather-bound journal in his grasp.
“Were you in this part of the stables before you found him?”
“Yeah, I do rounds at dawn and get the horses warmed up for the road.”
“And you didn’t notice the body then?”
“That’s what I told you. I found the body when I began mucking out the stables and pitching hay.”
Christian searched the ground close to Janson’s body. He could see no bloody weapon nearby. He straightened, glancing at the tack hanging from the walls and rails, lots of potential weapons here. The stable was remarkably neat and clean. Well-cared-for saddles, harnesses, bits, bridles, and blankets were neatly stacked. Nothing seemed amiss or bloodstained.
Christian walked the long, brick-lined path between the stalls, speaking softly to the horses as he passed. They were restless and didn’t look exercised in the least. Kate seemed more than happy to follow behind and away from Janson’s body. Her light eyes were creased near the edges. The urge to smooth the worry lines from her face rushed through him.
He licked suddenly dry lips and turned to Gordon. “You took the horses out?”
“We were going to, but we were already snowed in at that point. Nowhere to take them.”
Of course they hadn’t taken the horses out. It had been a stupid question—Mr. Wicket must be rubbing off on him. It couldn’t be nerves. Christian hadn’t had a case of nerves since he had stopped caring.
“You said ‘we.’ Who else was here?”
“Me and Tom.”
“Did Tom discover the body with you?”
“No, he was in the inn with the rest of you.”
Tom must have been the square, bulky man near the door. “So how many times did you enter this building?”
“What difference does it make?”
“We need to ascertain what you were doing.”
“I told you what I was doing.” Gordon looked a bit shifty as he stared at the ground. “I did my work and found Janson, poor bloody bastard.”
“So you didn’t like Janson?”
“What? No. The man was an ass,” he said bluntly.
“Did you ever feel like murdering him?”
“What? No!”
“Your account of the events seems awfully suspicious, Gordon. You haven’t answered the question of how many times you were in here this morning.”
“Cuz it makes no difference.” Gordon kicked a stray piece of hay.
“You couldn’t be more wrong. Runner’s Code Number Thirty—determine the whereabouts of the person who discovered the body.”
From the corner of his eye he saw Kate react, but he ignored her for the moment. Gordon seemed to believe him, and he noted a thin film of sweat had formed on the man’s brow.
“I entered the barn twice, but until a bit ago never to this section. Don’t know nothing else.”
“Was anyone else in here?” Kate asked quietly as they walked back to the body.
“Just Tom. He won’t know nothing neither. He lives on the upper floor over the stable office. Uses the straight stairs at the other end. Janson probably got drunk, grabbed his things, wandered outside, and bashed his head into the wall.”
Christian looked dubiously at the body with its broken leg and bashed skull. “Are you saying that he somehow managed to bury himself beneath the straw too? A talent, that.”
He watched Kate inhale deeply before crouching down beside the body. She tried unsuccessfully to turn Janson over.
“He’s stiff, Mr. Kaden. No use you trying to do anything with him.”
Kate ignored Gordon and continued to examine Janson. Christian didn’t know what she thought she would find—she was less an investigator than he was. She gave him a pointed look, and he crouched down next to her.
He poked through the man’s pockets. A pocket watch and two quid were inside one, a letter in another. Kate seemed to be engrossed in examining rips on the front of Janson’s shirt, so Christian tried to assist her by moving Janson’s stiff right arm. It didn’t budge. Pushing to the left, the corpse shifted, and Christian was nearly struck by Janson’s stiff left arm.
Beaten by a dead guy. He was sure he would never have lived that down.
Something in Janson’s fisted hand caught his attention. A swatch of green was clutched in his fingers.
Kate watched intently as Christian pried the slip of cloth from Janson’s hand. He caught her eye, and she shrugged in bafflement.
“Gordon, does this look familiar?”
The servant peered at the cloth. “No.”
Christian handed the cloth to Kate, lightly brushing her fingers. She shivered, shook her head, and stuffed the cloth into her pocket.
A search through his scattered belongings turn
ed up a snuffbox, some extra clothes, but little else. Christian sat back on his heels.
“I think it’s time to search the rooms.” He was anxious to get into Freewater’s, and had little notion of what else to do about Janson.
“Don’t you think we should move the body back to the inn?”
“Why? I don’t think he’s going anywhere, and we don’t want the body to warm and decompose.”
“What if the killer comes back to dispose of it? We may need it later.”
“Need it for what? The man’s dead.”
“To find the killer.”
Christian glanced at Gordon, who was observing their exchange with interest.
“Um, I know you are new to this, Mr. Kaden, but Section Fourteen of the Runner’s Code states that the body should not be moved. We’ll just have to leave Gordon to guard it.”
Gordon’s eyes went wide. “What?”
Christian stood from his crouched position. “Don’t worry, my good man. We will send one of the maids with food and something warm to drink.” He patted Gordon on the shoulder as the man sputtered.
“Surely you aren’t going to leave me here with…with him?” he said, pointing to Janson.
“Well, you and the boys do need to care for the horses, don’t you?”
“But there’s a dead body in here!”
“He won’t hurt you. But don’t lose him. Section Fourteen A says you can be held responsible for the loss of the body. Must keep away the body thieves.”
“Body thieves?”
“Very dangerous, you know. But I’m sure you’re up to the task. And the snow should keep them at bay for a few days. Good luck, Gordon. We’ll be by to check on you later. Oh, and don’t move the body. Thanks.”
Christian walked out the door, Kate scampering after.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Solving the murder, of course.”
“You think this is all a joke.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“You do. It is evident in every syllable you utter. Every statement you make.” She poked him in the arm, the tip of her finger barely making a dent in the heavy coat.
