by Anne Mallory
Mr. Wicket waved his short arms to get everyone’s attention. “Here now, what’s this?”
Crescent’s arm was trembling in rage. “He stole my trousers, I demand them back. It’s not amusing!”
“Why do you think he stole your trousers, Mr. Crescent?” Kate asked.
“My valet, Bittens, said so.”
Christian followed Tom’s narrowed eyes to a man cowering in the corner. Bittens looked terrified.
“How does Bittens know?”
“He’s staying in a room with him and some other fellow.”
Mr. Wicket had said Elias, Benji, and Mr. Crescent’s valet were sharing one of the second-floor rooms.
“Why would he steal your trousers, though? Doesn’t it seem a bit obvious?”
Christian thought Kate’s comment made excellent sense.
“Who knows why servants do what they do. Thieves and liars, the lot.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. He sounded just like Christian’s father. “A bold statement, Crescent. Especially seeing as you are outnumbered by those thieves and liars at the present moment.”
“They wouldn’t dare touch me,” he blustered, though his eyes darted uncomfortably around the room. “I want those trousers returned or I’ll hold the inn accountable.” He wagged a finger at Mr. Wicket and then huffed out of the room.
The innkeeper wrung his hands, muttering something about better times and easier guests.
Daisy sauntered into the tense atmosphere, not missing a beat. “Supper will be served in five minutes.”
Olivia Trent glided toward Christian. “Shall we sit together?”
Christian considered the offer. It had been so much fun to tweak Kate’s jealousy earlier using Olivia, but he had a feeling that too much of that and he would lose her entirely. And he wasn’t willing to let that happen yet.
As he opened his mouth to reply, Tiegs came swooping over. “Olivia, darling, didn’t you say you’d like to join me for supper and cards?”
Olivia gave Tiegs’s dangerous appearance and appealing expression a long, hard look, then stared back at Christian. She seemed to take the hint from Christian’s less than enthusiastic response and closed expression and accepted Tiegs’s arm and offer.
Tiegs shot Kate an amused look, then shifted it to Christian, his crooked smile growing broader. Christian had a feeling that Kate hadn’t fooled this man for a second. Kate seemed to realize it too as she tensed next to him.
Christian prodded her to a seat, ready to pester and harry her throughout the meal.
A silent agreement was made and the visitors at the Dragon’s Tale chose to discuss matters other than Janson’s death. After a pleasant dinner, Kate and Christian went to the inn office to report to Mr. Wicket. The innkeeper seemed distressed to hear that Freewater’s journal was missing (Christian wasn’t happy with Kate for telling the innkeeper about the journal at all), and seemed to think that his inn was becoming a den of thievery, what with the recent trouser theft, didn’t they know?
Christian listened to Kate reassure the innkeeper for at least fifteen minutes before he put a hand on her arm and tugged her toward the door.
“Gordon still in the stables?” he asked the innkeeper.
Mr. Wicket gave a distracted nod. “Should be. For some reason he’s remained out there.”
Christian ignored the censorious look Kate gave him and thanked the innkeeper as he pulled a coat from the peg and tossed it to her.
“Where are we going?”
“We are just stopping in to say hello to our friend Gordon and to search for Janson’s bat.”
Her mouth formed an O and she hurried her pace as they walked through the now well-trod path.
Gordon grimaced upon seeing them. “Back again, are you?”
“Gordon, you are doing an excellent job. You wouldn’t have happened upon Mr. Janson’s cricket bat, by chance?”
Gordon’s brows drew together. “Can’t say that I have. Strange, that. He never went anywhere without it. Could be buried beneath the straw.”
Christian nodded and walked to the stall where Janson’s body and belongings lay.
They didn’t find anything in the stall that they hadn’t seen before. Janson’s baggage had been as little as Desmond’s—mostly cricket equipment, and a change of clothing. No bat. Kate tensed, and Christian followed her gaze to where Tom was leaning against the stall door, chewing on a stick. The man had moved silently, but could challenge Tiegs’s bruisers for sheer bulk.
“Tom, is it? Did you hear or see anything the night of the murder?” Christian asked.
“Only that Janson got what ’e deserved.”
Kate shot Christian a look.
“Didn’t much like Julius Janson?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know anything about Janson’s death?”
“Nope.”
The man’s tone wasn’t idle, nor was it menacing; it was simply implacable.
“Would you tell us if you did?”
Tom turned and walked away.
“Well that was strange,” Kate murmured.
“Old Tom is always like that.”
Christian turned to see Gordon staring at the stiff body.
“Where does Tom stay?”
“Out here with me usually. Sometimes we switch on and off in the extra bed in Benji and Elias’s room.”
“So he was out here the night Janson died?”
“We were taking care of the horses and getting them ready for the next day. Holy days are especially busy coaching days.”
“Do you share a room? Did you see Tom leave?”
Gordon shrugged. “Tom does what Tom wants. Been with the inn since anyone can remember.”
“Did he leave any time during the night?”
He shrugged again. “Could be. Lots of noises in the night. You learn to ignore some and awaken for others.”
“But it snowed most of the early morning the night of Janson’s death. Wouldn’t that have muffled much of the outside noise, making it easier for you to know if Tom was out of bed?”
Gordon flushed and Christian went for the kill. “He was out of bed. You know he was. What are you trying to hide?”
“Nothing! I ain’t trying to hide nothing. So Tom might have been out of bed for some of that time. Doesn’t mean nothing. I was out of bed for part of the night too, and I didn’t kill Janson. Tom didn’t neither.”
“I never said Tom did. But he may have helped. Someone dragged Janson’s body into the stables. Someone strong—strong enough to drag a grown man’s body through a snowbank. Tom is built like an ox.”
Gordon’s eyes went wide. Christian decided to leave him to think over that little tidbit.
“Come, Mr. Kaden. I think we found what we needed.”
Kate hurried into the courtyard after him. “Brilliant, Christian. You think there were multiple people involved? That makes a lot of sense. One to murder him and throw him over the railing, one to hide the body.”
Christian nodded. “We are still looking at two strong men working together. One or both must have panicked. It would have been wiser to leave the body where it landed. Would have looked like a drunken accident.”
“I suppose there is always Lake,” Kate said reluctantly. He had noticed Kate developing a soft spot for the man as the glances between Lake and Mary had started to change from shy to heated.
“Buck up, Kate. He may just be an innocent in this after all.”
Christian stopped abruptly and pulled Kate to the side of the inn and behind one of the sentinel pines as the aforementioned Mr. Lake walked out, followed closely by Mary.
“I won’t tell them what I heard.”
“You heard nothing, Lawrence.”
Lake stopped and put his fingers on her cheeks. “Mary, you were crying. I heard the sniffling.”
“You heard no such thing.” Mary didn’t try to break away from Lake’s caress.
“I want to know what he did to you. I know it is too l
ate to avenge any other sins, but I still want to know. I love you, Mary.”
Christian watched twin tears run down Mary’s cheeks, only to be brushed away by Lake’s thumbs. “Oh, Lawrence. What are we to do?”
“Shhh. There now, I’ll take care of things. Let’s go talk to Tom.”
He wrapped an arm around her and led her to the stable.
Christian gave Kate a sardonic look. “They almost take the fun out of searching for the villain.”
Kate appeared sad. “You think they did it? Threw the body over?”
Christian stared pensively after the couple’s path. “Perhaps, but something just seems off.”
“They do have a motive,” Kate said reluctantly. “Should we follow them?”
“Probably. But I want to check with Freewater on the status of the journal. Somehow I don’t think Lake and Mary are going to be talking to Tom for very long—more likely they will be indulging in other pastimes. I also don’t think we would be able to spy on them without Tom or Gordon seeing us. I don’t know about you, but I am terrible at keeping hidden. Several pranks nearly cost me dearly at E—” He cleared his throat. “In my village. I can’t believe they didn’t see us when they exited the inn. Save me from fools in love.”
Kate gave him a dirty look.
He winked. “Not you, Kate. Feel free to fall in love with me at any time.”
“I think not,” she said tartly.
“You wound me, Kate, you really do.”
He knew he looked anything but wounded as she prodded him toward the door, but something tightened in his chest.
“I’m not sure how you think we are going to solve this murder when you aren’t willing to engage in a little eavesdropping.”
“Oh, but we don’t need to indulge in eavesdropping, Kate. Don’t you know who the guilty parties are yet? It’s quite simple. But on to the journal, now there’s a puzzle.”
She pushed him inside.
They found Freewater in the common room upstairs along with Nickford, Desmond, Tiegs, Olivia, and Francine. The last four were playing cards at the round table, and Freewater was furiously scribbling in a book at the maple desk. Nickford was puttering around the fireplace, alternately poking about with the tools and taking measurements of the courtesy screen. Kate had no idea what he was doing, but hoped that he didn’t decide to abscond with the screen too. She was quite unlikely to keep her disguise if someone happened upon her using the chamber pot.
Tiegs’s two thugs were nowhere to be seen.
Desmond shot Christian a poisonous glare as Christian headed straight for Freewater’s corner.
She made it over in time to hear Christian ask so quietly that the other occupants in the room would have to strain to hear, “Have you recovered your journal, Freewater?”
Freewater looked up from his book, thoroughly distressed. “No, blast it. I haven’t so much as seen a book nearing its description. I need that book.”
His voice sounded desperate in the extreme.
“We are still looking for it. Hopefully we will have better news for you soon.” Christian shrugged nonchalantly.
“You get your head straight from your arse yet, Black?”
Kate groaned as Desmond’s narrowed eyes pierced Christian.
“Your mother was quite accommodating the other day with both, thanks Desmond.”
Desmond lunged from his seat, and only Tiegs succeeded in holding him from Christian’s throat.
Christian shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, such a temper. You should really rein it in. Wouldn’t want to give someone the impression that you are capable of murder, would you?”
“I’ll get you, Black! Just you wait! After I deal with that pansy Lake, it will be your head on the platter.”
Christian lazily stretched his fingers. “Have a tendre for Mr. Lake, do you? I’m not sure he’s interested in you, Desmond.”
Desmond’s struggles renewed with force. “I’ll kill you! You’re a dead man, Black.”
“Oh, Desmond, promises, promises.”
Christian strolled from the room, and Kate hurried after him until they were inside their own room.
“You really shouldn’t bait him, Christian. I know you like to pretend you are a Runner and above the law, but he could really hurt you.”
“Is that concern, Kate? I’m touched.”
His acerbic tone set her off. “You are a rude, insufferable man. Why do you taunt him? You are no better than Janson, if you do!”
Christian looked like a bored nobleman, filled with ennui. “Donald Desmond talks and talks. That is the type of man he is. Will he actually do anything? No. He’s all bluster and bravado. And as for being above the law, Desmond can’t touch me.”
“That is a silly statement.”
“Most of my statements are.”
She frowned at him. “What is wrong with you? You seem different all of a sudden.”
“We should have found Freewater’s journal by now. That should be my main priority.” The last sentence was muttered, but she heard him clearly.
“What? You are concerned about Freewater’s journal when a man was murdered?”
He waved a hand. “The servants did it. Does it really matter how and so forth? The reason why is quite clear.”
Her mouth dropped. “So that’s it? You are just going to—to let it be? Just be half—half-assed about it?”
He shrugged, his eyes dull. It made her angrier than she cared to reason why.
“Well, you can’t. You promised me, and those people downstairs, that you would do this. Don’t your promises mean anything?”
A dark look ran across his features. “Yes, that is exactly the point,” he snapped.
“Well, you aren’t very well proving it.”
He pointed a finger at her. “I don’t need this from you. I’ve had enough guilt and finger pointing to last a lifetime. Your opinion means nothing,” he said viciously.
Her mouth dropped in shock. And hurt. She couldn’t help the hurt, and her eyes lowered so that she could gather herself before meeting his again.
His face twisted. “Damn it to hell.” He picked up a brush from the side table and threw it across the room. It smacked the wall and clattered to the floor. His back was to her. Deep breaths shuddered along his frame.
Kate was frozen in place.
He breathed harshly and slammed his palm against the tabletop. “He will never leave me in peace.”
She stayed silent until he finally turned around and looked at her. He made no move to approach her, and for that she was glad.
His eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Kate.”
The words were given freely, but even so she had a feeling they were not often said.
“That was very bad-tempered of me. Ghosts from the past.” His mouth curved into a far from amused smile. “Bad form of me to take them out on you.”
She nodded, not knowing what to say, but feeling the icy grip of the past few minutes loosen around her heart.
“Apology accepted.”
“I do value your opinion,” he said softly. “Very much. I won’t give up on solving Janson’s death, though I think you will not like what we find.”
“Why do you say that?” She sat down in her chair as he paced the floor, but without the restless agitation of before.
“Webs within webs. You are looking for justice. I don’t think we will find it in the guilty parties.”
“You do not believe we should seek justice and prosecute Janson’s murderer or murderers?”
“I think it is more complicated than that. I know that you are involved in this hunt because you are compensating for something, Kate. I don’t know what troubles you, but I’m familiar enough with the motive to notice it in another.” He gave a self-deprecating smirk.
“My father always used to say that life is complicated,” she muttered.
“Funny. Mine used to say failure was complicated. He was always very adamant that my life would be complicated.”
A dark look passed across his face again, and she had the feeling that he wasn’t completely happy to have shared that memory with her. She was thus surprised to find him taking the seat across from her at their small table and reaching across the top for her hand. Instead of his usual brash manner of taking her hand with a smirk and no apology, he waited for her. She moved her hand into his, and relief showed on his face.
Any remaining ice melted. That Christian was a bit brash was undeniable. That he was also smart enough to realize the consequences and modify his behavior was a relief. Father would have called him a hotheaded intellectual. His persona was cool and carefree, but the intense boiling underneath the crafted exterior was hot and seething. Kate had a feeling that not many people saw the molten lava flowing within.
She squeezed his fingers lightly and was rewarded in return with a gentle stroke under her palm.
“I like to think that those things no longer bother me. I usually don’t let them.”
She nodded, but there wasn’t much she could say. He hadn’t confided in her about the journal, and she had only bare crumbs about what formed his shield. It was amazing how little she knew of him. She had no reason to trust him, and had no idea why she actually did trust him. But there it was.
“Sometimes it takes several attempts before you get something right,” she said softly.
He smiled. It was a small grin, but genuine. “I suppose that is the crux of the problem. Second chances have always been quite rare.”
She let him interlock their fingers. “You aren’t a failure because of a setback; the important thing is to keep moving forward and not allow the tide to pull you under.”
He looked at her strangely. “I thought you were from the Midlands?”
She nodded. “Father was originally from the seaside and into shipping when he was younger. Hence a lot of seaworthy sayings”—she leaned in—“and language.”
He laughed, and she smiled in return. It felt good. She hadn’t talked of her father in weeks. She could barely make it past the chimes, although in the last few days she had been having increasingly better success during the day. She was only losing perspective at the noon and midnight chimes and when her mind shut down for sleep. Maybe she too was making progress.
