Winterset

by Candace Camp

  “The girl’s fiancé,” he replied. “But when Dawson was killed, they let him out of jail. He couldn’t have done that one.”

  “But no one else?”

  “I never heard that there was.”

  Anna looked at him with narrowed eyes. She could not shake the feeling that her old friend was holding something back from her. “Did you never suspect who it was?”

  “I had no way of knowing,” he replied. “I didn’t spend much time worrying about it. It was harvest, and I had a lot of work to do. And then the murders stopped, so…”

  “Isn’t it peculiar, though? How the killer just stopped after two? Why did someone kill those two and no one else?”

  “Mayhap he left the area,” Perkins suggested. “More tea?” He lifted the pot.

  Anna nodded, with a little sigh. When she had thought of Perkins, she had been so sure that he would be able to tell her something useful. He must have seen her disappointment, for he reached over and patted her hand, a more familiar gesture than he would normally have made.

  “Don’t worry about it now, Miss Anna.” He smiled at her. “It was all a long time ago. Just let it lie.”

  “I can’t. What if there’s some connection to the present murders?”

  “Someone is imitating them, that’s all. Finding out what happened back then, even if you could do it, wouldn’t tell you who’s doing it now.” He stood up. “By the way, seeing that you’re going back to Holcomb Manor, would you take this liniment to the head groom? I promised to make him up a new bottle.”

  “Of course.” Anna accepted the change of conversation, even though she could not understand why Perkins seemed so reluctant to talk about the matter. Perhaps, since he’d known the farmer who had died, the incidents held too many bad memories for him.

  She left a few minutes later and drove home, mulling over her conversation with Perkins. When she stopped the horse in front of her house, she wished that she had left Nick’s cottage several minutes later. The squire’s carriage was in front of their house.

  There was no way she could sneak in without being seen, so Anna put on the best smile she could and walked into the drawing room. Kit, looking rather beleaguered, glanced up at Anna’s entrance and smiled with relief.

  “Anna, dear.” He stood up, giving her his seat in a straight-back chair positioned between Mrs. Bennett and her daughter, Felicity.

  Mrs. Bennett beamed at Anna, and Felicity giggled for no apparent reason. Anna saw that they had brought Miles with them this time. He was slouching on the sofa beside his sister, looking bored, but he rose at Anna’s entrance and bowed deeply over her hand.

  “Oh, pray don’t leave us, Sir Christopher, just because your sister has returned,” Mrs. Bennett said with a little laugh. “We should love to chat with both of you. Isn’t that right, Felicity?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Felicity replied inanely, letting out another giggle.

  “I am sorry. I offer you my deepest apologies, but I have a great deal of work waiting for me at my desk,” Kit told her. “I am afraid I must leave Anna to entertain you.” He left the room as quickly as politeness would allow.

  “Such a responsible gentleman,” Mrs. Bennett said warmly, with an approving smile at Kit’s back. “You see, Miles, how he attends to his estate. One day your father will no longer be with us, and you will have to assume his duties. You could have no better model than Sir Christopher.”

  Miles cast a dark look at his mother. Anna suspected that this was an argument he had heard more than once from her.

  Mrs. Bennett turned to Anna, leaning forward confidingly to say, “I cannot get Miles even to accompany his father round the estate. That boy.” She cast an affectionately exasperated glance at him. “He would rather work on his poetry. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  “Mother, I am sure that Miss Holcomb doesn’t want to hear about our family matters,” he said, with an agonized look at Anna.

  “He’s right,” Felicity agreed unexpectedly. “It’s horribly boring, poetry.”

  A flush stained Miles’ cheeks, and he shot his sister a furious glance. Anna hastily put in, “I am rather fond of poetry myself.”

  “Of course you are,” Mrs. Bennett said, smiling at her. “Such a smart girl you are. La, Felicity and I are such featherheads.” She said this happily, as if such a character trait would endear them to Anna.

  Anna murmured some response, not sure exactly what was appropriate to this remark. Mrs. Bennett, however, did not notice her hesitation. She was already plowing ahead with her typically one-sided conversation.

  “I am sure you are sorry to see Lady Kyria go,” she said. “Such a lovely woman—and not at all high in the instep, as one would think she would be. Wouldn’t you say so?”

  Anna had barely parted her lips to answer before Mrs. Bennett went on, “And her husband—such a charming gentleman, even if he is an American. I was so surprised. He seemed quite genteel.”

  “I hear that civilization has reached their shores,” Anna replied dryly.

  Mrs. Bennett gave her a puzzled look, then chuckled. “Oh, yes, I see. You are joking. You are such a clever girl, I always say. But you know, dear…” She leaned forward, lowering her voice confidentially, “Gentlemen don’t always wish a woman to be quite so clever.”

  “Mama…” Miles’ word was a groan.

  “Now, hush, Miles. Miss Holcomb understands what I’m saying, don’t you, dear?”

  “Of course, ma’am,” Anna replied politely.

  Mrs. Bennett proceeded to rattle on in her usual way for some minutes, discussing everything from Lady Kyria’s party to the horror of the deaths—and the deplorable way they were cutting into the area’s social life—to the continued presence of Reed Moreland at Winterset, which she attributed, with an arch smile in Anna’s direction, to Anna’s own charms.

  It was a vast relief to Anna when the Bennetts finally left almost an hour later. She strolled down the hall to the door of her brother’s study and knocked, then stuck her head inside.

  “You are safe now. The Bennetts have gone.”

  Kit grinned somewhat sheepishly. “Are you very mad at me for abandoning you with them? They had been here almost half an hour already, with Mrs. Bennett urging that silly Felicity to talk, though she is able to do nothing but giggle, as far as I can tell.”

  “Yes, I think you are right.” Anna smiled back at him. “I know your limits were tested. That’s why I didn’t send for you to bid them farewell, even though Mrs. Bennett kept hinting broadly at it.”

  “You’re a dear.”

  Anna stayed for a few more minutes, discussing their respective days; then she went upstairs to dress for dinner. The evening meal was their usual quiet affair, with Kit and Anna talking companionably about this and that through the courses. It occurred to her that this would be the pattern of the rest of her life: visits with the neighbors, quiet meals with her brother, evenings spent in front of the fire with a book.

  She glanced at Kit. They had agreed three years ago that they could not marry, that it would be unfair to bring their strain of madness into an unsuspecting family. They would not have children who might someday succumb to the illness. It was not a bad life; there were others, Anna knew, who had made much greater sacrifices than they had. But there were times, like tonight, when the ache of it brought her close to tears.

  After the meal, Kit rode into the village for his weekly card game at the doctor’s house. Anna spent the evening catching up on her correspondence. However, she had difficulty keeping her mind from turning to Reed. She wondered what he was doing this evening, if he found his mind going to her no matter what he tried to concentrate on.

  He had been stunned by her news, that was clear—and angry because she had not told him the truth when she rejected his proposal. He had every reason to be angry, she told herself. It would doubtless have been easier for him to accept her rejection if he had known the real reason. Though he might have been sad, he would have realized th
at they could not marry. Finally, with a sigh, she put aside her paper and pen, and went upstairs to her bedroom.

  She felt bored and lonely and too restless to sleep. So she picked up the book she had been reading lately, but a few minutes of reading the same page convinced her to put it down. Finally she went to her secretary and lowered the front, then sat down to write.

  On the left side of the page, she listed all the things she knew about the old murders. On the right side, she listed all that she knew about the recent ones. It was not, she thought, a very impressive list. She drew lines connecting the items in each column that matched up. She looked at it for a few minutes. Still, no idea sparked in her head.

  She rose and crossed to the window, then stood for a few minutes looking out. The moon was only a sliver, and the landscape below lay largely in darkness. She looked up at the bright stars in the dark sky, and her mind drifted.

  Suddenly, sharp as a knife, fear lanced through her. Anna gasped and swung around, almost expecting to see something horrific behind her. There was nothing there, but the fear in her did not abate. Her chest was tight, as if steel bands had wrapped around it, and her breath was loud and harsh in her ears.

  Her vision began to blur, and she dropped down into a chair, her knees suddenly weak. She could feel the night air against her cheek; she was aware of a faint feeling of goodwill and a certain fuzzy-headedness. She saw a dark road stretching out in front of her, the moon and stars blocked out by the overarching trees. She saw the tangled branches of the trees moving gently in the evening breeze. Then, blindingly, pain burst in the back of her head and radiated through her skull, pitching her forward onto her knees on the floor.

  Kit!

  Anna pushed herself up onto her feet and ran to the door. “Kit!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Anna tore down the hall to her brother’s room, even though she knew he was not there. She threw open the door, not bothering to knock. The bedchamber was empty. She turned and pelted down the stairs, calling his name, and went to his study. It, too, was empty.

  Anna pressed her hands against her head. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly think. Oh, Reed! She wished desperately that Reed were here, that she could turn to him for help.

  “Miss? Is something the matter?” One of the footmen hurried toward her, drawn by her screaming of her brother’s name.

  Anna shoved aside her momentary weakness. “Have you seen Kit? Has he come home yet?”

  “Why, no, miss, he hasn’t. Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. I—I’m not sure.” Anna could not explain why she was so convinced that something had happened to her brother—or was about to happen. But she was certain of it, and she could not stand by and do nothing. “Go out to the stables and tell them to saddle my horse.”

  The man goggled. “At this time of night, miss?”

  “Yes! Don’t just stand there! I have to go to Kit!”

  “Yes, miss.” He nodded quickly and scurried off.

  Anna ran back to her room. She didn’t have time to change into her riding habit, but she could not ride in these evening slippers. She kicked them off and pulled on her boots as fast as she could, then grabbed her riding crop and dashed back downstairs.

  She raced across the yard to the stables, her heart pounding. There she found not only her mare, saddled, but a groom saddling another horse.

  The head groom was holding her mare’s reins, and he turned as Anna approached. “I’m going with you, miss,” he told her, his chin thrust forward stubbornly, as if he expected a fight.

  “Good,” Anna replied, taking the reins and letting him toss her up into the saddle. If Kit was hurt, she would need help, and Cooper was a good rider; he would not slow her down.

  “Shall I bring others?” Cooper asked.

  Anna hesitated. If she was wrong, they would doubtless think she was mad, but she could not worry about that now. “Tell them to bring round the carriage and follow. We’re riding into town. Kit may be…in trouble.”

  Cooper turned to the other groom, barking out a few quick orders, then mounted his horse. Anna was already turning her mare and heading down the driveway, going as fast as the dim light of the waning moon allowed.

  At the end of the driveway, she turned right onto the lane. Her mind had been working as she ran, and she thought she knew what stretch of road she had seen in her vision. Not long before the lane ended at the larger road into town, there was a stretch where the trees formed a long canopy. She was sure that that was what she had seen right before the blinding pain had exploded in her head. She didn’t understand how she had known that Kit was the object of her vision; she had not seen him. But she was certain that it was about him; she felt it in every fiber. She hoped it had not happened already. She hoped she was not too late.

  Cooper did not waste any time trying to question her. He simply kept up with her, his eyes searching the road in front of them intently. Finally, up ahead of them, Anna saw the beginning of the rows of trees. It looked almost like a tunnel, the road disappearing into its black maw.

  Her heart was in her throat as they drew closer. It was difficult to see, and she had to slow her horse as they rode into the deeper darkness created by the trees arching overhead.

  There, halfway through the “tunnel,” stood a horse, moving about restlessly, his saddle empty, reins dragging the ground. Only a few feet away from him, a dark shape was stretched out on the ground. A figure crouched over the body on the ground, head bent down, a cloak spread wide around him.

  “Kit!” Anna screamed, and spurred her horse forward.

  The figure threw one quick glance over its shoulder. Anna had a glimpse of something both light and dark, not really a face, and then the creature scurried away, melting into the darkness at the side of the road.

  Anna pounded down the road, heedless of injury to herself or her horse, desperate to reach her brother. The groom sped after her. She reached the body on the ground and jumped down from her horse.

  “Kit!” She ran the last few feet to the figure and dropped to her knees beside him.

  It was Kit. The darkness beneath the canopy of trees was so thick that Anna had to lay a hand upon his back to see if he was breathing. Her own breath came out in a long sigh when she felt his back move against her hand.

  “He’s alive!”

  Cooper knelt on the other side of Kit. “Is he all right? What happened, miss?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked across her brother at him. “Did you see—”

  He gave a quick, emphatic nod. “I saw something. What was it?”

  “I—I think it was a person in a cloak.”

  “Should I go after ’im, miss?”

  Anna glanced into the darkness beyond the road, where trees and bushes clustered. “No. It’s too dark.”

  She wished she had thought to bring a lantern. She also wished she had brought a gun. She shivered as she remembered the figure she had seen bent over Kit.

  Anna leaned closer to her brother. “Kit?”

  He let out a moan, which relieved her a little. His hair was darkened with dirt, but then she realized with a gasp that it was not dirt that matted the side of his hair; it was blood.

  Quickly she reached under the hem of her skirt and grabbed a ruffle of her petticoat. “Do you have a knife?”

  “What? Oh, yes, miss.” Cooper dug in his pocket and produced a small clasp knife, which he opened and handed to her.

  Anna cut through the ruffle and ripped off a long piece of it. Folding the piece of cotton, she pressed it as gently as she could against Kit’s head.

  He stirred, moaning again.

  They heard the thud of horses’ hooves and looked up to see the carriage rattling toward them, the coachman, looking most unlike his usual dignified self in his shirtsleeves and suspenders, handling the reins. The footman Anna had spoken to earlier sat beside him, clinging to the seat for dear life as the vehicle rocked along.

  When the carriage rolled to
a stop a few feet away from them, the groom they had left behind sprang down from the rear of the carriage, where he had been standing, hanging on to a strap. The coachman climbed down from his high seat, bringing a lantern, and the footman followed him at a much slower pace.

  “Thank heavens you brought a lantern,” Anna exclaimed. “Bring it here, Gorman. Kit has been injured.”

  The coachman approached and held the lantern up over the scene. In the light, Anna could see that the only blood on Kit came from the wound on his head. She lifted the makeshift pad she had pressed against it. It was still difficult to see the exact nature of his wound, but the blood seemed to have stopped flowing.

  Quickly Anna and the groom felt along Kit’s arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken. Carefully, they turned him over. Anna breathed a sigh of relief when she saw no sign of blood on his chest, either.

  “Thank goodness. Let’s put him into the carriage and take him home. Cooper, ride into the village and get Dr. Felton, and tell him that Kit has been injured.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Cooper jumped back on his horse and took off as the other three men lifted Kit and carried him into the carriage. Getting him inside the vehicle was a difficult process, and Kit groaned, his eyes opening and staring blankly at them for a moment before closing again. Anna gave her horse to the groom to ride back to the Manor, and she got into the carriage with her brother. The ruffle she had torn off was now soaked in blood, so she tore off the remainder of it and held it against Kit’s head during the ride home.

  She took one of Kit’s hands with her other hand. It lay limply in her clasp. She wished that he would wake up. It seemed to her a very bad sign that he had not awakened. She had heard of head injuries from which one never awoke, simply lay in a sort of limbo somewhere between death and life. Fear welled up in her, threatening to overwhelm her. Anna thought again of Reed. What she wanted more than anything at the moment was to lean against him, to feel his strong arms go around her and hear the reassuring sound of his voice.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away. She had to be strong for Kit, she reminded herself. She could not give way to weakness. Reed was not with her. He would never be with her. She had lived the great majority of her life without him; she could live the rest of it the same way.