Deadly Curious

by Cindy Anstey

  “Yes, you’re right. It was not a wasted visit or time. Perhaps I was just wishing, hoping, for more.” Sophia shook her head, looking skyward. “I keep expecting the solution to jump out at us. Sooner than later would be nice—time is of the essence.”

  “We also learned—I did, at least—that I quite like having someone with me during an investigation, someone with a different perspective. Your questions are different from those I would pose. If we thought in a like manner, it would be redundant.”

  Sophia’s heart beat a little faster and she smiled, though it was weak. “You think I’m contributing?”

  “You are indeed. Oh. What is this now?”

  Jeremy guided the horses to the side of the road. Sophia lifted her head, looking past the brim of her bonnet and over the horses’ heads.

  Charlotte Dewey, dressed in ruffles and pink, strode purposely down the road toward them, a basket in her hand swinging as she walked. She paused every few feet to look into the bushes beside her. At one point, Charlotte looked over her shoulder. After each pause, she continued on with more speed, until she was nearly running toward them.

  “Good day, Sophia, Mr. Fraser,” Charlotte said, a tad winded. She approached Jeremy’s side, leaning on the side rail. “How opportune. I hope you can help me.” Her voice warbled, and she seemed apprehensive.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Dewey?” Jeremy asked, sounding concerned.

  Sophia wanted to smack his arm to bring him to his senses. Charlotte was breathless—too much so for a wander down a country lane, even at a quick-footed pace. It was clearly all an act, bent on securing his sympathies. And it seemed to be working.

  “I’m delivering a ham.” Charlotte gestured needlessly to a chunk of meat in her basket. “To the Priddys.” She pointed to a spot behind them. “Up the next road.”

  Sophia frowned and shook her head. “There is no other road up there, Charlotte. We’re coming from that direction.” She smoothed her skirt across her knees for want of something else to do. “Just the Hummel place at the top of Savor Road.”

  Charlotte lifted her chin. “The path is there, on the other side of that boulder. I’ve been on it before. The road, I mean, not the boulder…” She laughed weakly. “It’s hidden by the grasses. They’re tall at this time of year. Anyway, I’m to deliver the ham. Mrs. Priddy won it at the fair but had a parcel of children with her, and I offered to bring it up after I finished my time at the charity booth.

  “So, here I am. And … I keep hearing noises in the bushes. There are no creatures in the woods—at least, none that I have spotted so far. And yet, I hear noises. Rustling, as if someone is moving around in the shrubbery behind me but trying to stay concealed.” She took a deep breath and shuddered dramatically. “Could I get a ride with you to the Priddy farm? It wouldn’t take you more than ten minutes out of your way.”

  Jeremy glanced at Sophia, and they both looked down at the tiny space between them.

  “Apologies, Miss Dewey,” Jeremy said. “We have no room for a third person. However, I could lead the horses, and then the three of us could walk to the Priddys together.”

  Sophia shifted in her seat, swiveling her legs to the end of the bench. Before Jeremy could protest, she jumped down.

  “Or,” she said, “you take Charlotte and I’ll walk back to Allenton. The distance is not great.” Sophia gestured Charlotte toward the empty seat.

  “Oh no, Sophia, I couldn’t do that,” Charlotte said … even as she rushed round the back of the carriage. She leaped up without being aided and made herself comfortable on the newly vacated bench. Tucking her arm around Jeremy’s elbow, she bestowed on him a surprisingly flirtatious smile. She didn’t even glance in Sophia’s direction. “I think Miss Thompson’s solution quite superior.”

  Sophia chuckled, secretly pleased with the way Jeremy studiously stared straight ahead. He clearly didn’t appreciate the exchange of passengers; it erased any shadow of jealousy that might have sprung up from the cozy picture of Charlotte clinging to Jeremy’s arm.

  “Poor Mrs. Priddy would be quite overwhelmed should a party of three arrive to deliver her one ham,” Sophia remarked lightly.

  Charlotte leaned toward Sophia, still holding Jeremy’s arm. “There’s someone in the woods, someone sneaking around. I keep hearing noises.”

  “So you said.” Sophia shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant when, in fact, she was beginning to wonder if Charlotte really was afraid. “We could all return to Allenton and I’ll have a footman deliver the ham.”

  “No, no.” Charlotte flapped her free hand toward Sophia. “Mrs. Priddy needs her ham. She has eight children, you know.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t know the Priddys at all.” Sophia stepped away from the carriage and looked past Charlotte to Jeremy. “I’ll see you back at Allenton,” she said.

  “You don’t need to walk. Here, take the carriage,” he said to Sophia, ignoring Charlotte’s squawk of protest. He started to shift, but Charlotte clung to him, preventing him from getting down.

  His face grew red, though with discomfort or anger, Sophia was not sure which. He looked down at Charlotte and spoke in a clipped tone. “If you would unhand me, Miss Dewey, I would give the carriage to Miss Thompson, and the two of you ladies could deliver the ham. I’ll walk back to the main road. And I’ll ensure there are no murderous villains in the shrubbery as I go.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Fraser. Please, I feel so much safer when you are near. And you, too, Sophia. Come, you can sit on my lap.”

  Sophia laughed, caught Jeremy’s puzzled glance, and turned it into a cough. “Thank you, Charlotte, but I would rather walk back to Allenton. I assure you, there is no one in the woods.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Grave Concern

  Sophia watched the carriage as a reluctant Jeremy turned the horses to trot back up the road.

  Once alone, she leaned her ear toward the side of the road and listened: birdsongs—lovely, and not the least mysterious or intimidating … a rustle of wind … the buzz of insects. Nothing untoward, no sound of stealth. Charlotte was being overly sensitive.

  Sophia snorted in derision.

  And yet, with no conversation to distract her, Sophia’s uneasiness began to build with every step that increased the distance between her and Jeremy. The situation was now critical; if she and Jeremy didn’t solve these murders soon, he would be forced back to London and she to Welford Mills, both having failed. How would anyone be convinced that she would make a career as a Bow Street Runner after having such a dismal start?

  Not only would her hopes and dreams be in ruins, but she would also no longer have Jeremy’s company. They had so much in common and shared the same ideals; to find such like company seemed near impossible. Would they have found each other only to be torn apart?

  No, it would not be. She would not allow it.

  Organizing the thoughts in her head, Sophia started down the list of clues and suspects, beginning with Andrew’s death and ending with Bertha’s. Certainties were practically nonexistent.

  Except one.

  The murderer had no remorse—no limits and no boundaries. The mix of lost souls, the murder victims, were from all walks of life and social classes, no age similarities or personality types between them.

  What Sophia needed was the purpose—what the murderer hoped to accomplish. What tied them all together in a neat bow in the murderer’s mind?

  Wiping a drop of perspiration from the nape of her neck, Sophia undid the ribbon below her chin and pulled off her bonnet. Now she could feel the sun directly on her head and allow the warmth to soak into her, hopefully encouraging the development of ideas. Rocks crunched under her boots and the thatched roof of a cottage up ahead peeked through the branches and leaves.

  Sophia began to hum; it was a contemplative, tuneless hum that had nothing to do with music. Perhaps a different linear direction would reveal an inconsistency.

  First, the herbalist’s murderer was a woman—o
r someone dressed as a woman. A local, not a random stranger off the street killing on a whim. The person was likely associated with the Waverleys, as all the murders were associated with Allenton Park. “Accidents” in the manor itself—toys left in dangerous places, chocolates poisoned, shots fired through the conservatory window—all suggested a knowledge of the persons in and about Allenton. The book of poisons and the recipe she’d found had been in the manor library. And where did the poachers come into the picture, with their snares around Andrew’s feet and in Bertha’s larder?

  It had to have been someone at Allenton.

  Deep in concentration, Sophia heard a rustle in the bushes beside her. She stopped mid-thought and slowly turned her head.

  Three pairs of eyes stared back.

  Sophia stood still—very, very still—and breathed deeply. Her heart started to race and yet, she still did not move. She didn’t want to startle the staring persons; she would never catch them if they decided to run.

  Charlotte had been right; she had been followed, and the owners of those three sets of eyes were now following Sophia.

  They had been stealthy, but not stealthy enough. Sophia had heard the snap of branches and the crackle of dried leaves; she had seen the shadows change shape and followed the thump of footsteps mere yards from where she stood.

  She should have been nervous or even scared; wisdom dictated that a young woman by herself on a deserted road should be in want of security—but she wasn’t scared. She was going to be a Bow Street Detective; she would have to be resilient, strongminded, and not easily unnerved. Perhaps it was experience, little enough though it might be, that told her stealth wasn’t necessarily a sign of villainy, merely of secrecy. Also, this trio was clearly not skilled in furtive, quiet movements. A good sign.

  “Well?” Sophia said to the shrub. “What do you want?” She waited as the eyes blinked and grew wide in surprise. “You’re not very well hidden. I know you’re there.”

  The shrub remained silent and still.

  “Fine.” Sophia dropped into a squat, grabbed a handful of pebbles off the road, and stood again. She pitched a small rock with moderate force into the bushes, then another with more force.

  She heard a soft grunt. “I have more where those came from. Step out at once or I’ll pitch them all at you!” To show that she meant what she said, Sophia raised her arm to toss another rock.

  “All right, all right. Don’t throw any more, they sting like the devil,” a male voice said.

  “Serves you right for following a poor defenseless young lady around,” she retorted.

  The bush shook as it disgorged three figures. They were swathed in long cloaks, browns and green to blend in with the vegetation, and they clutched their hoods, trying to pull them over their faces.

  “Didn’t feel defenseless to me,” one of the men muttered under his breath.

  “Just checking on you, miss,” one of the men said in a falsely high voice. “Making sure you be fine.”

  Sophia looked down at his boots sticking out from under the cloak; they were brown with black toes. It took her only a moment to recall the last time she had seen those rather odd boots.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Phillips. But staying hidden and trying to avoid detection does not fill me with confidence in your benevolence.”

  “I’m not Mr. Phillips,” the man said, his voice even higher than before.

  “I recognize your boots, Mr. Phillips. Come, gentlemen, you must be hot. Take your cloaks off and then you can tell me what this is all about.”

  Sophia dropped her rocks back to the ground and dusted off her hands. Slowly the men started to tug at their cloaks.

  “Just trying to understand what was going on, Miss Thompson,” Glen Phillips said as he dropped his cloak to the ground; his face was red and sweat dripped down his cheeks.

  “What do you mean?” Sophia watched the other men as they flung off the heavy material of their disguises. She did not recognize the other two.

  “We wanted to make sure you were safe,” Phillips explained. “There’s lots of nasty things going on hereabouts and we didna want you gettin’ yourself into any kinda trouble.”

  “And we didn’t want to be blamed for it if ya did,” a tall bearded man with protruding ears said. “Best we know what’s goin’ on so as we can defend ourselves.”

  “That’s a rather weak excuse for frightening a young lady walking down a road minding her own business.” Sophia leaned forward toward the two unknowns. “And who might you be?”

  “Brent Hayter, miss.”

  “Leonard Priddy,” the last man said softly, as if not really wishing to be identified.

  With a nod of her head Sophia indicated for Hayter go on.

  “You haven’t been minding your own business, miss. You been investigating. We all know that, and now the town is full of Runners. It’s just a matter a time before they come after the woodsmen an’ say we was the ones what did Mr. Andrew in.”

  Sophia shook her head. Woodsmen? No, indeed. They were poachers. And with that realization, Sophia’s confidence evaporated. She had always had a sneaking suspicion that the local poachers were involved in these dire deeds, and now they were following her. She pursed her lips, lifted her chin, and glared with disapproval.

  Clearly unaware that he should have been intimidated, Phillips continued. “We been keeping an eye on the family since Mr. Stacks were killed. We knew the wind of blame were headin’ in our direction. And now more Runners have been called in. Whatcha do that for? They’s just going to muddy the waters.”

  “I did not call them in, and neither did Mr. Fraser. Bow Street, in their infinite wisdom, decided that extra help was needed. Also, Andrew was found with snares wrapped around his feet,” Sophia said with a shrug. “Thinking that poachers might have been involved is not a stretch of the imagination.”

  “An accident—”

  “Hardly, Mr. Hayter. Andrew was stabbed.”

  “Missed his footing, stabbed his-self.”

  “A knife was not found with him,” Sophia said. “What did he do, pitch the weapon into the woods as he lay dying? That’s not in the least logical.”

  “Hunters wouldna done him in. Waverley were one of us.” Hayter scuffed his feet and looked up at Sophia from under his deep brows. “He knew where the traps were.”

  This gave Sophia pause. “One of you? Andrew?”

  “Waverley was always up for a lark,” Phillips explained. “An’ that included hunting. He’d meet us in the clearing whenever we had a full moon.”

  “Andrew was a poach—a woodsman?”

  Her cousin had been wild and flouted authority, but would he have gone so far as to befriend the local hoodlums? Did he have so little to do and so little sense of responsibility?

  “Andrew Waverley weren’t a poacher, miss,” Phillips replied. “This be his family land—he could hunt to his content.”

  “Yes, he could. But you could not,” Sophia said. “Not legally, anyway.”

  “It were a caper to him, miss,” Hayter chimed in, “an’ he gave us what he caught or shot—helped feed our families. No harm to no one. So, like I said, Waverley, he knew where the traps were. He wouldna stepped in one unless…”

  “Unless he were chased into it,” Priddy finished. He stared at Sophia with squinted eyes and a sour line to his mouth. “You want answers? Ya shoulda been talking to Waverley’s friends. To us.”

  “But I didn’t know about you, did I? I didn’t know that Andrew had found mates in…”

  Sophia stopped before she said anything that the men might find insulting. These men were not of the same social class as Andrew and would rarely bump into one another, or so Sophia had assumed. She should not have presumed that Andrew’s friends only ran in the same elevated circle. Lesson learned.

  Sophia groaned inwardly, hiding her frustration with a smile. “I believe Mr. Fraser, the Bow Street Detective, spoke to some of Andrew’s friends,” she said, hoping Jeremy had n
ot been as select in his interviews as she had.

  “Just the toffs.” Priddy waved his hand dismissively.

  Phillips turned on Priddy. “Baxter’s not a toff! His family’s farmed for decades—”

  Sophia interrupted what appeared to be an old argument. “Principal Officer Fraser is quite determined to find Andrew’s killer, and you need not worry; there will be no false blame. You can feel comfortable talking to him. He’ll want to speak with everyone.”

  “He’ll take us in fer poaching,” Hayter protested.

  “No, he will not,” Sophia snapped. Still, she knew their fears were valid. Had they been dealing with Constable Marley, matters would have been quite different. But it was Jeremy they were talking about—an honorable, trustworthy young gentleman. “He just took Miss Charlotte up to the Priddy place to deliver a prize ham.” She half turned, facing the upper road. “Your family home?” Sophia asked over her shoulder, and when no answer was forthcoming, she turned to look at the young man who had introduced himself as Leonard Priddy.

  Priddy’s brow folded tightly over his pointed nose, and he scratched at his head. “Don’t remember anything about a ham.”

  “A different branch of the Priddy family, perhaps?” Sophia asked. Her heartbeat started to accelerate and she swallowed with difficulty, despite being certain that there was nothing worthy of alarm in the young man’s words. She was jumping at shadows.

  “No other Priddys ’round here. Besides, we live ’cross town.” He pointed down the hill toward West Ravenwood and the collection of buildings in the distance. “No one up there.” He used his head to nod in the direction. “Just the Hummels an’ the old church.”

  “Old church?”

  “St. Michael’s—been a ruin for an age,” Priddy said. “Not much left, just the arches and the bell tower. There’s a path up there, near the big boulder. Hard to see from here, it’s almost grown over.”

  “Boulder?” she squeaked. “No other cottage? No path? Are you certain?”