Chapter 15
James
James broke into a run the instant the scream cut through the air, but when he recognized the sound as Kate’s, cold dread seized his chest. He rounded the corner of the inn, mud slipping beneath his boots.
Relief flooded him at the sight of Kate standing there, then faltered when he saw her pale face and Arthur clinging to her skirts.
“Kate, what . . .” His words caught as he followed her gaze to the trees. A body.
Unwelcome memories assailed him, threatening his composure.
He willed his racing heart to calm. He forced his attention back to Kate, striding toward her.
The thought that she had been the one to find it turned his stomach.
His gaze swept over her and the boy, searching for injury.
“You’re safe, Arthur,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended, giving the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
He wrapped his arms around Kate, pulling her fiercely into his chest. She leaned in, holding him tight as she clutched the back of his coat. He should draw back but found he couldn’t. She fit against him too well, as though she had always belonged there.
“Lord Brenton, are you gonna do something ’bout Mr. Ashcombe?” Arthur asked.
He glanced at the boy without releasing Kate, glad her trembling had eased. “You know who this is?”
“Yes, sir. He has been eating his meals with us.” Arthur peered over his shoulder at the body and shivered, Leo calm in his arms and licking his hand. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
James had seen death many times as an agent. It seemed to be unavoidable, but familiarity did not make it easier, especially now with Kate standing within reach of it. As much as he wanted to keep her near him, duty demanded he move.
He took a small step back from Kate but did not let go of her completely.
He needed to hear her voice tell him she was well before he left her.
“Kate,” he said, smoothing back a tendril of her hair caught in the morning breeze.
“Would you like to return to the inn? Tess and Arthur’s mother can sit with you while I attend to this. ”
Kate finally raised her eyes, now flashing with anger. “How could—” She choked on a sob, covering her mouth. “How could someone do this to a kind old man?”
“It might have been an accident. There will be an inquiry.” He knew the words held no comfort, but they were all he had to offer.
“No, this was no accident. The blood . . .” Her voice trailed. She clutched the ends of her cloak together.
Peters and several servants had followed him around the corner, horror stopping them a few paces away. He signaled for them to stay back. The body needed to remain undisturbed.
He settled an arm around Kate’s shoulders and held out his other hand to Arthur. “Come,” he murmured. “We will find your mother and get you both by the fire.” He guided them toward the inn, where Tess and Mrs. Grant were already hurrying toward them.
James leaned toward Kate. “I hope to convince the magistrate to let us leave for Dover today, though he may have questions for you.”
He studied her face, relieved to see some color had returned to her cheeks, though her sadness had hardened into anger.
Kate cast her eyes heavenward, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“I’ll answer any questions he has. Whatever it takes to find the killer.
But I don’t understand. Mr. Ashcombe was a kind man, a retired merchant captain.
Who would harm him?” She didn’t wait for an answer before joining Arthur, his mother, and Tess, who beckoned her to follow them into the inn.
Mr. Ashcombe had been a ship’s captain? James tucked away that detail for later examination. The innkeeper, Kate’s coachman, and the inn’s stablemaster joined him at the inn door, forming a loose circle to decide what must be done.
“My lord,” the innkeeper said, “I hope you understand my wish to keep this matter quiet. Talk of murder would do terrible harm to the inn. If you would assist us in setting things to rights, I would be most grateful.”
James gave Peters a decisive nod. “The lady and I will remain until matters are well in hand. Is the local magistrate on this side of the river?”
“Yes, my lord. Only just down the road.”
“Send for him immediately.” He turned to Jones and the stablemaster. “Has anyone been in the yard or near the body?”
“No, my lord,” Jones replied. “The yard was empty when I prepared Lady Katherine’s carriage.”
The stablemaster added, “I’ve been awake since before dawn. Your party was the first out of the inn, and no new guests have arrived this morning.” He scratched his head. “Though . . . the gentleman who arrived yesterday seems to have left before dawn. His horse is gone from the stables.”
“I remember the gentleman,” Peters said. “Favored one leg a little. Paid to sleep in the stables, same as half the men here, but I never caught his name in all the chaos.”
James took note of the detail without comment. He met the eyes of each man in turn. “We must keep word from spreading to prevent the other guests from panicking. Can I count on your discretion?” he asked, letting his voice ring with authority. A round of nods answered him.
“Good.” James turned away. “I need to examine the body. Please send the magistrate to me the moment he arrives.”
As James turned, a balding guest stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, my lord . . . is that Mr. Ashcombe?”
James regarded him steadily. “The magistrate will answer any questions when he arrives. For now, please return inside the inn and say nothing that might alarm the other guests.”
The stranger swallowed. “Poor soul. Said he was waiting for the mail coach. Bound for Dover, I think.”
James stilled. Dover? Given the town’s proximity, many of the inn’s occupants were likely headed there. It could be a coincidence, but he had learned over the years there were precious few of those.
James gave a curt nod before turning back toward the trees, damp leaves clinging to his boots. The timing was abominable, but his rank and duty to the Crown demanded he remain. He drew close to the body, noticing details he had missed in his urgency to see Kate safe.
The mud-covered boots. The ripped woolen coat. The knife wound above the heart. The lifeless eyes staring at the heavens.
He returned to the wound. He bent low and went still.
No signs of a struggle. The careful angle. The calculated placement.
This was no impulsive act or clumsy killing by a desperate thief. This was the work of someone with precision and purpose. Someone who had killed before.
He knelt down, one knee sinking into the damp leaves, and closed the man’s eyes.
He bowed over his raised knee, resting his brow against his fist. Once again, he had arrived to find death already waiting.
He was engulfed by the helplessness, the failure of it all.
He did not know Mr. Ashcombe, yet his death pressed on the old wound.
A cold realization struck him. Whoever killed Ashcombe might have seen Kate outside in the dark last night before he arrived. His failure to be there had left her exposed.
Desperation, hot and hollow, twisted through him.
He cursed under his breath, the sound lost in the damp air.
He had told himself that holding Kate at a distance, keeping her ignorant of the dangerous world he moved through, would keep her out of harm’s way.
But it had not. It had only left him blind to what she knew, where she went, and what danger was already gathering around her.
Kate had become the one distraction he could not master and the one he could not afford.
She unsettled every careful plan, every disciplined instinct.
Near her, his judgment shifted, and everything narrowed into a single consuming purpose.
He must protect her. But if he lost command of himself, even briefly, he would fail her. As he had failed Henry.
Distance had only left her more vulnerable. Keeping her close was the only option left.
He could not keep her entirely ignorant or entirely shut out. But he could keep her close enough to guard her and limit how much of the shadows she saw.
A figure approached on horseback, likely the magistrate. He straightened, brushing dirt from his gloves. There was no time to dwell on his thoughts. He would need to offer his assistance, but then he and Kate were leaving for Dover as quickly as he could manage it.
The smell of salt and sea reached James long before the rooftops of Dover came into view. The port town was the closest point to France, making it a fortified gateway to Europe crowded with travelers, troops, and every manner of shipped goods.
He pulled back on Apollo’s reins as they entered the main thoroughfare, drawing level with Kate’s carriage. He would have preferred to travel beside her, but after the horrors of the morning, vigilance demanded he watch their surroundings.
Their party pulled up to The Fox & Raven, a small, reputable inn, its dark wooden siding worn but sturdy. James knew the place well and had sent word ahead requesting rooms so that they would not have to stay near the docks, where raucous sailors and men of ill repute gathered at all hours.
He dismounted and left Apollo in the care of a groom before opening the carriage door. Kate placed her hand in his as she alighted. He was pleased to see her color had returned. She caught sight of the weathered inn sign, and a small laugh escaped her.
“Do you object to my choice of inn? We can go elsewhere if you are opposed to this one.”
She stopped him with a reassuring smile. “No, this is perfectly fine. Thank you, my lord.”
He turned to help Tess down the carriage steps while the driver unloaded Kate’s trunks. James surveyed their surroundings before offering Kate his arm.
“I am sure you wish to settle in your room and rest for the afternoon.”
She shook her head. “The journey was short. I am only in need of a few minutes to refresh myself, and then Tess and I would like to explore the city.”