Chapter Twenty-Four
V erda accepted her cloak and gloves from Fletcher as Mr. Winfield, who was Mrs. Knagg’s polar opposite in every possible way, stood by watching. “Thank you, Fletcher. I shan’t be long. Mr. Winfield.”
“Miss Fairclough. Miss Fairclough.”
Verda clasped her cloak at the throat and turned.
Miss Docia tripped down the stairs, her steps dainty, infinitely feminine. Her windblown, golden locks, not at all in the first state-of-fashion, much-too-old-for-her, as was her norm. “Are you for your morning stroll, miss? Might I join you?”
With a quick smile, Verda indicated Docia’s hair. “Have you not been out already?”
Her hand flew to the loosed strands, red staining her cheeks, eyes flashing, mouth frowning. “That blasted Olive. I vow when Papa returns I’ll have him turning her out so quickly—well, she can forget any recommendation from me ,” she snapped. As if recalling who she stood near, Miss Docia glanced up, guilt-ridden eyes wide. “Er, forgive me, miss. She just makes me so angry.”
Verda inclined her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “Forgiven, my dear. Recognizing our actions is the first step in correcting them. Of course, you may accompany me.”
“Thank you, miss. My cloak, Fletcher,” she said with a sharpened edge.
Once more, Verda was forced to restrain an eyeroll to the heavens, instead waiting with undue patience for Fletcher to assist the impertinent chit with her cloak and for said chit to feel Verda’s eyes upon her.
It took only seconds for Docia’s body to still, then for her to slowly raise her eyes to Verda’s.
She was a bright child.
The girl blinked and, without a tear to be seen, shifted her focus to Fletcher. “Thank you for your assistance, Fletcher. Please forgive my brusqueness.” Her delivery was so sweet, Verda had to remember to clamp her mouth shut.
Verda smiled at the footman. “We’ll return soon,” she told him because she couldn’t envision more than twenty minutes alone with the girl without even Julius as a distraction. Verda took herself to task and vowed to make up for her insolence toward a young girl who was essentially alone, but for a sixteen-year-old maid for company.
With a shake of her head, Verda stepped under the portico. It was eye-opening as always with the cold air stealing her breath. The view never failed in reminding her she was alive and not trapped in a chamber with no food, water, or fire. They took the path to the forest with the wind whipping their cloaks.
“You walk this way every day?” Docia’s head was down, minding her steps. Or perhaps watching for twigs that might scratch the nice kid leather of her half-boots.
“Most days. The rain makes a walk difficult and snow virtually impossible. But I embrace the freedom it allots me.”
“It’s cold.”
Verda grinned. “Yes. But I love it.”
A delicate shiver went over the girl just as they reached the edge of the forest and the forked path. She stopped and peered at Verda. “Which way?”
The path to the left led along the cliffs and to the right, the open moors.
The ocean was irresistible, calming even, and Verda veered left, with the little princess following. They made their way over roots marring the path Verda had since learned to avoid.
“I was quite cross with you, you know,” her companion said.
“Oh?”
“My mother always called me ‘Lady Docia,’” she said softly. “I expect she believed I would marry a great lord someday. Eleanor did as well. I-I miss her, them.” The wispy tonality tugged at Verda.
She stopped and turned to the girl. “I owe you an apology, Miss Docia. I am not known for a tempestuous personality, as I consider myself most pragmatic. Something of late has apparently upset that balance.”
“Thank you, Miss Fairclough. I accept your apology.”
Verda grinned. “Excellent, my dear.” She turned and marched down the path. “Come now, the day is getting away from us.”
The cliffs were especially gusty, but oh, how she loved the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. There was something about the sight too. Its power, perhaps. No mere soul could escape such force on their own. Such ferocity had a way of reminding one of where one stood when it came to nature’s laws—
The air left Verda’s body in a harsh exhale and her body surged forward, breaking over the brink of the cliff.
“No!” The ear-piercing scream reached through.
A vortex of black spiraled through Verda in disorienting chaos. Seconds elapsed before she realized she was not flailing midair, but she lay flat on her stomach, her knees stinging with the force of the ground she’d skidded over. It took another moment to find the courage to open her eyes. She quickly closed them, her heart nearly leaping from her body. She couldn’t stay there, not with her head hanging over the edge, witnessing the death she’d just defied. The shock of that fact was sudden as common sense reared, piercing the thickness of her skull.
“Oh, Miss Fairclough. Dear heavens. Please, please don’t be dead. I’m sorry. I-I tripped.” Docia’s voice shook with panic. “Miss Fairclough?”
“I’m still alive, Lady Docia.” Her voice cracked and she rolled to her back, breathing a prayer of thanks for the hard ground now supporting her head. She opened her eyes and hauled in the heavy, damp air. It was nice to appreciate the low, dark clouds from this angle rather than from the rocks below. A low moan emitted from her. She mustn’t have suffered too greatly, as her humor remained intact. Either that or she was already dead and had entered purgatory and was awaiting the Almighty’s judgment.
No. Docia kneeled beside her, stark terror filling her eyes. It appeared genuine—she hadn’t time to manufacture tears.
The ground beneath Verda’s head vibrated with heavy running steps.
She blinked and Sander appeared over her like an avenging angel. He lowered to one knee and slid a powerful arm beneath her neck then lifted her as gently as a newborn kitten. “What the devil happened?”
“I-I tripped,” Docia stuttered. “I-I p-put my arms out t-to keep from f-falling and fell into M-Miss Fairclough.” The tears fell then, her sobs lost in the waves below. “Your d-dress is t-torn. I-I shall m-mend it.”
Grimacing, Verda was maneuvered to sitting where, indeed, there was a rip at the knees in her brown skirts. “I shall hold you to it,” she promised the girl. And she would.
Sander’s hands moved down one leg then the other, indecently so. “Nothing appears broken. Can you stand?”
“I-I think so.” Her breathlessness was irritating. She never needed rescuing. Yet here she was.
He helped her to her feet, but she was more shaken than she’d first believed. Her knees wobbled so violently, it took a full moment to make herself release his arm. “Take it slow,” he told her. His gaze moved to Docia. He yanked a handkerchief from a pocket and shoved it in her hand. “Where did you trip? Show me.”
She wiped her tears away with still-shaking hands. She nodded and moved back down the path, stopped, then pointed. “Here.”
Sander followed her and went back down on one knee. He tapped his knuckles on a half-buried branch. “All right. Let’s get back.” He glanced at Verda. “Can you walk?”
She glared at him.
“Never mind,” he said with a quick smile. “I can see the question is unappreciated.”
The wind picked up, if that was even possible, but the trees shielded them from the worst of it.
“How did you happen upon us, sir?” Docia asked him.
That was an excellent question.
Docia’s gaze lifted from the path to Sander and she tripped, but his quick reflexes saved her frock from the same fate Verda’s had suffered. He balanced her and Docia stiffened. “Your hands—is that blood?”
Verda’s eyes shot to his hands to what appeared streaks of dirt. How had she not noticed he hadn’t worn gloves?
“One of the goats was hurt,” he said. “I saw the two of you departing the castle and followed.”
Docia’s brows furrowed. “Is the goat all right?”
“He is, indeed.”
“Another blasted boy,” she groused.
“Miss Docia,” Verda warned.
“Apologies, miss. I just feel overrun by them.”
Verda knew the feeling. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from the rusty streaks. “What happened to the goat?”
“The goat? Entangled with one of the horses.”
Docia stopped and Verda nearly ran her down, giving truth to Docia’s hands on her own back. She issued a silent apology. “What’s that?” Docia was pointing into the shadows of the trees off the path.
Verda squinted but couldn’t really make out anything but a pile of leaves.
Sander moved off the path and Verda followed. A sense of foreboding sent an icy breath brushing her neck that had nothing to do with the weather. Even more frightening was Docia’s small hand creeping into hers.
“Good God,” Sander breathed. For the third time in less than ten minutes, he was kneeling. “It’s Colbert. He’s hit his head.”
“Is he d-dead?” Docia’s high, child-like pitch raised ripples over Verda’s skin.
Sander touched Colbert’s wrist, then his neck. “Yes, he’s dead.” He glanced over his shoulder to Verda.
Verda couldn’t move. The bodily fluids expelled from a dead body were like no other. Suddenly, she was eight years old again, trapped in her mother’s bedchamber, surrounded by the dark. I can’t breathe. He was speaking, his mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear him for the roaring in her ears. Her gaze moved back to Mr. Colbert.
“Miss Fairclough?”
The tiny voice penetrated her mind, but Verda couldn’t tear her eyes from the dark mesh of gray hair. The blank stare of his opened eyes.
Her head rattled and she blinked. Sander’s hands on her upper arms burned through her cloak. “Verda!” His stern tone penetrated her immobilizing shock, bringing her to her senses. “Miss Fairclough, listen to me. I need you to find Baldric. He should be in the stables. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” Raspy, cracked.
“Good girl. Hurry, now.”
She nodded, and gripping Docia’s hand, ran for the castle with her heart threatening to fly from her chest. She blocked out all thoughts but one: Find Baldric .
“Why would someone kill Cracked?” her charge asked on a breathless rush.
“I’ve no notion.” Verda could barely choke out the words.
From the boundary of the forest, the castle emerged, its battlements hidden within the clouds. Verda didn’t stop until they reached the castle. She bent over to catch her breath. “Run inside. Have Mr. Winfield locate Lord Pender.” A dose of rationality pinched her. “And do not come back out. Wait for me in the library. It might be best to keep this from the boys,” she added.
At Docia’s nod, Verda dashed for the stables. Behemoth drops of rain hit her nose as she rounded the side of the castle and the apparition who was not an apparition caught her up with one wiry hand. She let out a sharp yelp.
“Whoa there, miz. Where’s the fire?”
“Fire…” She shook her head. “It’s Mr.”—she bent again to catch her breath—“Colbert.”
“Cracked? What about ’im?”
“H-He’s—” She swallowed hard. “Mr. Oshea n-needs you. He’s on a path in the forest. Mr. Colbert’s… h-he’s—”
“Spit it out,” he growled.
Verda glanced at his free hand; it was covered in rust streaks. “He’s dead,” she whispered.
Baldric strolled away in that ambling way of his that was likely faster than it appeared.
She fell against the castle’s rough exterior, her body a mass of chaotic reactions: horror, shock, fear, even empathy. She’d never thought to experience those emotions all at once again in her entire lifetime. The horror moved to shock rendering her legs unequipped to hold her upright. Then fear that swamped her. Was someone out to hurt the children—Julius, Noah, Lord Perlsea, Docia? Her? Sander? Nothing made the slightest inkling of sense.
Surely not, she rationalized. Her head fell forward. Poor Mr. Colbert . There was nothing more she could do for him.
She was wasting time. The children needed reassuring. With a deep breath, she pushed away from the wall and strode to the portico on steadier legs.
Mr. Winfield met her at the door. “The children are in the library,” he said by way of greeting.
She stripped off her cloak and gloves and thrust them at him. “How is Lady Docia?”
“Vibrating.”
“Vibrating?”
His head angled to one side. “Perhaps shaken?”
“Yes, shaken. Have Mrs. Knagg send in refreshments. You say all the children are there?”
He inclined his head. “Even Master Julius.”
Another jagged breath left her.
*
Sander rolled Cracked Colbert to his back. He ran his palm over the old man’s face and closed his now-soulless eyes. The trace of warmth from his body indicated the attack had not taken place all that long ago.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Sander rose from the ground and faced his brother. “Colbert’s dead.”
Damien stepped closer and peered down at the body. “No great loss,” he said without an ounce of inflection. The tick in his lower cheek didn’t escape Sander’s notice, however, and Sander let the remark go. His brother wasn’t as immune as he pretended.
Something Sander found reassuring. He hadn’t been the only one Father’s death had affected.
Seconds later, Baldric materialized like the ghosts he impersonated. “The woman was harried,” he groused.
Sander’s lips tightened.
Damien appeared not to have heard the stablemaster. “How did he die?”
Sander stepped over Colbert, the ground crunching beneath his boots. He bent down and picked up a bloodied rock, studied it then held it out.
The earl took it and ran his finger over a black, sticky substance. “Still wet.”
“Old Cracked didn’t deserve a crack on the head,” Sander bit out.
“For the first time in years, my brother, I’m in complete agreement with you.”
Well, that was a relief. Sander turned to Baldric. “We need to get the body out of here. I’ll notify the magistrate.”
“ I’m the magistrate,” his brother said.
“So you are. I hereby notify you that we have a dead body on Pender land.” Fear mingled with biting sarcasm ripped through him. “In any event, the parish constable must be informed. How do you propose to the villagers that Cracked Colbert has met with a violent end and remind them they are safe from a similar fate?”
“That is the question.” Damien shook his head. “I’m jesting. I don’t know what to do.”
Sander let out a harsh breath. “I’ll ride to the village and speak with Broyle. He’s the closest thing to a parish constable without traveling to Lesbury and he tends to have a decent head on his shoulder.” He squinted in the shadows. “Baldric, let’s get Colbert onto the cart and haul him to the village.”