February 9, 1889 Morning
“He’s right along here,” Mira said. They had brought the horses to the fence line adjacent to the path. Byron dismounted and handed the reins to the gamekeeper.
“We ought to avoid disrupting the scene as much as possible,” he said, helping Mira down from her horse. “Dr. Turpin, if you’ll come with me.”
The good doctor was soon on his own feet and the three of them crossed the stile to the other side of the fence.
The body hadn’t been disturbed, thank goodness, though there was some fresh powder on top of Mira’s coat.
There weren’t any new footprints to or from the body either.
Byron removed the coat from where it was draped over the body, shook out the snow, and hung it over his arm.
“You moved him?” he asked.
“I turned him over. I-I thought he might just be unconscious. But I didn’t find a pulse.”
Dr. Turpin crouched beside the body, lifting one of the hands. “Rigor mortis is just setting in, though the cold would delay that. Poor fellow.” He looked up the face of the slope and called back to the others. “He must not have seen the drop-off.”
“When do you think he died?” Mr. Risewell called back.
Dr. Turpin stood and brushed the snow from his clothes. “Midnight or thereabouts. Best to leave specifics to the coroner.”
The three of them crossed over the stile again. Byron helped her over, frowning as he took her hand. “We ought to get you warmed up.”
“Shouldn’t we look for—”
“The doctor is right,” Byron interrupted, catching her gaze. “We should leave it to the professionals once they get here. Though, the body ought to be guarded until then.”
“I’ll stay,” Walker said.
“As will I,” said Bertie Corbet.
“That’s settled,” Mr. Risewell said. “Mr. Sharpe, if you’ll take care of the dogs and the horses?”
The gamekeeper nodded.
They started the trek back up to the house, Byron with an arm around Mira.
“Shouldn’t we stay to investigate?” Mira whispered.
“I think it’s best, for the time being, if I remain a civilian, rather than a detective,” Byron said, voice gentle. “And I’m a little more concerned about you at the moment.”
“I’m f-fine.”
“Of course you’re fine. I can tell by the way your teeth are chattering,” he said, his tone good-humored. “We can discuss our next steps after you are in some dry clothes and have a cup of tea in hand. Was there a reason you left your coat behind?”
“Maureen was in hysterics. I thought covering the body would help.”
They entered the house together and the glorious warmth rushed over them. Mira’s fingers and toes tingled as Byron closed the door behind them.
“Let me check on Maureen before I head up,” Mira said, moving to the sitting room. Sobs reached her ears before she reached the open doorway.
Mrs. Renaldi sat with Maureen on the sofa, trying to calm the poor woman down.
Mrs. Turpin sat on the opposite side, doing the same.
Aunt Eleanor sat near the fire, incredibly still and pale.
Admiral Hoddle was behind the sofa, pacing back and forth in a show of worry.
Every so often he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
Mrs. Sherard sat in one of the wide, wing-backed chairs and Mary stood by the window. Both turned their attention to Byron and Mira the moment they entered the room.
She was certain she looked a mess. Her wet, stringy hair was plastered to her neck and face.
Her skirts were sodden, her skin red from the cold.
And, of course, she had Byron’s coat draped around her shoulders.
It was much worse than her first impression, but frankly, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
She walked across the room, ignoring haughty stares and curious looks, and crouched next to Maureen.
“Are you all right?”
“No. No. That...the blood.”
“I’ve been trying to convince her to go rest,” Mrs. Renaldi said.
Maureen’s gaze was unfocused. She was looking at Mira, but it was as if she couldn’t see her.
“Do you know where you are, Maureen? Can you feel my hand?”
“She’s hysterical,” Mary said, stepping away from the window. “Gone weak from the shock.”
“Hysteria?” Admiral Hoddle said, stopping in place. “Why, I hadn’t considered it before . . .”
Mira looked back at Maureen. She wasn’t certain it was hysteria in this case.
Byron helped her to stand. “You really ought to go rest yourself.”
“I’m fine, really,” Mira said. “Just a little damp.”
“Here’s the tea,” Liza said, coming through the door. She paused, taking in Mira’s state of dress, and set the tray on the table. “Why, you look positively frozen, Mira.”
Byron gave Mira a pointed look.
“I’m warming up,” Mira said. She glanced back at Maureen and lowered her voice. “Maureen seems to be taking this rather badly.”
“I’m not surprised,” Liza said. “It is rather a shock to her, after her father, you know.”
Mira frowned. “I had heard he had died but . . . what happened?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Liza whispered. “It isn’t the time or the place for it.”
Byron cleared his throat. “Where are the Risewells?”
“I’m not sure. Mrs. Risewell left when we came in, and I haven’t seen Theresia since . . .since we found Mr. Treadway.”
“What are you all whispering about?” Mrs. Sherard said. “Are the police here?”
“Not yet, Mamma,” Byron said. “Likely won’t be for another hour or so with all the snow.”
Liza took Mira’s hand. “We ought to get you out of those wet things. Come on.”
***
Once in the safety of the Rose Room, Liza helped her peel off the wet, sweaty layers and set Mira in front of the fire with a blanket wrapped around her.
“I’ll take these down to the kitchen to dry,” she said, gathering Mira’s clothes in her arms. “Will you be all right for a little while?”
Mira nodded.
“I ought to check on Maureen again too.” Liza headed for the door. “Is there anything else you need?”
Mira opened her mouth to say no, but a question popped out instead. “What happened to Mr. Harris?”
Liza stilled. “There was an attempted burglary back in August. He was shot and... well, from what I understand, Maureen is the one who found him.”
“Oh.” Mira pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I didn’t know.”
“There wasn’t much publicity about it, thank goodness. But that means she didn’t have as much support as she ought to have had.”
“Did they ever catch the burglar?”
“I don’t know. We wrote one another after she moved here to live with her aunt, Mrs. Callan, but she never mentioned it. And then her aunt passed away in January.”
“Was it natural?”
Liza frowned. “As far as I know. Heart attack, from what I remember. She was always in bad health. That was why she didn’t want to leave Bath when she became Maureen’s guardian. She thought the waters were keeping her alive.”
“Poor Maureen,” Mira said. “No wonder she is so upset.”
“I’d better get back to her,” Liza said.
“One more thing,” Mira said. “Will you ask if I can borrow another dress from the Risewells? I’m sure when the police come they won’t want to wait to question me and who knows how long it will take for my things to dry.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The door clicked behind Liza as she left.
All that remained was quiet. Too much quiet. It made the silence in Mira’s mind all the louder. She tried to string thoughts together, but they dissipated like smoke. Like Verona’s breath in the cold air. Now that there wasn’t anything to do, no rush, no explanation, she felt—
Numb.
She looked at her hands, feeling oddly detached from her body.
Perhaps she should have been more concerned about it, but the concerns she had were distant and fuzzy.
There was a wall in her mind between where she was and where all her emotions were crashing together like waves.
The heat from the fire was almost too much, but she didn’t care to move.
She sat there, unaware of the passage of time, when another knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears.
To her surprise, Mary Sherard entered, arms laden with fabric.
“Here are your clothes. Or your undergarments at least. The dress is Miss Risewell’s.”
“Thank you,” Mira said, voice shaking, though she didn’t know why.
Mary set the clothing on the bed. “They say it was an accident, so there’s no need for you, or my brother, to cause a scene. That is, not more than you already have.”
Mira pulled the blanket tighter around her, a burst of indignation breaking through the numbness. “A man was found dead. What would you have had me do?”
Mary fell silent, slowly tracing the bed frame with her finger, stopping her hand on the brass knob at the end. It seemed to Mira that the action wasn’t hesitation or a lack of response, but rather an intimidation tactic. She hated that it was working.
“I take it you have some affection for my brother, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Then you should know better than to pull him into another case.” She looked Mira up and down, the corner of her lip lifting in disgust. “You ought to have left the whole thing alone. So what if a corpse falls into your path? You have no business meddling in such things. Leave it to the police.” Mary turned toward the door.
Mira fisted her hands in the blanket, trying to keep her temper at bay. “Miss Sherard?”
“Yes?” Mary stopped on the threshold.
“How well did you know Mr. Treadway?”
Mary looked back at her with that scrutinizing stare and a forced smile. “I didn’t.”
The door clicked closed again. It took longer than Mira expected to calm down while she dressed. She kept losing focus, and her hands were still shaky. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as if this was her first time discovering a body.
She hoped it was the last.
As she came down the stairs, Mary’s voice echoed up from the lower landing. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping to avoid another confrontation. Unfortunately, what she heard was worse.