Chapter 50
As the last rays of sunlight were vanishing over the horizon, Lucy sped through the night.
She had thrown on riding boots and gloves, but no cloak.
Thankfully the night was warm enough and the workshop dress made of thick material.
The cold she would deal with later. Daisy, sensing an urgent mood, did not put up the fight she sometimes would.
If anything, it seemed she was starting to like Lucy, as the woman let her run as fast as she wished.
As she rode, Lucy slotted more pieces into place.
Longburn Mire was half on the St Martins’ lands, easily close to home.
The brandy robbery was now explained. Either George or Sir Walter had simply met the rider earlier on the road.
The driver would have suspected nothing up until the moment he was killed.
Could her neighbours be so ruthless? Perhaps. George was capable of callous and impulsive things.
She could not decide what their motive might be, but it made sense in terms of means and opportunity. They would know the coach routes and times and the number of men. Sir Walter was kept informed on such deliveries. Dashwood had suspected him and perhaps uncovered some clues.
All these thoughts raced through her mind as the road became harder and harder to see. The stars were out, but there was no moon and the faint glow on the horizon was almost gone. She knew the road well enough to tell the turns, and Daisy could see well enough to stay on the path.
What she would do when she arrived at St Martins Hall she did not know. But she hurried anyway. Margaret’s life might depend on her speed.
As she approached the grand home, Lucy had her first confirmation that something was amiss.
With the daylight now gone, it should have been lit up, but she saw only a faint flicker of lights within.
It was far too early for people to be in bed, especially with a guest and good news delivered.
How exactly she might proceed came to the forefront of her thoughts.
There was certainly danger, but she could not avoid it if she wished to aid her sister.
Had the hall been fully lit, she might have attempted to bluff, perhaps suggesting that Margaret needed to come home at once.
Now she saw that was unlikely to be an option.
She tied Daisy to a tree branch, mostly out of sight of the main way. The mare, having had a good run, was pleased with the location, and nibbled a patch of flowers.
Lucy walked slowly up the treeline. Her more muted dress would not show up well past twilight and with only a faint sliver of the moon still at least an hour away.
In this deliberate fashion she made her way to the side of the building.
The darkness within was curious, suggesting an absence of any staff or servants, quite unheard of for a place such as St Martins Hall, which was notably larger than Atherton.
But she had seen lights in some rooms upstairs, so the property was not altogether abandoned.
Stealth seemed her best option. She tested a side entrance and found it locked, then circled the building, finding no luck with any of the doors. It might not be empty, but the building was certainly well secured.
Standing in the darkness, a flash of memory came to her. The elves’ entrance. Was the kitchen tradition also followed at St Martins Hall? She stepped quietly around the walls once more, coming to what she believed to be the kitchen.
Fortune was with Lucy as she found a window not only open, but large enough to let her slip inside.
As she shuffled her way through, she felt a tension far worse than she had the previous time she had used such an ingress; the night before she had first heard the name of Captain Dashwood and her life had gradually been drawn into such unwanted disorder.
She scolded herself. Now was not the time for reminiscence. Not only was this not her home, but the stakes were much higher than mere discovery or embarrassment.
The kitchen was almost completely dark and she stepped carefully until she found the door.
She could not risk a light of her own, but a faint glimmer down the hall suggested that at least a few lamps had been lit for movement around the rooms. Closing her eyes she constructed in her mind the layout of St Martins Hall.
It was a large building and she had not been everywhere, but over the years she had seen enough of it that she could plot something of a course in her mind’s eye.
Again it struck her as a betrayal that a family she had known most of her life might be involved in theft and murder. Perhaps she had never really known them at all.
The entrance hall was lit by a single lamp, which meant that she could see well enough but could equally be seen.
She pondered briefly if it might be prudent to remove her boots, but the time it would take might not be worth the exchange, nor the lower speed should running be required.
Holding her breath, she listened, hearing nothing but her heartbeat and the creaking of cooling stone.
At last she caught the faintest hint of a voice and cautiously made her way towards it, staying in cover as long as she could before climbing the stairs as swiftly and quietly as she might.
The voices were coming from down the hall, a slip of light spilling from a room, and she positioned herself in an alcove, out of sight but able to make out the words.
‘Once things are gathered we head for the rendezvous point. They leave at eleven.’
Her heart sank as she identified the voice as Sir Walter.
‘We needn’t bother clearing up our tracks now. By the time the truth comes out we’ll be long gone. Blasted timing. Why did he have to come home early?’
Lucy tensed. He had to mean Oliver, which meant that the younger brother had not been aware of the conspiracy. But also that he had discovered it upon returning to St Martins Hall. Where was he now?
‘Is the coach packed?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied a voice she did not recognise.
‘As soon as George gets back, we leave. I don’t want to see this place until we return after this is all over.’
It was odd to hear Sir Walter talk in such terms. There was an anxious edge to his voice, events clearly not unfolding as smoothly as he had planned.
Yet there was another more pressing concern that came to her mind.
George was returning. Which meant her way back was now compromised.
Before she could decide what to do next, she heard footsteps.
Even ducking into a side room would give her away.
All she could do was press her back into the shadows and hope she remained unseen.
She watched as George St Martin passed straight by her, heading for the door to meet his father.
The young man was dressed in travel clothes, quite unlike the bright costume he had worn at the ball when she had last seen him.
‘About time,’ Sir Walter complained. ‘No more trouble?’
‘Unfortunately there is.’ George sighed, reaching into his coat and drawing out a pistol, which he pointed directly at Lucy. ‘Come out now or I fire,’ he stated bluntly.
With no other choice, Lucy stepped out into the hallway.
‘Lucy?’ he exclaimed. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘Looking for my sister,’ she replied honestly.
‘Of course you are.’ He sighed, as if it were more a frustration than a real problem. ‘Come with me. I’ll explain on the way.’
She nodded and began to walk down the hall as he indicated. ‘Are you going to put that gun away?’ she asked, feigning confusion.
‘No. I’m afraid not. I advise you not to run. I have no wish to do you any harm, but I will do if I must.’
Lucy walked, contemplating how she might proceed. Playing innocent might be safer, but there was a collision of indignation and curiosity in her thoughts that drove her down a different path.
‘Did that courtesy extend to the men you hired to rob our coach?’
There was a pause. Lucy wondered if he was contemplating shooting her there and then. Then he gave a wry smile, much more like the George she knew, though seen through a more sinister lens.
‘Actually, they were under orders not to harm you or Margaret.’
‘But why did you need to kill Captain Dashwood?’
George laughed at her confusion. ‘I’m not surprised. The man keeps his secrets well. Your captain was not what he seemed. He was looking into us. He didn’t realise we were looking into him. How did you know? About the coach robbers?’
‘You know me. I solve puzzles. The missing coach. The robberies. Only when I turned up here tonight did all the pieces finally fall into place. George, what on earth is going on? What is this all about?’
‘What is it about? It will sound like such a petty thing, Lucy. It’s about money.’
‘Money? Surely you cannot be in want of that.’
‘We shouldn’t. But Father made losses in his business.
Investments in various foreign spices and plantations, would you believe.
When it went bad he tried to cover his losses.
The blasted fool was in so deep we risked losing the hall.
Can you conceive of it, Lucy? The St Martins being forced to sell St Martins Hall?
He had no idea what to do. And no spine for it. ’
‘But you had an idea, didn’t you? You’ve always been spontaneous.’
‘I suppose so. Father knew the routes coaches took and how they’d be guarded.
I found some men who weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.
Two robberies went off without a hitch. The second was a challenge, but once we took out the guards and the drivers, we just left things quiet for a while.
The clerk holding the strongbox thought he’d been rescued when he heard me so he opened the door. ’
‘The brandy wasn’t even a robbery was it? You just met him in the woods.’