Chapter 11
D ominick rushed out of the breakfast room with Alfie only moments behind. They stopped in the hall, trying to locate the source of the screams. As they did, the house fell into silence, as if the entire manor was breathing in, filling its lungs for the next terrible shriek.
Alfie laid his hand on Dominick’s arm, the gentle pressure a reassuring comfort.
Then came a sound, not a scream, but a distant sobbing.
“To the right,” Alfie said. “Front hall?”
When they made it to the front hall it was empty, but the sobbing was louder and coming their way. Dominick took a deep breath as they headed into the oldest part of the house, where sounds echoed in the strangest ways. They turned a corner, Dominick in the lead, so he was the one who crashed into the grey figure.
He had a moment to imagine some ghostly apparition before Mrs. Hirkins was wrapping her arms around him, the grey wool of her dress coarse against his silks and linen as she sobbed.
“Mrs. Hirkins?” Alfie asked, panic making him sound far younger than he was. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head against Dominick’s chest. Despite everything she’d been through, he’d never seen this strong pillar of a woman crumble before and if it was scaring him, it must be terrifying Alfie. Mrs. Hirkins was the closest thing he had to a mother and here she was, weeping inconsolably.
“He’s dead!” she cried at last.
Dominick’s heart turned to lead. He could barely get the question out. “James?”
Many children died young, especially babies, that was just life, but he’d been there when James was brought into the world, and the idea of him being gone so quickly was impossible to fathom. Never again holding that struggling weight in his arms, or hearing the pleased babbling that followed Agnes around the house from his sling on her back. Even his little baby wails, so heartrending, were all the worse now that he’d never hear them again.
When Mrs. Hirkins shook her head no , his legs went so weak with relief that he had to cling onto her right back.
“Not James.” She sobbed. “Thank God! That architect man. Captain McConnell. It was horrible. His poor wife. Oh God, she’s still there!”
“Where?” Alfie asked, one hand hesitating over Mrs. Hirkins, before settling it on her back and stroking in a manner that was likely meant to be comforting. “Where is she?”
“The drawing room.”
By this time, the commotion had drawn several of the servants, thankfully including Mrs. Finley, who stepped forward.
“Come now dear, I’ve had the same thing happen to me. Finding a body’s a dreadful shock, isn’t it? Let’s get you some tea. That will put you to rights.”
Dominick transferred Mrs. Hirkins over to Mrs. Finley’s care as Alfie addressed the other servants who’d assembled.
“Martin, go to the stables. Tell Frank he needs to go into town and fetch the doctor. Have Graham ready another horse as we may need the magistrate as well. Mr. Howe…”
Alfie hesitated then, and Dominick couldn’t think of what else should be done either, other than keep everyone away from the drawing room.
“Perhaps I should gather the maids, sir? Agnes and Janie? Ensure they’re all right?”
Alfie nodded. “Make sure James is with Agnes, and add Davey to the list. Keep them somewhere away from windows. If something terrible has happened, I don’t want them to see it.”
“I’ll find Gil,” Jarrett offered without prompting.
“Good,” replied Alfie, too distracted to say more. “Thankfully, the staff from the village haven’t arrived yet. You and Gil keep them outside, and stop any builders you see from going up the crag until we know what’s happened. Dominick?”
Dominick didn’t need to be told where his place was—at Alfie’s side, as always. If the situation wasn’t so dire, he’d be pleased at the way Alfie took control. It wasn’t quite effortless, but in the end a plan had come together. He knew his lover feared he’d never be more than a shadow of an earl, but even if he hadn’t fully mastered the art of command, he was the most noble man Dominick had ever met.
Orders given, the servants scattered as Alfie and Dominick made their way towards the drawing room and whatever horror awaited them there.
The door to the drawing room gaped open. Beyond it, Dominick could see an arm stretched across the rug, the body it belonged to hidden by the settee. Instead of the sturdy frame of Captain McConnell, however, the arm appeared quite delicate. As he reached the room, it was clear the body on the floor wasn’t the captain at all, but his wife.
Dominick rushed in and knelt down beside her. Mrs. McConnell’s sensible skirts had billowed out around her and her prim bun was thoroughly mussed, but he could see no blood.
“Well?” asked Alfie.
Dominick cupped a hand over her nose and mouth, then placed his fingertips against her cheek. “She’s breathing and her skin is warm. I think she’s just fainted.”
“Thank God.” Alfie sighed. “Where’s her husband?”
Dominick rose. The room wasn’t a large one by Balcarres’ standards. There wasn’t anywhere to hide a dead body, no hidden nooks, or large chests, or even secret passages as far as he knew. Yet Mrs. McConnell was the only one here. He checked around the settee, just to be safe, but the room was empty. The only thing out of place—aside from the collapsed woman—was a small end table that had been knocked onto the floor beside her, the stack of papers that had been on it now scattered across the rug. One moved, fluttering over its fallen companions as it was caught by a breeze.
Dominick turned his attention to the windows. They gave a clear view of the barren gardens, but due to the angle of the house, most of what lay beyond was woods and the crag, the half-built folly on top perched like a bird of prey above them all.
He could see all this quite clearly because the windowed doors were open, the floor-length curtains on either side billowing in the morning air.
“Could he have gone for help?” Alfie asked. “Perhaps he wasn’t as dead as Mrs. Hirkins thought.”
“But dead enough to frighten his wife into a faint?”
When Alfie didn’t answer, Dominick peered into the garden beyond, looking for a sign of the captain. “I’ll go check. Just in case.”
“Nick.”
Dominick looked back at Alfie, who was now kneeling stiffly beside Mrs. McConnell. With a nod, Alfie tossed his cane at him. Catching it one handed, Dominick nodded back.
I’ll be careful.
“I don’t like this,” Alfie said.
Dominick flicked the catch on the cane, revealing the sword within. He didn’t like leaving Alfie without a weapon, but he was right, there was something wrong here, and the cane had saved their lives before. If he was going to be running out into Christ-knew-what, he was glad to have the weight of it in his hand.
He took one last look at Alfie, then headed out in search of a dead man.
The gardens were empty and grey, punctuated only by the piles of brush. He nearly had to hack his way through one to get out to the gardens from the drawing room doors, but there was no sign of Captain McConnell anywhere. He kept his eyes trained to the ground, but the earth was too hard for any footprints, and there were no other signs he could make out—no drops of blood or conveniently torn fabric caught on a rose bush.
He called out the missing man’s name, but the only response was the rustle of the wind through the trees and the cries of birds wheeling above. Hesitantly, he stepped into the forest, sword held at the ready, but turned back when the climb grew too steep. If Captain McConnell was so injured that Mrs. Hirkins thought him dead, he’d never be able to manage the path to the top of the crag, resurrection or not.
He shouted for the captain again, but hearing no reply, turned back to Balcarres. If Captain McConnell was alive but wandering somewhere injured and befuddled, there were too many forest paths for Dominick to explore alone. And if Mrs. Hirkins was correct and he was dead, then Dominick had some questions about his damned disappearing act. And the only place he’d find answers was back at the manor.