Chapter 6
Six
Grey
Grey wanted to shake the obstinate Miss Leonard as her brother drove off, leaving him with a visibly distressed female and not the practical, efficient gentleman he’d hired. But an assistant assisted, and Leonard was observant, if a trifle shaken by his conclusion.
He supposed he wasn’t any too pleased either. One admired the art work of bloody paintings of war. The reality was a little too cold and remarkably impersonal, since they’d never met Comfrey.
“I assume you can tell the poor soul is quite dead and we cannot resuscitate him?” Miss Leonard’s mouth had straightened into a nearly white, straight line, but fortunately, she did not engage in female vapors.
“Affirmed. You will note dried blood on the lintel.” Grey used his cane to point it out. “See if you can find more, trace the villain’s path.” He had an eye for detail and looking to solve this horror helped gather his wits.
Blessedly, she did not question or make demands but followed the most logical direction toward the house. She bent to examine crushed twigs and the gravel remains of the old path but refrained from touching.
Grey had never had to look after anyone but himself, so it took a moment to realize, if the villain lurked, he couldn’t let her out of his sight. “Don’t stray farther than I can see,” he called. “I want to look around the building.”
She began working her way back toward him, examining the bushes more thoroughly. She’d been playing the role of male so long, Grey decided, that she actually behaved like one.
Of course, she hadn’t seen the banker’s mangled body shoved down the well. Grey had never been to war and had no experience in human death. Vermin, yes. A duck or two, certainly.
A poorly-shod banker shoved head first down a hole with only the worn soles of his boots visible—not so much experience with that.
By the time the curricle returned bearing the ginger-haired giant of an innkeeper and a short dark woman of foreign descent, Grey and Miss Leonard had explored all they could of the yard around the well and were back at the drive.
“Meera Walker, physician.” Mr. Russell handed down the plump, brown lady. “The well house?”
At Grey’s nod, the new arrivals hurried in that direction.
“Ellie, let me take you back. . . ” Andrew didn’t complete that sentence.
Miss Leonard was already following the physician—a lady physician, Grey noted. The village grew curiouser and curiouser.
“Watch the house and the horse, will you?” he asked of Andrew. “I’ll look after your intrepid sibling.” Grey didn’t wait to acknowledge the twin’s reaction. Surely by now, Andrew was inured to the female’s obnoxious habits.
Reaching the well house, the giant lawman bent in half and nearly crawled beneath the low lintel. “Comfrey, all right,” he shouted a few minutes later. “Same coat he wore this morning. They’ve nearly knocked off the pail winch in their haste. It’s almost rusted out.”
“Mr. Russell is only a bailiff, not a trained law officer,” Dr. Walker murmured. “He has some authority but limited experience in investigations.”
“Not a constable?” Grey quit worrying about that once the next horror occurred to him. The body would have to be dragged from the well in all its gruesome glory. He gritted his molars and prepared himself by trying to think of a way to send his assistant to Hades or anywhere else but here.
“Even though the bank claims most of the land, Gravesyde is still considered a manorial estate. We have no official government until our petition is accepted,” the physician explained. “We cannot pay Rafe. So the estate trust pays his salary.”
As they must pay the physician, as well, Grey realized.
If the bank owned the village, collected all the rents, and didn’t pay for anything, no wonder the manor sought pirate jewels.
He supposed he should meet the aristocrats eccentric enough to share their wealth.
Dotty Dorothea had finally found her rightful home.
Unable to squeeze himself, plus a body, through the door, the bailiff shouted for a blanket.
Andrew was already limping his way down the path carrying one, a man who actually paid attention to the needs of others. “I didn’t think the ladies should see this.”
The physician muffled a derisive sniff. The bailiff/innkeeper nodded a curt acknowledgment and carried the blanket inside. Unfazed, Miss Leonard continued examining a crumbling stone wall, ignoring all else.
“The ladies? How well do you know your sister?” Grey asked sardonically.
Andrew shrugged. “I can only try for propriety.”
“Perhaps find another endeavor. She is beyond your help.” With a sigh of distaste, Grey surrendered to the inevitable. He took a position beside the well house to assist in dragging the blanketed body through the doorway.
While the physician scurried ahead, they carried the corpse to the house, and lay him out on a cracked leather sofa. Rather than linger outside to avoid the grisly sight, Miss Leonard followed them in and began inspecting the parlor, opening table drawers and testing an old carpet.
Apparently, the bank had left the house’s contents in place. The letter had said it was furnished. It hadn’t mentioned even thieves wouldn’t touch the rubbish.
“I’ll need a lantern to take a better look in that well house. It couldn’t have been easy carrying him in there.” Russell strode through the house as if it were his own, returning with a lantern, leaving the bloodied banker in the care of the physician.
Dr. Walker had carried in her medical bag and was already unwrapping the blanket, with Andrew assisting her.
Grateful that the latest addition to his staff proved useful, Grey decided Miss Leonard’s fascination with the macabre had to end. He took her arm and steered her outside. “Let us show the bailiff what we have found.”
“Why would anyone kill a banker?” Apparently, as long as her curiosity was fed, she did not object to his demands.
“Any of a thousand reasons, I’m sure. Maybe they didn’t like his face. People are irrational. Murder is irrational.” And a deuced inconvenience. Now, where would they stay?
“Emotion may be irrational, but generally, people believe they have reason for their actions.” She shook off his hand to continue exploring the thorny thicket.
“It could have been an accident,” he remonstrated.
Russell emerged from the well house in time to hear Grey’s theory. “There’s not enough blood in there to believe he accidentally fell down the well and hit his head.”
“I’d say the wound was most likely incurred on that wall.” Miss Leonard indicated a large pedestal nearly buried in vines.
“He could have fallen,” Grey insisted. “Then crawled to the well. We found traces of blood along the path.”
“There is a great deal more than a trace on that wall.” Miss Leonard stepped aside so the bailiff could inspect it.
Russell grunted and eyed the trampled briars around the nearly-hidden stones. “Good detecting. How much of this did you crush?”
“None. We stayed to the straight and narrow after we found Comfrey.” Grey pointed at the trail workmen might have made in forcing themselves through the thicket.
Russell grunted approval. “We’ll see what Meera says about the wounds, but these broken twigs make it look like there was a scuffle. He may have fallen backward, hit that capstone on the wall.”
Grey was grateful the bailiff did not mention the blood and. . . other. . . spatter on the rock. He hoped his assistant hadn’t studied it too closely.
“Perhaps he caught a trespasser?” Miss Leonard suggested, pointing at a scrap of cloth caught on a thorn they had discovered earlier. “That does not look like weathered fabric. You might check Mr. Comfrey’s clothing.”
Or the killer’s. Grey felt a distinct chill down his spine. Perhaps they might continue on to Bath. Not as pastoral but there would be no killers looking for witnesses.
Muttering dire imprecations, Russell snatched the tattered cloth and headed back to the house, where Andrew stood guard, hatchet in hand.
The lad had good instincts. Now, if only they could persuade his sister to get the hell out of here. . .
Tall, slender, serene Miss Leonard floated after the bailiff and into the house.
Grey exchanged grimaces with her brother.
There would be no leaving now. What kind of life had she led to lose all female sensibilities?
He swore she wore that gown the same way she wore trousers, striding about like a man.
“The wound on his head definitely killed him,” the physician announced, covering the corpse again. “There is a bruise on his jaw, administered before death.”
“Someone punched him, and he fell backward?” Russell suggested.
“Quite possibly. The wound is large and shapeless. I cannot identify any weapon. I did not notice any other bruises. He is not a particularly large or muscular man. His hands are well kept. I assume his position at the bank was not physical, so fighting back may not have been an option. Besides, the blow must have been hard, possibly rendering him unconscious even before he hit his head.”
“At least it’s not poison this time,” Russell grumbled, inexplicably. “I’ll fetch Henri’s cart, have Sutter notify the bank. Unless you’ll be going back to Stratford?” He raised a ginger eyebrow at Grey.
“It’s too late for travel. We’ll avail ourselves of your hospitality another night.” Grey donned his hat and reached for Miss Leonard’s elbow. It had been a great deal simpler when he thought her a man and could ignore her.
“The poor man has no family or friends nearby?” she asked, lingering. “We should express our regrets and sympathies.”
“I don’t expect so, but I’ll ask about. It is for us to express our regrets that your visit is so marred.” Russell bowed and stomped out.
Which was when Grey realized the bailiff was leaving them with the body. They couldn’t all just abandon it here. “Andrew, will you drive Dr. Walker home and return your sister to the inn?”
“My house is around the corner. It is no distance.” The lady physician filled her satchel. “I’ll wait for Henri’s cart. You should go.”
Grey was in agreement, but Miss Leonard shook her ugly bonnet. “Making you walk would be appallingly rude. Andrew, assist Dr. Walker and we’ll wait for the cart. We can have a look around the house, as planned.”
The unnatural female meant to stay in this abomination?
Of course, she did, even if the banker haunted it. It was better than the hovel the twins had vacated.
A well polluted by corpses however. . .
Once the physician and Andrew had departed, Grey’s intrepid assistant opened the doors into the room across the hall and revealed her true intent. “Someone didn’t want Mr. Comfrey here. Perhaps we ought to learn why.”
“So they can murder us all?” Grey asked, still uncomfortable with treating her as a lady and not his former assistant. Her thoughts had exactly followed his.
Even as she was asserting the ridiculous premise that there was safety in numbers, Grey headed upstairs.
If she didn’t mind, evidence seeking was exactly what was needed. If there were villains hiding upstairs, he damned well wasn’t sending a female up there first.