Chapter Twenty-Three
Henry
The smell of gunpowder was an oddly reassuring scent. Henry nudged Southey out of the way with his boot before planting his feet and taking aim. When the hunting dogs flushed out a flock of pheasant, he and the other men took their shots.
Southey whined.
“And that’s why you’ll never be a hunting dog,” Henry told him. “If the noise bothers you so much, go back inside.”
“I don’t think it understands you.” Mr. Smith handed his double-barreled flintlock fowler to a footman to reload.
Katherine’s father was surprisingly adept at shooting for a man who had been born and raised in the city, as he liked to say.
The two noblemen whom he’d married his elder daughters off to must take him hunting whenever he visited.
“You’d be surprised how much he understands.
” They were waiting for the magistrate to arrive, and going outside to make a lot of noise had seemed a good idea to relieve the tension in the house.
Clouds were beginning to gather, and Henry hoped any rain would hold off until the roads had fully dried from the previous storm.
Southey gave an excited yip and trotted over to the group of ladies who had come out to watch. Lady Mary tried to shoo him off with her foot, but the terrier turned it into a game, attacking her boot when he was able to get in close.
Miss Smith wore a lavender gown today, one that stretched nicely across her bosom.
His gaze flicked back to her face, hoping to see some acknowledgement of his presence, but she kept her gaze on her father. He’d thought they’d talked through any awkwardness the night before. True, she had redirected any attempts on his part to address that kiss, but the conversation had flowed.
Lady Mary yanked her skirts from Southey’s teeth. “I would like to try my hand with a firearm.” She glared down at the dog.
Henry shared a look with the other men, giving a brief shake of his head.
“These guns have quite a kick, Lady Mary.” Mr. Smith put his to his shoulder and shot at a lone bird circling in the sky, missing. His shoulder did jerk backward most emphatically. “I’m afraid it would knock you on your—”
“Knock you over,” Mr. Ryder injected smoothly. “Have you ladies come to admire our aim?”
“If anyone’s aim is worth admiring.” Lady Mary picked her way over to the cart the footmen were loading their kill on. “You’ve been out here for an hour and this is all you’ve bagged?”
Mr. Smith pinned Withers with a look. “Some of us have skill more admirable than others, to be sure.” His gaze softened when he looked at his daughter. “Have you come to call us for lunch?”
“Sadly, no.” Lady Mary rested her hip against the cart. “The constable is back and with some bad news, apparently. He’ll join us shortly after a snack from the kitchen.”
“So he gets to eat but not us,” Mr. Smith grumbled.
“I am excited to see what Cook Clem will do with these birds.” Lady Mary nudged one speckled brown wing. “If you gentlemen can provide enough for all of us.”
“We aim to please,” Mr. Ryder said dryly. “Send the dogs out farther,” he told the footman. When another group of birds were ousted from a hedgerow, he smoothly raised the fowling piece to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. A bird fell from the sky.
Henry was man enough to admit that Ryder had provided the lion’s share of the birds already in the cart. For another city dweller, he was a surprisingly good shot.
Lady Mary looked impressed, as well.
Henry strolled to where Mr. Taylor stood at the end of the hunting line. He had handed his gun to a footman to load, seeming unsure how to do it himself. He’d yet to hit a pheasant. “First time shooting?” Henry asked.
“It wasn’t an activity Lord Perrin encouraged for his secretary.” Taylor grabbed the gun from the footman and turned, the muzzle of the weapon arcing toward the group of women.
Henry grabbed the barrel and jerked it up. “Only point at what you are willing to kill.”
Taylor narrowed his gaze, and Henry rethought his warning. He didn’t know just what Taylor might be willing to kill. “Keep your gun aimed down field,” he gritted out.
“Fine.” Taylor swung in the opposite direction and took a shot, stumbling backwards. Nothing fell from the sky. Henry didn’t even know what he could have been aiming at.
He jerked his head at the footman, silently asking him to move away. When he had, Henry said, “I wanted to speak with you.”
Taylor stiffened. “Regarding?”
“Where did you go yesterday after the constable went to the ice house to look at Perrin?” There might be others at Perrin Manor who had the maliciousness to shut him and Miss Smith into the ice house, but the secretary was the only one he knew about for certain.
A dark shadow crossed the secretary’s face. “Go? None of us can go anywhere.”
“So you remained in the sitting room with the others?”
Taylor lifted one bony shoulder. “I don’t remember. Some of us went to our rooms. I might have dropped into the library for a book. I wasn’t trying to remember my movements.”
“Or you could have been writing inquiries on the paper you took from the attic.” A knot formed in Henry’s stomach. The more he learned of this man, the more it angered him that Taylor had thought for one instant that he could have Miss Smith.
The knot moved up to his chest. Though apparently no one would be good enough to marry Miss Smith.
“Maybe I was.” Taylor rested the butt of his gun on the ground and leaned on it. Henry didn’t feel the need to warn him that his chest was now over the double barrels.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” Constable Adams waved as he hiked up to their position. “I have some unfortunate news to relay.”
“What now?” Havenstone muttered.
“The magistrate of Dorset is unable to travel here for several days.” The constable took off his hat and turned it in his hands. “As such, I must request that you remain here for a bit longer than you wanted.”
“Oh, come now,” someone muttered while another said, “This is insufferable.”
Mr. Smith stepped forward. “If this magistrate doesn’t have the courtesy to make his way here in a timely manner, I don’t see why we should feel any need to stay on his account.”
“We all intended to stay the week when Perrin was alive. As there has been a murder here, I think we can find it in ourselves to remain an extra day or two,” Lady Mary said pointedly.
“A murder is all the more reason the blighter should make haste and come to us.” Mr. Smith laid his weapon on the cart and rested his boot on the wheel. “And a murder of a fellow magistrate.”
Constable Adams raised a hand. “Due to the severe storms we had, a mine collapsed in the magistrate’s jurisdiction.
Eighteen men are trapped, and he is leading the rescue efforts.
While he is digging through mud looking for bodies, we ask that you remain at a fine house, having shooting parties and feasting. I hardly think it is too much to ask.”
Mr. Smith rubbed the back of his neck. “It isn’t all sunshine and roses here,” he muttered, but no one else raised an objection.
Lady Mary looked like the only person happy to receive that news. Henry would have to write his office, inform his partner of his delay and rearrange some of his appointments. He didn’t look forward to the crush of work that would face him upon his return.
But the delay would give him more time to go through Perrin’s papers.
He still had only read about a third of the earl’s documents, not that he expected anything he found to help discover Perrin’s killer.
He’d uncovered motives for most of the guests here.
They already had reasons to want him dead.
More reasons couldn’t make him deader. But he was trained to be thorough, and one never knew what fact would be key to winning a case.
Miss Smith raised her face to the sun. A line etched her forehead, and his fingers itched to rub her worries away.
The extra time would give him the opportunity to learn more about Miss Smith, as well.
He didn’t understand why she appealed to him.
He’d met many a debutante who were just as soon forgotten.
Perhaps it was only close proximity that made Miss Smith intriguing to him.
Perhaps when he went back to Exeter he wouldn’t give her another thought.
And perhaps that was but wishful thinking.
The movement was subtle. Henry almost missed it. Taylor had tucked the butt of his fowling piece up under his arm. When he turned, the muzzle turned with him, aiming straight at the grouping of women.
Henry grabbed the gun just as it fired. His palm and fingers burned as the barrel heated. He jerked his head toward Miss Smith, his pulse racing.
She and the rest of the women were unharmed. The ground a few feet in front of them had taken the brunt of the blast. Miss Smith pressed a hand to her abdomen and released a long exhale, her gaze locking with his.
She was all right. His shoulders lowered an inch. But it had been close. His heart pounded for a new reason. Anger.
He yanked the gun from the secretary’s limp hands. “You almost shot someone, you absolute ninny.”
A footman hurried over and took the gun, taking it to the cart.
“You bloody arse,” Mr. Smith roared. “You almost shot my daughter.”
Had that been his intent? Henry gritted his teeth as he glared down at Taylor. The ice house could have been nothing more than a prank, but almost shooting someone….
“I didn’t mean to,” Taylor stammered. “I was just holding it and it went off.”
Guns didn’t just go off. Henry took a step closer to Taylor. Whether through malice or ineptitude, Taylor had caused the piece to fire. He grabbed the back collar of Taylor’s jacket, lifting the man to his toes. “We are going to have a talk about gun safety.”
Taylor squeaked, his eyes going wide. “I said it was an accident. Wait… Stop!” The smaller man tried digging his heels into the earth, but Henry had several pounds of muscle and righteous anger on his side. He dragged the man toward the house, away from witnesses.
Taylor swung his fists wildly, but Henry’s next shake was enough to rattle the man’s teeth and stop his struggle.
“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Miss Walker asked. To whom, Henry didn’t care. His focus was all on teaching Taylor a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.
It was the constable who answered, his voice growing faint as Henry ate up the distance to the house. “I don’t think so. Some actions, and some men, deserve a good thrashing.”
That was a sentiment with which Henry could wholeheartedly agree.