Chapter Thirteen
For an instant of perfect silence, Kate stared through the sudden darkness at the broken lantern, as if it had somehow destroyed itself. Until understanding slammed into her, dragging fear and panic in its wake.
Exposed, blind, she darted useless glances all around, desperately searching for the shooter. Afraid to move, afraid to stay, she had no idea what to do.
And then the side door crashed open, and Kemp threw himself toward her.
Fear surged up from her toes. A lady was always taught not to lash out, not to strike, and yet she knew that she would, to save her life, to punish what was done to Dinah.
From some kind of instinct, she straightened, pulling back her shoulders.
“My lady?” Kemp said in amazement, his voice high with alarm. “What on earth…? What happened? Are you hurt?”
His lantern swung high, dazzling her for an instant. But her immediate fear was seeping away, for someone else barged outside behind the butler. The stately figure of Mr. Otteridge.
“Don’t be an ass, man!” he growled at Kemp. “Don’t you recognize a gunshot when you hear it? Get Her Ladyship inside immediately.”
Otteridge barged past Kemp, his eyes darting, as her own had done only seconds before, and thrust his arm behind her in a protective kind of a way. “Inside, my lady, immediately, I beg of you…”
Kate swept forward, as though obedient, yet avoiding the touch of his arm. Clarity, reality, was back, and yet she felt distant from the event she had just survived, as though it had happened to someone else.
Kemp, who had been first through the door, stood aside for her, his face pinched with worry. Unusual for him to display any emotion at all, but it could be an act. Why had he been hovering about the door?
And Otteridge, why was he around? At least with two of them escorting her through the wide passage to the main entrance hall, she felt safe.
She even said to Kemp, “I’m afraid the lantern shattered. There’s glass everywhere…” And was vaguely surprised by the steadiness of her own voice.
“I’ll see to that, my lady. Let me send for your maid—”
But Grissy, ignoring protocol, was running down the main staircase, wide-eyed and brick red with shame. Her hair was askew, so she had clearly been asleep only seconds before.
“Your mistress has had a fright,” Kemp said, disapproval clear in his voice, though whether at her failure to use the servants’ stairs or at allowing Kate to be outside alone was not clear.
He indicated the nearest reception room.
“Sit down in here until you feel more the thing, my lady. Perhaps a little brandy?”
“Actually, no,” Kate said. “Is His Lordship still up? I need to see him immediately.”
“I have orders not to disturb him, my lady,” Kemp said unhappily. “Since you are quite safe, perhaps the morning would be—”
“No, no!” Otteridge exclaimed. “Her Ladyship is quite right. This is beyond the pale, Kemp. His Lordship must be informed immediately. Immediately!”
Kate inclined her head while surveying the smooth hang of his coat. She doubted he carried a firearm in his pocket. Kemp, now leading the way upstairs, was also his usual dapper self, with no unsightly bulges to his coat.
But then, she had no idea if the shot had come from a window, or from outside the house.
If the culprit was either Kemp or Otteridge, they could easily have abandoned their weapon in a nearby room—even the reception room Kemp had tried to usher her into, and Otteridge had cooperated in keeping her out of… Was that significant?
She forced herself to take Otteridge’s proffered arm to climb the stairs, and again caught sight of Grissy’s frightened, questioning face.
She smiled reassuringly, all irritation with the maid forgotten in the chilling realization that of everyone in this house, Grissy was the only one she could trust not to have murdered Dinah and not to have shot at Kate.
“One moment, if you please,” Kemp said, pausing outside Lord Chadbon’s study door. And such was the dignity of the butler that Otteridge actually held Kate back when she would have barged in after him.
Which at least reminded her of his presence.
She bestowed a smile upon him, trying to make it as natural as possible. “I have to thank you, sir, for coming so quickly to my aid. I shall not forget it.” And she wouldn’t.
“There, there, I only wish I could have been of more service. It’s too much, my dear, too much. Something dashed havey-cavey is going on in this house, which I never thought I’d say, but His Lordship needs to hear it!”
“He does indeed, sir. So you will allow me to speak to him alone?” She made it a question, although she was quite prepared to be more bullish about it if necessary.
Otteridge looked taken aback, even disappointed. He harrumphed and frowned, and Kate patted his hand in gratitude as though he had agreed.
“Thank you, sir. I must tell him all. Grissy, you may wait in my bedchamber. I shan’t be—”
The study door opened again and Kemp bowed. “His Lordship will see you, my lady.”
Kate swept past him and closed the door on Otteridge, who was giving a last, slightly forlorn, “Harrumph.”
Chadbon strode around from his desk, both hands held out. His face seemed rather white. “My dear Lady Ambrose! I cannot believe what Kemp tells me! I did hear something—thought my crystal had been dropped on the kitchen floor!”
“No, my lord, it was definitely a gunshot,” Kate said, allowing him to take her hands. “It missed me by inches, only because I bent down suddenly, and it shattered the lantern I still held high in my other hand.”
“But why?” Chadbon asked blankly. “I cannot believe it was poachers so close to the house, and we are not much plagued by robbers and thieves around these parts—”
“No, I don’t believe it was either robbers or poachers,” Kate said, rather admiring her own calm. “To be frank, I am no threat to either. The only reason I can think of for anyone to shoot at me is that I am asking too many questions and frightening someone.”
“Frightening whom?” Chadbon asked, clearly bewildered.
“Whoever killed Dinah.”
From the expressions chasing each other across Chadbon’s face, it took him a moment to place Dinah.
“Oh, I hardly think… There is no possible connection between you and the maid! And Remington already has the culprit under lock and key. Oh, do sit down, my dear, you must have had a terrible fright. Perhaps a little brandy, in the circumstances…”
“No thank you,” Kate said, sitting in the visitor’s chair by the desk and watching Chadbon pour himself a substantial glassful from the decanter.
She waited until he faced her again. “Unless you have a sudden plague of random violence at Chadbon Court, don’t you think it likelier that both attacks were by the same person? ”
Chadbon took a sizable gulp of brandy and lowered himself back into his usual chair at the opposite side of the desk. He frowned with consternation. “But…but…”
“As you say, Mr. Grande is confined. He did not shoot at me.”
“No, but he could still have killed the maid.”
“In theory,” Kate allowed. “But then, what reason does anyone have to shoot me? Just outside your house and risking scandal, as well as the failure of all the opportunities we have been working for here. The only answer is that I have been asking too many questions, and the murderer has noticed.”
Chadbon’s lips parted as uneasy understanding dawned. He closed his eyes. “Oh, dear God, if this gets out…”
“I shan’t go blabbing it to anyone,” Kate assured him.
“And neither will Kemp, although a word with Mr. Otteridge as soon as possible might be a good idea. However, we must go to Mr. Remington first thing in the morning and tell him what happened. Mr. Grande must go free. Thank goodness the matter went no further.”
Chadbon began to nod worriedly. He had not meant to have an innocent man condemned, she thought. But his need for discretion had fitted too easily with the convenience of a stranger, a nobody—as he thought—to carry the blame.
“If you are right, then Grande has been treated abominably. How the deuce do I make that right?”
“I believe you might leave that to me,” Kate said. “He will no doubt return to the vicarage and carry on as if nothing has happened.”
“But that still leaves us with the problem of the original murder. If Grande didn’t do it, who did?”
Kate suddenly realized she was shaking. She stood abruptly. “That is what we must discover. I suggest an early call on the magistrate. I will accompany you, of course, to give my statement about this evening’s attack.”
“There is no need to so discommode yourself, Lady Ambrose,” Chadbon said hastily, also rising to his feet. “I shall relay—”
“I would like to,” Kate said. “It is my duty.” She sounded self-righteous and stuffy to her own ears, and Chadbon clearly didn’t want her with him at the magistrate’s, which made her all the more determined to go. “But for now, I shall bid you goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he replied mechanically. Only when he reached the door did he appear to arouse himself to say what he ought to. “My dear, I cannot apologize enough for what has happened to you here. I feel it as a personal shame. I am only grateful the outcome is not worse.”
“You are not responsible, my lord,” she replied, equally mechanically.
But he could have been. He was up, and if his study did not overlook the side of the house, he could easily have moved rooms without being seen.
But then, so could anyone.
*
Rupert must have been growing used to his hard pallet bed, for he didn’t wake the following morning until the constable kicked open the outside door to bring in the tray of breakfast.
Two small tin mugs of ale, a chunk of dry bread for each of the prisoners. Salter was already sitting on the edge of his own pallet, head in hands and glowering in the constable’s general direction. Rupert imagined the old soldier had a very sore head.
Throwing off his blanket, Rupert stood up, stretched, and yawned.