“I don’t know, sir. But I do believe that it must have something to do with Jenny’s disappearance. Don’t you think?”
“It seems likely,” Tysen said slowly, “since everything is happening at the same time.”
“Perhaps this someone,” William said, more forcefully now, the worry plain on his face, “didn’t want Thomas to marry, but since he did, now he’s trying to get rid of Meggie. In my case, he doesn’t want me to marry either, thus he’s taken Jenny away. But who would want both Thomas and me not to be married?”
“That,” Thomas said, giving his half-brother a look of respect, “is a very good question.”
“I agree with William,” Meggie said, and that set both Madeleine and Libby off. “Someone wants two unmarried men in the house. But why?”
“Perhaps the two mothers,” William said, and took three more steps away from his own mother. Predictably, voices went up, tempers rose and tangled, a teacup smashed to the floor.
Once again Tysen said in a voice of honey and iron, “That is quite enough. Thomas has given us a lot to consider. I suggest we do just that.” He paused a moment, looked briefly at his son-in-law, and said, “One of the persons in this room is very deeply involved in this. I wonder which one of you it is.”
There were dark mutterings.
The party broke up quickly after that.
34
THAT NIGHT MEGGIE’S shoulder hurt, to be expected Dr. Pritchart had assured her, but still Thomas was worried. But he didn’t say anything, simply poured a tincture of laudanum in some barley water and handed it to her. He didn’t move until she’d emptied the glass.
He held her until she eased into sleep.
It was very late, dark clouds obscuring the quarter moon that cast a watery light through the window when the cloth slammed down over his mouth. It took him only an instant to realize that it wasn’t a dream. He lurched up, ready to fight, but something struck him hard on the head and he slumped back. The cloth was back, covering his nose and mouth. He was aware, on some level, that he was breathing in a sickeningly sweet odor that seemed to fill his lungs, that snaked to his belly, and that odor, even more than the blow, sent him deeper and deeper until he knew no more.
Meggie felt heavy, as if her body weighed more than one of the boulders on the Pendragon beach and someone was sitting on top of it. She didn’t think she could move. She wanted to move. She managed to lift a hand, moan, and then her eyes flew open.
She felt light-headed and dizzy, a bitter taste in her mouth. At first she thought she was simply waking up in her own bed. She quickly realized she was wrong.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, but she did, finally, and looked up into a man’s face. At first she didn’t recognize him. Then she said slowly, “The last time I saw you, you were lying on your kitchen floor, blood on your head and flour all over your apron.”
“Ye’re right smart, yer ladyship. Aye, the Grakers got me, now didn’t they?”
“You’re Bernard Leach of the Hangman’s Noose at St. Agnes.”
“Good memory in yer smart head. I remember thinking how purty ye were, and all fresh and innocent since ye’d been married jest the day before.”
“We were going to stay at your inn. But it was deserted, just one lit candle in a front room. Thomas and I discovered your wife murdered, hanged. There was no one else there, just you, lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. It was the Grakers who did it, you said, then and you said it again. Then the next day you disappeared and so did the stable lad. Thomas and I remained with Squire Billings, but we couldn’t find out anything more. Why are you here? Where are we?”
“Aye, it was the Grakers what brought ye here,” Bernard said, and laughed, deep in his throat, and that laugh led quickly to a cough, a nasty watery cough that made Maggie’s insides crawl.
“Them Grakers—bothersome little pixies, the lot of them. Don’t they travel a lot, eh?” And he laughed some more. He started to cough again, stopped his laughter fast.
He looked even skinnier than he had before, his gray hair even more tufted and grizzled, so dirty and lank with oil it was matted to his head. He wasn’t wearing a huge white apron now, but rough homespun that bagged on him. He wiped his hand over his mouth, trying to catch his breath, and Meggie saw a streak of blood on his palm. She said, “You’re sick, Mr. Leach.”
“Aye, that’s as may be, but at least I’m not dead, not like ye will be, my little lady. It shouldn’t o’ been high tide, but it was. Then ye should o’ broke yer back when ye hit the water. Bloody hell, that bullet should have laid ye out, but it didn’t, now did it? Yer too lucky by far, ye are. Funny how I never considered high tide. A mistake, sure enough. Aye, I should have shot ye right through yer heart, but I didn’t manage it. Nothing went right. Nothing seems to be going right for me these days. It’s a right puzzle.”
“My husband has known you all his life. Why would you wish to harm him by killing me?”
“Well, ye see, it’s like this—”
“Do be quiet, Bernard.”
Meggie looked beyond Bernard Leach’s right shoulder to see Lord Kipper standing just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, wearing riding clothes, holding a single lit candle in one hand.
“Eh, she woke up, milord.”
“Yes, I see that she did. You may go keep watch, Bernard. Oh, by the way, did you kill Thomas?”