A scream rent the air.
A woman’s shrill cry.
Amid sudden shouts and the ringing of a handbell, a dog’s gruff bark joined the eerie chorus.
Sebastian swung round to face them. “They must have found something sinister at the folly. Helen, return to the house and wait for us there. Nicholas, follow me and keep your wits.” Then he charged off towards the folly.
“Why does he always treat me like a child?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “A novice enquiry agent must face her fears if she is to solve her first case.”
“You should go back,” he said, a deep sense of trepidation marring his tone. “From that harrowing scream, we’re sure to find something disturbing.”
She clutched his forearm. “If it is Mr Holland, you will need my support. If anyone else knows of his blackmail attempt, you may be implicated in some way. Let’s pray it’s nothing more than a broken bone. Please God, he is still breathing.”
Based on the events of the last three months, Nicholas knew to expect the worst. Indeed, they reached the folly to find Thorndyke, a bell in one hand, stroking his sister’s back while she cast up her accounts. The excitable hound kept barking and trying to escape the lead Thorndyke had tied around a tree.
“Is it Holland?” Sebastian said grimly.
Thorndyke nodded, his mournful expression warning of what horror awaited them. He pointed to the small tower where Nicholas had almost kissed Helen last night. “He’s in there. Though I warn you, Miss Langley, do not cast your pretty eyes upon such a gruesome scene.”
Aware she had not obeyed his command, Sebastian cast her an irate glare before proceeding to the building. His gasp and muttered curse confirmed Holland had suffered more than a broken bone.
Sebastian exited the tower and jerked his head for Nicholas to look. “We must alert the coroner and the magistrate at once.”
“We can send word to Mr Hope in Guildford.” Thorndyke took his sister’s lace handkerchief from her hand and dabbed her brow. He averted his gaze to avoid looking at Nicholas. “One imagines he will attend immediately, what with the nature of the crime and Lady Brompton carrying such influence in these parts.”
While Sebastian spoke about preserving the scene before the jurors arrived, Nicholas stepped up to the doorway of the folly.
The stench of urine and bodily matter invaded his nostrils. Charles Holland lay sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the old tower. His hand was stiff and twisted at an odd angle, his face pale but for the bruise to his cheek where Nicholas had punched him yesterday.
Someone had slit his throat.
Blood pooled around his head like a sticky crimson halo.
An odd feeling came over him. Not the love one should have for their kin—assuming Holland spoke the truth about their mother. But a deep sense of regret, of a missed opportunity.
Could he have salvaged anything from this mess?
Might he have forgiven a desperate man?
Helen appeared behind him, dragging him from his reverie. She gripped his upper arm and peered into the dim space, quickly burying her face in his coat.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Nicholas said gravely.
He wanted to turn around and take her in his arms, stroke her hair, and feel the comforting heat of her body. But he had no choice but to keep his back to her and stare at the lifeless corpse of the man who might be his brother.
“Who would do such a thing?” she whispered.
“Perhaps another blackmail victim. We must hope the coroner investigates thoroughly.” And finds evidence to suggest someone else wanted Charles Holland dead.
His name would be mentioned as a potential suspect. Those who had witnessed his disdain for the man would come forward. The groom in the stables would testify to seeing a fight, and Nicholas would be forced to reveal his mother’s secret.
Helen kept her voice low. “But if the coroner finds evidence of the blackmail demand, it will mean you have a motive for murder.”
The panic in her tone mirrored his own rising sense of alarm.
He could not leave for London, not now.