CHAPTER TWENTY
HENRY’S EYES WERE SCRATCHY and her feet were heavy as bricks when they arrived in Portadown, where they needed to transfer trains.
As soon as the door was open, Barnabas popped out of his seat and said, “Let’s go.”
The platform was busy and a blur of motion. Henry gripped the side of the car as she stepped out onto a step that seemed twice as steep as when she’d boarded. She just wanted to stand still and get her bearings.
“We don’t have much time.” Barnabas urged her into the station. Once inside, he nodded toward the large display board. “I’ll check which platform we need.”
She shot him a look and stumbled.
Barnabas caught her elbow steadying her. “You look pale.”
She looked over her shoulder to see what had tripped her and didn’t see anything. The floor was smooth. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. Her head was spinning.
Barnabas slid his arm around her and supported her firmly. “When is the last time you slept?”
“I don’t know.” No matter how many times she tried to close her eyes, the clack and sway of the moving train made her queasy and she couldn’t sleep. Keeping her eyes open helped her stomach settle, which didn’t make a lot of sense.
He gently guided her toward the board, and she felt like a ninny. But it was less about her tiredness and more about her unsettled stomach. Since they’d boarded the first train in Ireland this morning she’d been fighting nausea. She shouldn’t be seasick from a train, but she was. Some daughter of a naval officer she was.
Her father had once told her it helped to watch the horizon until the seasickness faded. Only for her, the ferry across the Irish Sea had been the worst because she’d been stuck in the lady’s salon below deck where she couldn’t look out and there hadn’t been the regular stops that allowed her to regain her equilibrium.
She’d taken off the pocket with her gun and tried to sleep, but that only made her feel worse.
Staring at the timetables, she tried to make sense of the routes. The times seemed to spin in front of her. Instead of figuring out which train they were to take she added up how long it had been since she’d slept. Going on thirty-six hours now. Maybe her illness was partly due to a lack of sleep.
“We’ll take a later train. You need a nap and a meal.” Barnabas tried to turn her towards the door. “We’ll find a hotel where you can lie down for a few hours.”
“I’m not going to a hotel with you.” She pulled away from him. “You’ll make me sleep with you again.”
Barnabas stiffened and drew back. “I didn’t make you sleep with me.”
She wished she could take back the words. His withdraw left her alone in a sea of strangers. One or two were casting odd glances in their direction. They probably thought her an immoral woman. She dropped her voice. “I know. I just...seem to lose my will to say no to you.”
His nostrils flared and he stared down at her.
She shouldn’t have said that either.
“Henry, if you are not feeling well, I wouldn’t—“ He broke off staring over her head.
She turned around.
Mr. Gilvaroy stood a few feet behind them. He shifted uncomfortably, as if he was uncertain whether or not to come closer. His gaze landed on her. His eyes were a pale blue, but not nearly as icy as his brother’s. Although the resemblance was strong. But this was not the man she’d followed. She was certain of it.
“I could show you the way to the next train,” Mr. Gilvaroy said. He seemed reluctant to turn his gaze to Barnabas. “Although I am of half a mind to attempt to convince you to take the train to Armagh.” He gave them a crooked boyish smile. “But I guess you wouldn’t fall for that.”
“No. We won’t be visiting Armagh this trip,” Barnabas said in a pleasant voice.
Mr. Gilvaroy cast another curious glance in her direction, gave a shake of his head, and said, “This is as good a place as any to stop and take a meal. I’ve had to hold over here once or twice when I arrived too late to make the transfer. The last train will put you into Coleraine at a quarter to nine this evening.”
Any doubt she’d had of whether or not he’d overheard what she said fled. Her cheeks heated.
“So I see,” said Barnabas. He put an arm around her shoulders.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Mr. Gilvaroy gave her a puzzled look.
“Miss Brown, may I present Seamus Gilvaroy.”
He gave a polite, but sad smile and stepped toward her as if to reach out his hand.
“This is my intended, Miss Henrietta Brown,” said Barnabas in a tight cold voice.
She was caught in the middle of giving a nod of acknowledgement of the introduction. His intended? The protest bubbled on her lips, but she bit it back staring up at Barnabas’s stony expression. He’d never used her full name before.
Barnabas squeezed her upper arm as if he expected her to contradict him, but given the distaste with which he’d said it, she knew it was only to protect her reputation.
Mr. Gilvaroy drew up short, too. “Ah, I see. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Brown.” His rather sad smile dropped away and he looked anxious and embarrassed.
How must it be for him to have a brother who was a murderer? She felt a kindred moment with him as she recognized the same emotions she felt when acknowledging the stain Rachel had left on their family by her actions.
“Well, I will see you there.” Mr. Gilvaroy cast a glance over his shoulder. “I’d rather it was under different circumstances, but I must hurry or I will miss the next train.”
He turned and headed off across the station.
“We should follow him,” said Henry. “He’ll take the train we need to take.”
Barnabas’s gaze followed the earl’s brother. “No. We are taking a rest here.”
“I feel better. We can go on,” Henry urged. “It is just a bit of seasickness. I’ll be fine.”
“There is no reason we have to hurry. Besides, I am hungry.”
She took a step after the earl’s brother. “And let Mr. Gilvaroy warn the earl that we’re coming? No, thank you.”
Barnabas pulled her back. “Coleraine already knows.”
She stopped and turned toward him. A few minutes off the train and she was feeling better, less dizzy. “The earl knows we’re coming?”
“I don’t know if he knows about you, but he knows he’s been indicted. I’m certain he knows what is next.” Barnabas hailed a porter and asked where the nearest inn with decent food and private parlors was located.
She barely waited until the man had finished his answer. “How does Coleraine know?” she hissed. “And how do you know he knows?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Of course not. She stopped and turned in the direction the earl’s brother had gone. Her eyes stung, which was just because she wasn’t feeling up to snuff. She should just go on without him. Question his lordship’s brother. But Barnabas had her valise tucked under his arm while his own dangled from his hand.
“Come along. I could use a break from all the riding, too.”
She reached for her valise. “You just want the earl to have every opportunity to flee.”
He transferred her bag to his free hand and held it out but didn’t let go when she put her fingers through the handle. “I promise you he won’t flee.” He added in a mutter, “As much as I wish he would, he won’t.”
A flush spread through her at the feel of his fingers against hers. “Will you give me my bag?”
“You just want to question Mr. Gilvaroy.”
“Of course I do.”
“Yes, but are you planning to tell him you’re a reporter, not my intended?” He let go of her bag.
“Do you think he heard what I said?”
“Is there any doubt? Half the station probably heard.”
“Yes, well thank you for being mindful of my reputation. Although I’m not your intended.”
His mouth tightened. “I didn’t do it for you. I’m not showing up with Coleraine thinking I’m dragging a reporter along.”
He turned toward the front of the station. He must really plan to linger here. If she went ahead now, she’d be showing up in Coleraine alone.
She weighed learning if the earl’s brother had said anything useful against getting on another train in less than fifteen minutes. Frankly, she dreaded the train. She scurried after Barnabas. “If Coleraine has fled, I’m writing that it was because you let him.”
Barnabas cast her an amused glance and held out his hand for her valise. “Yes, well, I was wondering how far you’d get before you realized I have the tickets.”
*~*~*
Henry had perked up after a meal and a nap at the inn. But her energy hadn’t lasted for very long after they’d boarded the train hours earlier. Near the end of the last leg of their journey, she’d gone listless. Her face was pale and she swallowed at regular intervals.
“Are you all right?” he whispered into her ear.
“It is pathetic that the daughter of a naval officer gets seasick,” she responded with a combination of pluck and self-derision. “On a train.”
He reached for her hand patting the back of it. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Get us there faster?”
“I wish I could.” His backside was sore from so much sitting, but obviously Henry was in worse shape if she was getting ill from the sway of the carriage. Rain dripped down the window and he hoped it wasn’t slowing their progress.
What he could do was spend a few days questioning Coleraine’s staff and siblings. The commissioner would be angry at the delay, but turning around in the morning and putting Henry back on a train for another twenty-four hours of travel would be cruel.
When they finally arrived in Coleraine, the air was freshly cleansed by rain and had a clean quality to it that was never found in London. As Barnabas stepped off the carriage step, he took a deep breath. He watched Henry close her eyes and do the same as soon as she hit the platform. All around the small station was lush green grass and a mist that likely would have yielded rainbows if the sun hadn’t dropped below the horizon.
Only a handful of other people stepped off the train.
“I suppose we should find an inn,” Henry said.
Barnabas held out his arm. He walked toward the end of the wood planking to go around the station house rather than go inside. He hoped to give her a bit of time to recover and the fresh air would undoubtedly help. “I plan to call on Coleraine straight away.”
She reared back, shook her head, and stared at him. He tugged her along.
When they were clear of the other passengers walking down the platform she said, “Are you bloody insane?”
So much for her needing time to recover. They rounded the corner of the station house to the street. A one-horse gig was tied near the station door. Two men stood on opposite sides of it, one in the cap and uniform of a railway station master.
The other, a barrel-chested man with bushy red muttonchops, stepped toward them. He rolled his cap in his hands. “Mr. Harlow?”
“Yes.”
“Taking you and the young lady to the house, I am.” The man’s gaze danced between the paving stones of the street and either side of them.
Henry’s eyes went round.
Barnabas studied him, wondering why the man seemed so ill at ease. Or perhaps he’d overheard part of their conversation. “To the earl’s house?”
The man met his gaze, held it too long, and nodded. “To the earl’s house.”
The suddenly direct gaze bothered Barnabas, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. Even though Coleraine knew him, he didn’t expect a warm welcome. “Do you work for the earl?”
“I do not. I work in town. Deliveries and such. Mr. Gilvaroy said you’d be coming in. I have my trap.” The lilt in his voice connected the disjointed sentences. “This way.”
To have sent someone to fetch them seemed odd. And why not the earl’s own coachman, unless it was a thinly veiled insult, as if a police inspector wasn’t worthy of such notice. Or Henry. Did Coleraine know who Henry was? Either way it didn’t seem like the earl’s style.
From the station doorway, the station master nodded a greeting to them. “Taking care of these fine visitors, Mr. Inverness?”
That the station master knew the driver eased Barnabas’s concerns.
“That I am.” The brawny Mr. Inverness reached out and took Henry’s canvas valise. Then he held out his hand until Barnabas handed over his bag. “Be putting these in the boot, I will.”
Henry brushed against his side and sparks shot through him. His thoughts filled with her. He glanced down at her. Her color was better and her breathing deep.
“How long will it take to get there?” Henry asked as they trailed behind the man.
“Good half the hour. Be full dark.”
It was nearly full dark now.
She drew to a halt, grabbed Barnabas’s arm, and held him back as she whispered, “Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”
Perhaps Henry was sensing his uneasiness. Or was he just off kilter because he’d expected to have to find a place to rent a gig and horse.
“Coleraine is a nocturnal creature. He’ll be awake to receive us.”
“But—“
“I thought you wanted to see what happens, but if you’d rather stay in town...” He didn’t have a moment to waste. He could get in a few questions tonight.
She grimaced.
“Prepared for you, they are.” Mr. Inverness’s gaze darted around as he secured the bags to the rear of the vehicle.
The man might just be the nervous sort. No one else around seemed to be paying him any mind. Of course locals might resent anyone who came to arrest Coleraine.
“Do you know his lordship?” asked Barnabas. Better to get on the man’s good side and learn the local sentiment.
“Everyone around here does.”
“I know the papers in London have painted him guilty.” Barnabas ignored Henry’s outraged sniff. “What do the people around here think?”
“He’s not like his father.” The man gestured to the seat. “Best get in. More rain is on the way.”
The man wasn’t being very forthcoming, but it was drizzling.
“I knew the previous earl,” Henry said as Barnabas guided her into the center of the single bench seat.
The man’s motions stopped and he squinted at Henry.
“I didn’t know him well,” she said with a light tone. “He had a house near mine and I was barely more than a child when he passed away.”
Barnabas calculated. She’d been sixteen, which most people would consider well past childhood for a female.
Henry twisted to address their driver. “I noticed the present earl spent a great deal more time in London after his father’s passing.”
Barnabas climbed in beside her, sitting all the way on the edge so there would be room for the three of them.
In the same chatty tone she said, “I do think the earl was unduly affected by his father’s death and his wife...” She let the words dangle as if hoping Mr. Inverness would fill in the blanks, but when he didn’t, she blithely continued. “Have you seen the earl much since then? You have lived here a while, haven’t you?”
The man took his seat with a grunt.
“I’m told he returns to his estate every two or three months and spends a few days before returning to the city,” she said when she didn’t get any answer.
“He be here enough.” He flipped the reins to start the horse forward.
Barnabas leaned back, willing to let her work—because that was what she was doing, attempting to set the man at ease, not revealing her own position, but trying to discern his. It was different than how he questioned people. He would often use guilt or sympathy to eke reluctant answers out of witnesses. When interviewing a suspect he didn’t want the potential criminal relaxed. If a suspect was scrambling to stay ahead of his questions, he or she often let little things slip. Sometimes it was less about the questions, but the reactions of the people involved or close to the perpetrator.
This man clearly didn’t want to participate in the investigation, but the why was more interesting to Barnabas. Was he protective of the earl, the earl’s family, or just didn’t like outsiders?
Barnabas read the signpost as they left the town. He had directions from Murdock and thus far they were following them. But he’d keep an eye on their progress. Surreptitiously he pulled his watch from his pocket and marked the time.
Henry was chatting along, making almost no progress, while he tilted back even more to watch the side of the man’s face in the late evening gloaming.
“Harlow isn’t at all certain that Lord Coleraine is the murderer.”
Barnabas tensed but, interestingly enough, their driver started even more.
Henry continued as if she hadn’t said anything significant, “I imagine this is lovely country. I wish there was more light to see it.”
Neither man commented. Instead they exchanged a glance. Barnabas did his best to give a silent confirmation of what Henry said, although he rarely gave away his feelings to potential witnesses. It really wasn’t his business to have an opinion, but to just gather the facts. It was bad police work to try and slant a witness’s version of events or indicate to them in any way which scenario he might prefer.
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“If I were to talk to someone who knows the earl best, not his family or servants, who would that be?”
“Mrs. Nesbitt,” answered Mr. Inverness. He grimaced as if he regretted the answer.
Henry chatted animatedly about the green surrounding them and how the night seemed to come on very softly, not acting at all as if the name meant anything to her. “I’ll have to write home and tell them how pretty and peaceful it is here. Where is the post located?”
He was struck with a new admiration for Henry. She must have realized that their driver regretted giving her the name and would find the direction of Mrs. Nesbitt just as easily at the post office as she would anywhere else. Either that or she wanted to know where to mail her next story.
They took a turn onto a track that was little more than two furrows in the ground. Not the way Murdock had said. Barnabas pulled out his watch and had to squint to read the dial in the near darkness. Twenty minutes had passed, so it was too soon to be pulling into the drive to Coleraine’s estate, not that the track looked like a drive to an earl’s abode.
“Why did we turn off the main road?” asked Barnabas.
“Going a different way,” Mr. Inverness said. “Getting you there in good time.”
Henry glanced toward him twin grooves appearing just above her nose.
Barnabas sat up straight. “According to my directions, we should just stay on the main road.”
“Uh, a bit of, uh, the road is low lying. After a rain, muddy it gets.” The man rubbed his chin with the side of his hand. “Got stuck with my supply wagon, I have. Owning this land, his lordship does.”
The explanation was plausible—they did seem to be going uphill—but a chill ran down Barnabas’s spine. The sudden loquaciousness of the taciturn Mr. Inverness made him suspicious.
“I would hate to get stuck,” said Henry but there was a change in her tone that signaled uncertainty.
He leaned close to Henry’s ear. “Do you have your companion?”
Her eyes widened as she nodded slowly. She jerked her head to the back and twisted looking at her valise.
Damn. The one time she didn’t have the gun tucked in her hidden pocket. Probably because he was watching over her. He shook his head, trying to keep her from revealing his concern, which seemed like an impossible task. He put a finger over his lips. He mouthed, “Keep talking.”
“Have you ever taken a packet ship across the Irish Sea?” she said and then rolled her eyes. “That was the most miserable part of our journey, although I don’t suppose we were in any danger of getting stuck. Sunk maybe, which would be a kind of stuck I suppose.”
They rolled over the crest of the hill and started down into a dark valley. Their driver made no effort to light a lamp and the horse continued to plod along. Barnabas reached over the back of the seat, stretching for Henry’s valise.
It was as if the darkness had swallowed them. The overcast sky didn’t allow starlight through. They began a climb out of the valley and a tall dark house appeared, seemingly growing out of the landscape. Except Barnabas found it odd that no lights shone from the windows.
Just as he’d managed to undo the clasp on Henry’s bag, the trap veered to the right and then canted sideways. Barnabas grabbed the back of the seat and wrapped an arm around Henry before she tumbled all the way out. Mr. Inverness had hardly moved as his side of the trap dropped two feet.
“Broken a wheel, I say,” said Inverness.
No crack of wood, thought Barnabas.
A rustle to his side. A blur of motion in his face. An overpoweringly sweet smell. Something cold and wrong went in his lungs. Like water and not water.
Henry screamed, but it was as if she were far away not clasped in his arm. His arms didn’t seem to be working and then nothing...