CHAPTER TEN
Their uncle nodded again, a short, decisive nod, then did it twice more. “How are you? Are you well?” he asked, his polished voice at odds with his rough clothes and bizarre appearance.
“We are,” Kit replied. He and Anna carefully did not move any closer to their uncle. Uncle Charles disliked anyone standing too close to him. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Charles de Winter replied. “I am looking out for her. I am careful. You know that.”
“Yes, we do,” Anna agreed. “You are always very careful.”
His gaze skittered to her, then away again. Anna was accustomed to it. Her uncle did not like to look anyone in the eye, either. “One has to be,” he said firmly. “She has spies everywhere. They are always trying to find me.” He gave them a quick, crafty smile. “I have outfoxed her, though.”
He gestured toward the stones encircling the hut, then patted one of the slats of wood that stood where he had lain. Things that looked like letters in some foreign tongue—Arabic, perhaps, or something like it—decorated the marker, running in a row downward. Anna knew that the other wooden slat was decorated on the far side with similar figures. What they said, she had no idea. All she knew was that her uncle insisted on sleeping between the two markers, feeling that they kept him safe.
She and Kit, like nearly everyone else who lived in the area, had thought that her mother’s brother had sailed to Barbados ten years earlier. It had not been until three years ago that her father had finally taken her aside and told her the truth. Her uncle was mad.
Anna could remember clearly the day her father had told her. It had been the day all her dreams had died.
Arthur had reached them by now, and he swept off his cap, bobbing his head first toward Kit, then to Anna. “We’re that pleased to see you, aren’t we, my lord?”
“Yes, General. But I—” Charles cast a worried glance at the ground where he had been sleeping. “It is time for my rest.” He looked back at his niece and nephew, then over at a point a little to the right of them. “It is important. You know I have to stand guard at night. That is when they are most likely to come.”
Kit nodded. “We know, Uncle Charles. Don’t worry. Go ahead and sleep. We’ll just talk to Arthur for a while.”
Their uncle looked a little doubtful as he glanced at his servant, but Arthur nodded reassuringly, saying, “I’ll keep watch, my lord. Master Kit and Miss Anna will help me look.”
“Yes. All right. But I’m not sure they’ll know what to look for.”
“I’ll tell ’em. Don’t you worry yourself, sir. We’ll keep a good lookout, and it’s daytime, after all.”
“Yes. You’re right, of course. And I have my protection.” Charles de Winter showed them the backs of his hands, where more of the unreadable figures were drawn in charcoal. “I changed them, you see. Much better than the old ones. Gabriel told me.”
“Good. I’m glad.” Anna nodded and smiled. It was the easiest course to take with her uncle.
They walked with Arthur back up to the front of the hut, and Arthur dragged out two straight-backed chairs from inside for Anna and Kit to sit in.
“How is he doing?” Kit asked Arthur, nodding toward his uncle, who was now wrapping himself carefully in his blanket and lying down between the markers.
“He has his good days and his bad days,” Arthur said noncommittally. He had looked after Lord de Winter from the time Charles was a child, separated from him only when Charles had gone off to school. Many another young man would not have taken Arthur on as his valet when he returned from Oxford, for he was rougher in manner and speech than most valets, but Charles had wanted no other manservant. Arthur, for his part, was intensely loyal to Charles. Anna knew that only a deep affection could have made anyone willing to take on the sort of life he had in order to care for her uncle.
“How has he been the last two or three days?” Anna asked.
Arthur looked at her, faintly surprised. “Same as ever, miss.” He nodded toward where Charles lay. “He’s been fairly quiet, just drawing them designs on his hands. He’s happy, thinks they’ll keep him safer.”
“At night—does he stay here?” Kit asked.
Arthur drew back, studying them, a frown starting. “Why are you asking all these questions? What’s the matter?”
“We just want to make sure that Uncle Charles hasn’t gone anywhere the last few nights. That he has been here.”
“’Course he’s been here. Where else would he go? He spends most nights right here outside the hut or up in one of the trees, keeping watch to make sure the ‘Queen’s assassins’ don’t somehow make it past the rocks.”
“Doesn’t he patrol sometimes?” Anna pursued. “Roam the whole area?”
“Sometimes,” Arthur agreed somewhat reluctantly. “But I haven’t heard him say anything about it lately.”
“But you are asleep during the night. So you wouldn’t know for sure whether or not he left this area?” Anna asked.
Arthur slowly shook his head. “No, miss. I’m not absolutely sure. Why does it matter?”
“There’s been some trouble.”
“Someone’s found out about Lord de Winter?” Arthur asked, worried.
“No. Nothing like that. Some people have been killed.”
“Killed!” Arthur stared at her. “What are you saying, miss?”
“The manner in which they were killed was very odd. There were marks on them that looked as if an animal had clawed them,” Anna explained.
For a moment Arthur’s face was blank; then understanding dawned on him. “Oh! His nails. But, miss, he would never hurt anyone. He couldn’t. Why, no matter how upset he gets about things, he’s never made the least effort to hurt me. He’s gentle. You know that. He’s just…confused, like, and scared.”
“But, Arthur, what if—what if he thought those people were the Queen’s spies or her assassins? What if he thought they were going to hurt him? Can you swear that he would not kill them to keep them from harming him—and you?”
Arthur looked troubled. “Well…no, miss, I might not could swear to it. But he’s been peaceful the last few days. I told you. He thinks this angel told him to draw these other marks on his hands, and he feels safer.”
Anna bit her lip. She wished Arthur’s answer had been more reassuring. Of course he would not think Charles had done anything so terrible; he was devoted to the man. Nor did she really think that her uncle was capable of murder. Still, there was a niggling little worry in the back of her brain. She wasn’t sure exactly what Uncle Charles might do when he was in the grip of one of his delusions.
“Keep a careful eye on him, won’t you?” Kit said to the servant.
“I always do that, sir,” Arthur told him somewhat reproachfully.
“I know you do. You are excellent with him. But we need to make especially sure that he doesn’t go out anywhere, that no one sees him.”
“Nobody comes this way, sir. Most people don’t like the woods, and you can’t get to the top of the tor this way, anyway. The time or two anybody’s shown up, trying to climb the tor, they haven’t seen him, and I’ve sent them on their way. He always hides if he hears voices. You know how he is.” He nodded at them gravely. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of him. Nobody’s going to find out about him—and nobody’s going to be hurt, not by him.”
* * *
“Do you feel better about it now?” Kit asked a few minutes later as he and Anna made their way back down from their uncle’s hideaway.
“Yes, I suppose.” Anna agreed. “I mean, he says Uncle Charles has been calmer. Surely he would not be calm if he had killed someone, even if he thought they were spies or assassins.”
“Arthur would have noticed if he had been acting strangely. He is devoted to him, but I don’t think he would cover up something like that for him.”
They made their way carefully down a slope, not speaking until they reached more level ground. When they did, Anna said with a sigh, “It makes me so sad to see him like that. Do you remember him when we were young? How he always had that bowl of sweets in his study, and he would give us one?”
Kit smiled faintly. “Yes, I remember. It is sad.” After a moment, he added, “What frightens me is—what if it strikes me later, as it did him?”
“I know. It’s a terrifying thought. I think about it, too.”
Their uncle’s madness had not come upon him until after he was grown, and at first, his “spells” had come upon him only now and then. During his “good days,” he had seemed normal. Gradually the spells had become more frequent and his behavior had grown more bizarre, until it was difficult to hide from the servants. His insistence on living outdoors had been the final oddity, impossible to explain, and it was then that Anna’s father had hit upon the plan to hide Lord de Winter’s madness from the rest of the world.
It was impossible not to look for signs of incipient madness in herself and in Kit, to examine every little oddity for an indication of something worse. Beneath everything that she did, running like a thread through the everyday fabric of her life, was the knowledge that one day her uncle’s fate might be hers or Kit’s, as well.
When they reached Holcomb Manor, they were surprised to see Kyria McIntyre’s carriage sitting in front of their house. Kyria and her friend Rosemary were in the front drawing room, sipping at the cups of tea that their butler had hastened to provide.
“Kyria!” Anna exclaimed as she and Kit strode into the room. “What a delightful surprise.”
“You will think me utterly rude, I’m afraid, to insist upon waiting for you, but your butler said you had already been gone some time on your walk, and I did so hope to catch you.”
“Of course I don’t think you are rude,” Anna assured her. “I am glad that you waited. May I offer you anything more than tea?”
“Oh, no,” Kyria said with a chuckle. “Your butler has already offered us most of the contents of your pantry, I think, but we had a late breakfast.”
As Kyria and Anna talked, Kit had taken the opportunity to speak to Rosemary Farrington, and now he extended to her an offer to show her the Holcomb gardens. Blushing a little, Miss Farrington did not hesitate to agree, and the two of them slipped out the door. Kyria looked after them for a moment.
“I think,” she said, turning to Anna with a smile, “that there is a certain fondness between your brother and Miss Farrington.”
“Miss Farrington is a very pleasant young woman,” Anna replied noncommittally.
“Unfortunately, I am afraid that I am going to throw a spanner in the works.”
Anna looked at Kyria questioningly.
“We came over here today to tell you that we are leaving for London as soon as we can get ourselves packed and ready—probably by tomorrow afternoon.”
Anna’s heart sank as she thought of Reed no longer being there. She knew it was the best thing, of course, for both of them, but that did not make the future seem any less empty. However, she kept her expression schooled to a mild disappointment as she said, “I—I am sorry to hear that.”
“Normally I would not be such a coward,” Kyria went on. “But I have to think of baby Emily and the twins, not to mention my guest. It—well, it just seems too dangerous for us to remain here with them, now that there is this person killing at random….”
“Yes, of course. You cannot expose the children or Miss Farrington to danger,” Anna agreed. “I perfectly understand. Still, I will be sorry to see you go.”
“Thank you. I will miss you, too. The twins, of course, are most loath to leave. They have been trying to convince us that they should stay and help find the murderer. But I can see that their pleas are lacking their usual spirit. I think that finding that body yesterday has affected them more than they would like to admit.”
“I am sure it has. I am so sorry they were with me.”
“You could have had no idea,” Kyria reassured her. “I am very glad you were with them and they did not stumble upon it by themselves.” She leaned forward, impulsively reaching over to take Anna’s hand. “I do hope that this will not be the end of our friendship. I would like it very much if you and your brother would come visit us in London. We could do all sorts of things. It is the height of the Season, and I would love to show you around. Please say you will come and stay with us. I shall have my mother write you an invitation. She would love to meet you. And Broughton House is huge, far too large for our family. You would not have to worry about being squeezed in with all of us.”
Anna flushed a little with pleasure. She liked Kyria, and she could not help but wish that things had been different, that she and Kyria could have become fast friends. But, of course, they could not. She could not go for a visit to the ducal mansion, living in the same house as Reed. It would be an impossible situation. No, no matter how empty the upcoming days would seem, it would be far better for Reed and Kyria and all the rest of them to leave. In the long run, it would be far easier on her heart.
“I am sorry,” she said, real regret in her voice. “But I am afraid that Kit and I do not often visit the City. We are simple country folk.”
“What nonsense. That is the sort of thing Rafe says—usually when he is trying to put something over on someone.”
Anna laughed. “No, I promise you, I am not trying to ‘put anything over’ on you. But the summer is a very busy time here. Kit has to keep track of everything for both estates, and I could not leave him to do it all by himself.”
“Well, I shall write you, and you must promise that you will write back to me.”
“I will, yes.”
“And I will convince you to visit. You’ll see.”
Rosemary and Kit strolled back into the room soon after that. Their faces were flushed, and Anna thought that Miss Farrington looked a little teary-eyed. Kyria rose, and they took their leave. Kit and Anna walked with them out to their carriage.
“Please say our goodbyes to Lord Moreland, as well,” Anna said, carefully keeping her voice neutral.
Kyria looked at her in surprise. “Reed? Oh, but Reed is not going with us to London. I am sorry, I did not realize you thought that he was leaving, as well. No, it is just Rafe and I and our baby and Miss Farrington and the twins.”
“Oh.” Anna’s heart was suddenly much lighter. She told herself that the news should not make her happy; she should not be looking forward to seeing Reed again. “He—he really should leave. You must persuade him to go with you for his own safety.”
Kyria let out a lilting laugh. “Oh, no! If I were to tell Reed that, it would only make him even more determined to stay.”
Kit handed the women up into the carriage, bowing toward them, his eyes going to Rosemary. She lifted her hand to him, and the carriage pulled away. Anna glanced over at her brother. He was watching the carriage as it receded down the drive.
“I am sorry, Kit,” Anna said, slipping her hand into his.
He did not look at her as he said, “It is better that she leave now. It will make it easier in the end.”
“Yes, but I know that it is hard right now.”
He squeezed her hand. “We have not fallen in love. But I did like her…very much. She wanted me to come to London to visit. She said that Kyria was inviting us to stay with them at Broughton House.”
“She did.”
“I told her it was impossible. It hurt her. I could see it in her eyes, though she tried to hide it. And that makes me feel worse than ever.”
“Oh, Kit…”
He mustered up a smile for her. “What a sorry pair we are, eh? Ah, well, I do not suppose I could ask for a better sister to grow old with here. Can you not see us when we are Nick Perkins’ age? Playing cribbage in front of the fire every evening?” He turned back into the house, standing aside for her to walk through the door before him and saying lightly, “It’s the very devil behaving responsibly, isn’t it?”
* * *
Anna was surprised the following morning when the butler interrupted her in a conference with the housekeeper to tell her that Lord Moreland and his two younger brothers were there to see her.
She hurried out of the servants’ area, stopping at a mirror in the hall to examine her face and hair, and to repin a lock that was threatening to slip out. Reed and the twins were waiting for her in the formal drawing room. Alex and Con, who had been tussling with each other, straightened, letting go of each other, and turned to grin at her.
“Anna!”
“Hello, Con. Alex.” She went over to them and took their hands. “How glad I am to see you. I was afraid that you were going to leave without saying goodbye to me.”
“Never!” Con declared stoutly. “Reed told us he would bring us.”
Anna looked over at Reed. He smiled and made a slight bow to her. Warmth stirred in her. “Thank you,” she told him.
“I was glad to do it,” he replied.
“Reed took us to see Perkins yesterday,” Alex told her.
“Really?” Anna glanced toward Reed, surprised that he would have taken them along the same route where they had found the body.
“We drove by way of the road,” Reed explained, obviously aware of what she had been thinking.
“I see. And how was your patient?” Anna asked.
“Ever so much better. He can get up and walk around, though he still wears a bandage,” Alex went on.
“And Perkins said he was well enough that he thought we could take him back to London with us if we wanted,” Con finished.
“That’s wonderful news.”
“We’ll be very careful to keep him away from the boa,” Alex assured her.
“I am sure that would be a good idea.”
“And the parrot,” he added after a moment’s thought.
Anna smiled. “Well, I have no doubt that he will enjoy his new home. And I think it’s good that you are going home.”
Con nodded. “Rafe explained it to us—how Kyria would feel she would have to stay if we stayed, and if she stayed, the baby and Miss Farrington would, too, so the only way he can get them back to London is if we go, too.”
“That’s a very clever plan,” Anna said, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes,” Alex agreed, and his eyes twinkled back at her. “Rafe is very good at persuading everyone to do what he wants.”
“No doubt he told the same thing to Kyria,” Con added. “I told him so, and he laughed. But, still, it’s true. And, actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing Mama and Papa again.”
“I think you are both very wise,” Anna assured them. “You should go back to London. But I have to tell you that I will miss you both very much.”
“Will you?” Alex’s smile was radiant. “You’re the best, Anna.”
Con nodded. “I think you are the first woman who likes us who’s not one of our sisters.”
“Come, now. Surely not all the women you have met are that foolish.”
“I think they are,” Alex told her confidentially. “And quite a few men, as well. Kyria had to get rid of more than one suitor because he didn’t like us.”
“Well, obviously Kyria is not foolish. Now, will you let me give you a hug before you go, or are you too big?”
In answer she was seized in a double hug. Tears started in her eyes, and she realized, a little shocked, how very much she would miss the twins.
“All right, boys, we’d best be getting on,” Reed told them. “Why don’t you go on out to your ponies while I say goodbye to Miss Holcomb?”
The boys did as he suggested. They were, as Kyria had pointed out the day before, more subdued than usual, though “subdued” was a relative term in regard to them.
“I hope they will be all right,” Anna commented after they had gone. “I would hate for this to have hurt them.”
“I think they will get over it,” Reed replied. “Children are very resilient. Rafe and Kyria will be a great help to them. But it was a terrible thing to see. I—I wanted to make sure that you were recovering from the shock, as well.”
“Thank you. I think I am. I have had nightmares the last two nights. I suppose it is inevitable. But last night was better than the night before.” She looked at him, remembering how comforting it had been to lean on him, how strong and safe his arms had felt around her. She knew that if only she could go into his embrace now, she would feel better.
Anna glanced away, hoping that her thoughts did not show in her face. “Have you heard anything further about the murders?”
He shook his head. “No. Anna…I intend to find out who killed those people.” The tone of his voice made it a promise.
Startled, Anna looked up at him. Reed’s face was set, his gray eyes determined. “But why?” she blurted out. “Is that not the constable’s job?”
“Yes, no doubt. But the last time this was happening, the constable did not solve the matter. We cannot presume that he will this time. He is not accustomed to dealing with problems like this. A constable in a small village…” Reed frowned. “I just think he probably needs all the help that he can get.”
Anna nodded. She knew the constable better than Reed, and she knew that he was a simple man, accustomed to dealing with simple problems. She had to admit that the murders of the past week would be overwhelming to him.
“I have to make sure that no one else gets hurt,” Reed went on, and Anna realized suddenly that he was looking into the murders for her sake. He was afraid that his dream meant that she would be a target for the killer. He had said that he did not love her, but he must still care for her in some way. She told herself that it was terrible and selfish of her that this knowledge warmed her heart.
“You think that these deaths are somehow connected to me,” she told him. “Don’t you? Because of your dream.”
“I cannot help but wonder.”
“Perhaps your dream—if it meant anything—was nothing more than an indication that I would stumble upon the body. I do not see how the murders threaten me more than anyone else who lives here.”
“I don’t, either, at the moment. But we have no idea why he has killed those he did—or who else he might decide to kill. The only safe way to deal with the problem is to find out who has done these things.”
After a long moment, Anna said, “Did you notice that the first murder was of a servant girl and the second victim was a farmer—just as in the murders fifty years ago?”
“It occurred to me. One can only wonder why someone has decided to imitate what happened before. It seems that it must have some significance for the killer.”
“Yes, but what? The style of killings would be enough to raise the fear of the Beast in everyone. Why make them so exactly alike?”
“God only knows. I cannot think that we are dealing with a rational person. It may mean something to him that would never occur to a normal human being.”
“There were only two deaths the other time. Perhaps he will stop now.”
“We can hope, but I would not rely on it.”
“What are you going to do?” Anna asked.
“First, I want to look into the legend about the Beast, and also the earlier murders. There must be some reason why the killer wants us to think that the Beast is running amok again…why he has copied those other two deaths so closely. I plan to look through the Winterset library. I haven’t really had a chance to—it’s extensive. I thought there might be something there about the local legends. And I would like to look at those records the doctor spoke about. His father’s notes and the newspaper articles of the time. Perhaps something in the old murders will give me a clue as to what is happening now.”
“I want to help you,” Anna told him.
Reed looked at her, his eyebrows lifting. “But—”
“Don’t tell me that it is unsafe,” Anna warned. “You are already afraid that I am somehow involved. I don’t see how poking about would endanger me any more.”
“It is just that it is an unsavory subject,” he responded. “Are you sure you want to look at the doctor’s drawings and such?”
“I’m not sure that ‘want’ is the correct word. But I have seen one of the victims, and I do not think that the drawings of two murders in the past could be any worse than that. I feel an obligation to Estelle and that poor young man. I want to do something.”
“Of course. I will be glad for the help. You can escort me to the doctor’s. You know him far better than I.” He paused, then continued. “Tomorrow, perhaps. And we can look through the library at Winterset.”
“All right.” Anna felt suddenly a little breathless. It occurred to her that she might be playing with fire, being alone with Reed in his library, but she pushed the thought aside.
He arranged to come by the next day to take her to the doctor’s, and then he bowed over her hand and left. Anna stood for a moment, her hand pressed to her stomach, which was suddenly dancing with nerves.
Several times that evening, she started to write a note to send to Winterset, telling Reed that she had changed her mind, that she was not going with him to look at the doctor’s notes. She even got so far as actually writing part of the note, but then she tore it up. However much she told herself that it could be dangerous, she could not bring herself to refrain from going.
The next morning, she took extra care with her appearance, then grew angry at herself for doing so, and instead put on one of her plainest dresses and had Penny redo her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. However, she did not realize that nothing could detract from the glow of her skin or the sparkle in her eyes, so that no matter how much she tried to look ordinary, her very anticipation at being with Reed enhanced her beauty.
Dr. Felton was somewhat surprised at their arrival on his doorstep, but when Anna told him that they wished to look at his father’s notes on the fifty-year-old murders, he agreed amiably and led them into the office behind his surgery. Unlocking a cabinet, he pulled out a metal box and opened it. Inside were a series of bound journals, which looked identical. Dr. Felton searched through them and, after a time, took out one.
“This is for the year of the murders,” he told them, handing the volume to them, and closing and replacing the box. “Would you like the newspaper accounts, too? Mrs. Ross, his old housekeeper, gave them to me several years ago. I don’t know, really, how helpful they are.”
He closed the cabinet and relocked it, then moved to another, unlocked, cabinet and dug through it until he came up with a plain box. He turned toward them, holding out the box. “These are all the articles she clipped. I haven’t read all of them. One can only describe the tone of most of them as hysterical. I am not sure how accurate they are.” He gave a faint smile. “I discovered that our newspapers’ ancestors were almost as given to hyperbole as the present-day issues.”
“This is perfect,” Anna assured him.
“You can look at them in here, if you’d like,” Dr. Felton told them, gesturing vaguely around his small office, which was almost entirely filled by his large desk and several cabinets. “Or you may take them home if you would rather….”
They agreed that it would be easier to look at them at Winterset, and Anna promised solemnly that they would return the materials as soon as possible. They went back to Winterset and sat down in the library with a pot of tea, then opened the journal between them on the table. They sat side by side at the table, leaning in to look at the book. Their arms touched—it was impossible not to—and even though Anna could feel only the material of his suit coat against her own skin, bared by her summer dress, the contact made her flesh tingle with awareness.
In her mind, she imagined covering his hand with hers, feeling his warm skin beneath hers. He might open his fingers slightly, allowing hers to slip between his…. Her skin warmed, and she shifted a little in her chair, so that their arms were separated by a fraction of an inch. But she could not escape the other ways his nearness affected her. There was still the faint scent of his skin in her nostrils; she could still feel the warmth of his body; she could still glance at his profile and see the curve of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, the curl of his impossibly long eyelashes, the dark shadow of beard that was already beginning to lurk beneath his skin, even though he had doubtless shaved only hours earlier.
Reed turned to glance at her, and their eyes caught and held. Anna’s breath was shallow in her throat; she could not turn from his silver gaze. Yearning for what she would never have pierced her. If she had married him, they would have sat often like this, but then she would have had the right to slide her hand through his, to lean her head against his shoulder. She would know every line and curve of his face, would have touched them many times, tracing a loving finger over his brows and nose and lips.
Reed’s gaze darkened as he looked at her, and for an instant Anna thought that he was about to kiss her. She waited, her heart pounding ferociously, not knowing what she would do if he did lean toward her. But then he broke the contact of their gazes and turned back to the journal in front of them, flipping through the pages until he reached the first of the murders.
“Here it is.”
Anna leaned in, looking at the doctor’s notes. There was a detailed drawing of the servant girl’s body, with lines leading to the places where she had been stabbed. The stabbed areas were then drawn in insets, enlarged, with the marks detailed. It was a gruesome drawing, even with the doctor’s dry, clinical remarks attached. On the next page, the doctor had jotted down such information as where she was found and when.
“Look. She was found on a farm, also,” Anna said. “Weller’s Point. That is on one of the Winterset tenant farms. Not the same one as where Estelle was found, but still…”
“A definite similarity,” Reed agreed. “It seems clear our killer is imitating the first.”
“Let’s look at the second drawing,” Anna suggested, reaching out to flip through a few more pages. She stopped, running her finger down the center of the book. “This—it feels as if a page has been torn out here.”
Reed nodded. “I noticed that earlier on.” He flipped back toward the front of the journal. “Pages are missing here, as well. And here.”
“Hmm. Why do you suppose that is?”
Reed shrugged. “I suppose there could have been mistakes, a drawing done wrong and ripped out.”
“Or something that he did not want anyone even to read,” Anna put in.
“Yes.” He glanced at her. “Are you suspecting the doctor of the earlier murders?”
“I don’t know. I don’t suppose he should be ruled out, though. What if the cuts were made with a scalpel, just spaced apart to look like claws?”
“Then why write in here that he thought they were too even to be an animal’s claws? If you go to the trouble to do that, trying to fool everyone, you aren’t likely to write down the truth in your journal.”
“I suppose that is true,” Anna conceded as she turned the page and found the drawing of the old farmer who had been killed next. She peered at the drawing. “I don’t think these marks look exactly like the ones on the Johnson boy. I mean, they aren’t in the same places.”
Reed nodded. “You’re right. And this old man’s throat was not as damaged as Frank Johnson’s. So the killer imitated the killings, but not in every point. Perhaps he had only heard that they looked like an animal attacking but had never seen these drawings showing exactly where they were.”
“Which would be almost anyone in the area,” Anna commented with a sigh.
“Yes, I am afraid it’s not a terribly useful supposition.”
“There must be some reason for the imitation, though. I mean, the killings are the same in so many particulars that he has to be copying the earlier murders.”
“I think you’re right,” Reed agreed. “I mean, unless you subscribe to the eternal man-beast theory. Then it would be the same, er, person.”
Anna grimaced at him. “I think we can safely discount that theory. Nor does it seem likely that it was the same person, even if he is not a supernatural being. He would be far too old now to be doing such things, wouldn’t you think?”
That also, Anna thought with inward relief, tended to exonerate her uncle. He had been only a boy at the time of the killings, no more than seven or eight. Of course, she reminded herself reasonably, perhaps talk of the killings had been so significant to him that he had incorporated them into his madness.
She flipped back and forth a few times between the drawings, studying them, then went back to the notes the doctor had written about the first victim. Suddenly, something toward the bottom of the page caught her eye.
“Look. He says here that she was a servant at Winterset.”
“What?” Reed leaned closer, his eyes going to the spot where her finger pointed. “‘Susan Emmett, a parlormaid at Winterset, was found beneath the large tree at Weller’s Point.’”
He looked at Anna. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. If she was a servant girl, she would in all likelihood have served either here or at Holcomb Manor. You say Weller’s Point was a de Winter tenant farm. How far away was it?”
“Not too far.”
“It says here it happened on a Sunday evening. She might have been off that Sunday and had gone to see her family, then was walking back to Winterset when he attacked her.” Anna couldn’t suppress a little shudder at the thought.
“Do you suppose there would be anyone here who might remember her?”
“I should think it was all too long ago for any of them to still be working here, but if we could find out their names, some of them might still be alive.”
Reed nodded, and they bent their heads to the pages once again. Finally he sat back, letting out a groan. “I think I have absorbed all I can for the moment.” He looked at Anna. “Care for a walk?”
“That sounds very nice.”
They went out the back, wandering through the garden, which had obviously been cleaned up quite a bit, weeds pulled, and overgrown bushes and trees cut back. There was some semblance of order now, although the roses still grew in wild profusion, casting their heady scent in the air.
Anna’s hand was tucked into Reed’s arm. The sun was warm on her back, shielded from her eyes by the brim of her bonnet. It was a delightful day, she thought, seemingly far removed from the tales of murder they had been studying inside. And yet, murder had taken place not far from here only a few days earlier. It seemed impossible.
She breathed in the roses with a sigh of enjoyment, and Reed, a smile touching his full lips, broke off a bloom, carefully stripping it of thorns, and handed it to her. Anna brought it to her nose and sniffed deeply, her eyes shining with thanks above it. Her heart welled with feeling. This, too, could have been hers, she thought—long summer days with Reed, walking in the garden, side by side. Perhaps they would have been holding hands, laughing as they talked about their lives. There might even have been children running about. She pictured them laughing and intelligent, full of questions, something like the twins—perhaps even with their black hair, but with Reed’s silver eyes.
It was a picture so compelling that she almost let out a soft moan of longing. She had done the right thing, she knew. The honorable thing. It had been her only choice. But she knew with an ache just how much she had cut out from her life.
They strolled through the arch, covered thickly with a flowering vine, and a figure popped up in front of them, startling them.
“What the devil—oh, Grimsley. You gave us a turn.”
It was the caretaker, Grimsley, small and dark, wearing a cap pulled low on his head to shield his eyes from the sun. He swept the cap off now to Reed, revealing his stringy mop of graying hair, and bobbed a bow.
“My lord. Miss.” He nodded at them, grinning and twisting his cap in his hand. “Out for a stroll, eh? The old place is lookin’ better, innit? Now that I got some help. We’ll have it lookin’ tip-top in no time.”
“Yes, it is much improved, “Reed agreed.
“Sorry her ladyship and the young’ uns left,” Grimsley went on. “They was interested in all the plants, them boys.”
“Yes. They are generally interested in everything.”
“Too bad about them folks being killed.” Grimsley shook his head. “Strange it happened again.”
Reed shot Anna a look. They had not even thought about the gardener when they had been talking about the Winterset servants earlier.
“You were here then?”
“Oh, yes, I were just a lad then, twelve or so, I guess. But I helped me dad out sometimes. He was head gardener here before me.”
“And did you know the girl who was murdered?”
“Oh, no, sir, she worked at the Manor, now, didn’t she?”
“No, I meant the murder that happened a long time ago.”
“Oh. Aye, I think she did work here, now I think about it. But I didn’t know her, like. I only worked out here, you see.”
“Yes. Of course.” Reed paused, then asked perfunctorily, “And the murders—do you think they were committed by the ‘Beast’?”
“The Beast,” the old man repeated scornfully. “Nay, my lord, I don’t believe in any Beast. That’s just a tale, now, innit?”
Reed looked at him in surprise. “Yes, that is what I think. But most of the servants I’ve talked to believe that it is indeed the Beast of Craydon Tor who has been doing the killings.”
“Oh, them…” Grimsley made a dismissive gesture toward the house. “They’re new here, ain’t they? They don’t know nothin’.”
“And do you have a theory as to who it is, then?” Reed asked, his interest piqued.
“Sure,” Grimsley replied easily. “It’s clear as day. It’s the ghosts.”