Page 52 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
“Miss Charlotte is further ahead,” he told her.
Theirs was the eastmost dwelling in this cluster of four cottages, closest to the sea—and the eastern wall. The path on which they walked led in a west-northwest direction and went past the nearest cottage.
Something made Mrs. Watson look up. The windows of the cottage were dark, but she had the uncomfortable sense that someone was looking at her.
“When I was waiting for you I saw a curtain move slightly in that cottage,” murmured Lord Ingram.
On the tail of his words, a firework shot up with a boom and a whistle, exploding almost directly overhead in a shower of green-and-gold sparks.
They ran forward. At the center of the compound, an open space ran east to west—the central carriage path dating from the pre-wall years, when the front entrance was to the east. After the construction of the walls, with the new gate in the west wall, and the stable and carriage house immediately in the southwest corner, there was no more carriage traffic on the former path, and it grew into a grassy tract.
Miss Charlotte stood on the grass, her head slightly raised, her person still. Before Mrs. Watson could speak to her, another firework burst, letting loose a cascade of bright red trails.
“The fireworks are being released beyond the north wall. Will you go take a look, my lord?” she asked.
Mrs. Watson’s stomach tightened. They needed to know what was going on, but what if this was a plot to isolate Miss Charlotte and herself?
Lord Ingram looked at them. “You have your weapons, ladies?”
Miss Charlotte nodded. Mrs. Watson’s hand went to the pocket of her skirt, where she had a derringer. She also shifted her left foot, feeling the outline of the pistol stuck into her boot.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“Then be careful.”
“You, too,” said Miss Charlotte.
Their knight ran off, the light from his lantern skidding fast across the ground. Mrs. Watson worried for a moment over how he was going to get out—Mr. Peters had used keys to open padlocks that kept several heavy bolts in place. But as he reached the gate, one more firework shot skyward, its golden combustion illuminating two people coming down the wall from ladders to either side of the entrance.
It was too far for Mrs. Watson to make out their faces, but they seemed to be a man and a woman. The woman let the man and Lord Ingram out from the gate, closed it, and then again climbed up to the ramparts.
Miss Charlotte was already walking. “That might be the same woman we saw on the wall in the afternoon, when we were on the boat,” she murmured.
Mrs. Watson caught up to her and looked behind herself. To one side, the cottage nearest their own was still pitch-dark. To the other side, across a dormant garden bed—a flower garden, not a vegetable garden—figures emerged from houses in Miss Fairfield’s cluster.
Miss Charlotte crossed the old carriage path. Mrs. Watson had thought they would follow that path to the gate in Lord Ingram’s wake, but they were now north of it, skirting the edge of the kitchen garden. Were they headed for the north wall instead?
“Miss Stoppard, Miss Stoppard!”
Mrs. Watson whipped around. The out-of-breath voice belonged to Miss Ellery, who was some twenty feet behind them and shouting with her face upturned. “What’s happening, Miss Stoppard?”
“I don’t know yet!” The answer came from the ramparts. “Mr. Peters and one of the visitors have gone for a look.”
“What time is it?” asked Mrs. Watson, realizing that she hadn’t given that any thought.
“I left our cottage at five past midnight,” said Miss Charlotte. “So it should be about ten after now.”
“What a strange occurrence,” said a man’s voice just ahead, startling Mrs. Watson. “Lovely, to be sure, but strange.”
Dr. Robinson. How long had he been standing there in the shadows?
“I take it this isn’t something that happens frequently then?” asked Miss Charlotte, her tone placid, as if they were conversing around a dining table.
“I saw fireworks once in Falmouth, for Guy Fawkes, but never in these parts. I can’t fathom what hidden significance this day holds that would mandate fireworks.”
Mrs. Watson was about to agree when Miss Charlotte veered off. “My dear, where are you going?”
The girl didn’t answer, but not far away loomed the cluster of six houses that contained Miss Baxter’s lodge. Mrs. Watson’s heart beat faster. She picked up her pace.
