Page 122 of The Lyon Returns
The thought of Gwen, fiery and ready to flay Brice caused Gideon to smile, despite his best efforts.
Brice did not appear to notice. He flicked the curtains aside and peered out the small carriage window. “Nearly there, now.”
Gideon glanced out the opposite window. Night had fallen, but the moon was full and he could see they’d reached Upper Frognal, their destination. Modest, older cottages and newer villas dotted the landscape. The homes did not boast the grandeur of Grosvenor Square, but there was definite wealth here.
When the driver turned onto a gravel drive lined with hedges, Gideon took note. “Looks like we’ve arrived. Rory lives unusually well for a retired civil servant.”
“Didn’t you say he’d come into a recent inheritance?”
“No I did not,” Gideon answered.
Brice gave a one shoulder shrug, his usual sardonic aplomb back in place. “Must’ve gotten that from the Home Office agent.” One corner of his mouth crooked upward. “Perhaps he married well. Some commoners do.”
They emerged from the carriage and stood for a moment in the darkened courtyard, eyeing the manse.
“Strange,” Gideon murmured. “No one’s lit the lanterns, and the house itself shows no sign of habitation, almost as if it’s closed up.”
“Only one way to find out,” Brice answered, sounding none-too-happy over the prospect.
They climbed the front steps and Gideon banged the brass knocker.
No one came to answer the door.
“Now what?” Brice asked. “Should we wander about in the dark?Peer through the windows? Or head home and chalk it up to a lost cause?”
Gideon glanced at him, hand on the front door lever. He squeezed. The door opened.
“Gideon, what the devil?” Brice demanded in a harsh whisper, even though no one appeared to be around to hear.
“You may wait here, if you like,” Gideon said. He entered the foyer. An eerie silence greeted him. Enough moonlight filtered through the windows, their drapes left open, to illuminate a well-to-do dwelling. Nothing about the space said the owners were on a lengthy trip. Rather, it bore the look of a home whose servants had been given the day off.
With a curse, Brice followed him inside. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Gideon didn’t answer. He listened for any sounds of life, and hearing none, moved further into the seemingly abandoned space. His boot steps echoed on wooden floorboards as he headed toward a glinting brass wall-sconce.
“I can’t see a bloody thing,” Brice complained in a loud whisper. “What if one of the servants hears us moving about and brains one of us?”
By touch, Gideon found the side table he’d anticipated being under the sconce and the sturdy wooden box it held. He flipped open the lid to find flint, steel, and a small bundle of cloth.
“They’d have to be able to see in the dark, Brice, and I don’t think anyone’s about, in any case.” Striking the flint against the steel, he produced a shower of sparks. On the third strike, the char cloth caught. He held it to a small bundle of dried tinder until a tiny flame flared to life, then retrieved the oil lamp he’d spotted in the foyer.
In another moment, the lamp’s golden light shone over wooden-paneled walls, and polished flooring.
Holding the lamp aloft, he started down the corridor.
Finally ceasing his grousing, Brice followed.
They reached a parlor first and, finding it empty, continued. Next came an equally uninhabited dining hall.
A closed door ahead would open to, Gideon guessed, Rory’s den. He glanced at Brice and continued on.
The door opened on creaking hinges. The subtle sense of wrongness—acrid smoke, metal, and loosed bodily fluids—wafted out. His eyes fell on a figure slumped over a large desk.
“Dear God, is he…?” Brice’s words were muffled behind the handkerchief he now held to his nose and mouth.
“Dead? I fear so.”
He moved closer to investigate. Based on the man’s hair color, Rory and the dead man were one and the same. He had evidently put a bullet to his head and made a God-awful mess in the process. A pistol lay on the carpet beside the desk. Bits of flesh, blood, and bone clung to the wall and window behind him.
