Page 53 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
“Very. Alice Martin was a sad and broken woman, but she deserved to have her son with her the night before he was interred. So I decided I’d go see for myself what the vicar didn’t want me to know.”
I pressed my lips into a barely disguised smile. I found I rather liked Dr. Quick. “You mean to say you let yourself in and looked at him?”
“More or less.” The old doctor braced his elbows onto his knees and dropped his voice low. “There was clear evidence of a struggle. Bruising on the back of the lad’s neck. Someone had hidden it with powder but it was clear as day. His face didn’t look quite right either.”
“Could he have been in a fight before he killed himself?”
Dr. Quick sighed and shrugged. “It’s hard to say with any certainty, but there were other signs. Scratches and scrapes. All hidden beneath his clothing. And why put powder on a part of the body beneath his clothes unless there was something to hide? Someone didn’t want us to see those wounds.”
I frowned. It did sound that way. The back of his neck would be covered with the collar of his coat, laid out in a casket; no one would ever be the wiser. Unless whoever killed him was eliminating any chance that someone would learn the true cause of death.
Dr. Quick clenched his fists on his knees. “I would stake my career that someone killed him on the moor that night. That they struggled and drowned him in the mud themselves.”
Ruan raked a hand through his hair, his expression pained. “Who would have had reason to kill George? He was better liked in these parts than I am, and I’ve never once thought I had to look over my shoulder should someone want to drown me.”
“Perhaps you should start.”
He shot me a dark look, but I could see the flicker of humor in his eyes.
Dr. Quick continued. “I haven’t an idea who. But if anyone knew, it’d be the vicar. He was awfully eager to keep it all quiet and to put the lad in the ground before anyone asked questions.”
“Can you think of anyone else who might know something? Who George might have confided in?”
Dr. Quick hesitated, as if he couldn’t decide whether to say his piece or let it die. Though he’d said quite a fair bit up to this point. The old doctor sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “If it were me I’d ask your friend.”
“Tamsyn?”
He hesitated again, gauging his words. “There were rumors. Whisperings. The two had been close once. Some say… well… it’s not my place to repeat what some say. But I would start there. If it were me.”
His words struck me like a slap. Surely Tamsyn hadn’t been carrying on an affair beneath her husband’s nose. Then again, she’d betrayed me once. Who was to say she wouldn’t break her vows before God just as easily as promises made in the dark? Ruan gave me a curious look before turning back to the doctor and thanking him for his time.
As Ruan said our goodbyes, I remained stuck in my own head. Tamsyn? Surely she’d have said something to me about an affair.Ruby, I’ve made a mistake.That’s what she had written at about the same time as George Martin was found dead. Could she have harmed him? Or had Edward discovered her affair? I swallowed back the bile that rose in my throat. Two things were painfully clear. One, while I needed to get to Exeter, I needed to speak to Tamsyn more. And second, there was most certainly no curse. Oh, I’d barely scratched the surface of all the murders and secrets and lies in this confoundedplace, all bound up so tight, I’d be damned if I could unravel the knot. But I had to try, and unfortunately my warm and inviting bathing tub in Exeter was going to have to wait a few more hours.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOURA Wayward Feline
MRS.Penrose greeted me at the door with an unusual bout of cheeriness considering the fact I’d fled here without even saying goodbye the day before. She bussed me on the cheek and ushered me inside, chattering on about how quiet the house had been lately. The hall itself was darker today. Or perhaps it was just my fevered imaginings after speaking with Dr. Quick. Why had he pointed me back to Penryth instead of telling me what he knew? It would have saved me a great deal of trouble.
“I’ve been that worried about you after you ran out last night, maid. Have you come to fetch your cat then?”
I blinked, turning to her. “My…” But before I could finish a familiar black puff of a tail hopped down the center stairs, flicking endearingly in greeting. “You little devil… how did you…?”
“The poor creature showed up in the kitchen this morning, soaked to the bone. I assumed you’d left him here and he’d gotten out somehow and couldn’t figure out how to get back inside before the storm came.”
A reasonable assumption, except I had left the little nuisance safe, warm, and dry back at the Hind and Hare. How onearth had an Exeter house cat managed to find his way across a storm-flooded stream and back to a house he’d been in for barely two days? It was beyond comprehension. I narrowed my gaze at him, but he remained unfazed, blinking up at me with his golden eyes. Then—damn him to perdition—he walked over and nuzzled himself against my ankles.
“Thank you for taking him in.” He rumbled loudly, sounding like a motorbike engine.
“Oh, it’s nothing at all, I have a soft spot for the Lord’s creatures. He had quite the appetite too. I fixed him some salted pilchards and dried him off and he’s been happy as a lark following me around this morning.”
No wonder he forded raging streams to come back, the cat had found a mark. “I’m certain he has…”
She bustled me down the hallway into the library to wait on Tamsyn, continuing to fuss over my poor battered face with promises of biscuits and tea. I hadn’t the heart to tell her I wouldn’t be here long enough to enjoy them.
She shut the door behind her, and I set Fiachna down on the carpet. Immediately he began patrolling the corners of the room, sniffing at the wall. Likely seeking out a mouse or a stray crumb that someone had long forgotten. The library was by far the most impressive room I’d found at Penryth. A great leaded-glass window rose up floor-to-ceiling overlooking the front lawn. From here you could see the comings and goings of the house. The bookcases reached the ceiling full to bursting with tomes collected over the centuries. A week ago I would have been running my fingers over the spines, examining each one with breathless curiosity. But now with three dead men on my mind, I could scarcely summon the energy to care.
I ran my hand through my tangled hair, catching in a knot at the back near the stitches. I was beginning to agree with Ruan that a curse might be simpler after all. It didn’tcompletely beggar belief—after all Ruan could apparently hear my thoughts and just last night I watched the irritating man bring a cow back from the dead—but before I could finish the thought, Fiachna let out a bloodcurdling yowl. The sort of screech you heard in an alleyway right before you ended up on the wrong side of a pair of claws. I turned. Fiachna was fluffed out fuller than I’d ever seen him. Nearly twice his ordinary size and staring at the wall with murderous intent. A low guttural growl coming from his not-insubstantial feline chest.
Fabulous. Even the cat had gone mad. “Fiachna, what’s gotten into you?”
