Page 28 of Needs Must
‘I do. But not about my person, if that’s what you suppose. I am not quite the bird brain that you take me for. They are safely lodged with my former guardians, who might have been lax in their care of me but who take their duties as solicitors very seriously. No one will get their hands on those letters without my prior consent, so I am assured of remaining alive. Ian cannot risk doing away with me unless … until he knows where the letters are.’
‘What do they say that makes him so determined to get his hands on them?’ Cal asked, resisting the urge to sigh at the lady’s irresponsible attitude.
‘I couldn’t make a lot of sense of them until you told me about Mr Bagshott’s gold mine and the subsequent murder of his wife.’ Mrs Harte paused to fix Cal with a look of awakening realisation. ‘Reading between the lines, I am now convinced that it was Ian who murdered the poor lady at my husband’s behest.’
Donna watched the earl’s reaction closely as she made that admission, wondering if he would think she had made the entire episode up in the expectation of … Of what precisely? His support? His protection? She stiffened, tightening the arm that held the dog, causing him to jerk awake with a small whimper. She stroked his matted ears and he fell asleep again against her chest, appearing to know that he was safe.
She only wished the same could be said for her.
‘I would like to see those letters,’ the earl said.
‘Because you don’t believe me? Well,’ she added, not giving him the opportunity to respond, ‘there is absolutely no reason why you should. We are strangers and no doubt you think it odd that I agreed to take a lease on poor Mrs Bagshott’s cottage, given the circumstances. Indeed, in your position I would think the exact same thing myself. But really it was the only property in the area that I could even remotely afford. I did look at several others locally but they were entirely unsuitable. Besides …’ She paused, wondering how to articulate her thoughts without him considering her a candidate for Bedlam. ‘I was drawn to the place by Mrs Bagshott’s spirit.’
The earl looked at her askance. ‘You still think she has not passed over?’
‘Good heavens!’ Donna opened her eyes very wide. ‘You have not run for the door, so I must assume that you believe me.’
‘Do I believe in restless spirits is, I think, the question you are asking me.’ He watched her closely as he paused to consider his response. ‘I honestly couldn’t say, but there is compelling evidence of spirits being unable to move on until an unlawful death has been avenged. So yes, I believe you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Have you sensed Mrs Bagshott’s presence in the cottage?’
‘I’ve sensed something,’ she admitted, ‘but I have no experience of such things. I don’t consider myself to be sensitive to the spirit world so it could be the product of my imagination, having heard about the circumstances of her demise and the exaggerated stories of the haunting. I gather none of the previous tenants have stuck it out for very long, so it will be interesting to see if I am driven out. Not that I’m likely to be because I have a compelling reason to remain there and anyway, I have nowhere else to go.’
‘If you did not come here with the express purpose of occupying that cottage, then I have to agree that it must be more than a coincidence that you have ended up in Arndale.’
‘I did not know beforehand that the cottage had anything to do with Ian or my husband. Now that I do it feels like a sign and has reinforced my determination to draw Ian out. You must take my word for it.’
‘I did not for a moment doubt your word,’ he assured her. ‘But what I do fail to comprehend is how you intend to outwit your brother-in-law. Not that I think you incapable of outthinking him. My point is, such a dangerous and impetuous sounding man cannot be trusted. His first thought will be for his own safety and once he knows that you have those letters, he might very well decide to do away with you to negate the threat you represent and then scarper.’
‘True, I suppose,’ she conceded grudgingly.
‘You said yourself that the letters made no sense to you until you learned of Mrs Bagshott’s murder, so what are the chances of them meaning anything to anyone else?’
Donna lifted one shoulder, wishing that he would not be quite so rational.
‘As a matter of interest, how did you plan to let him know where you are residing?’ he asked.
‘Well, once we are settled and secure, I intended to go to Chichester with Miriam and frequent the areas that he and his brother were familiar with. Perhaps ask after him. We did not separate on bad terms, after all, and he has no idea that I suspect him of anything.’
‘But for the fact that he ransacked your home in Jamaica and did not find his letters. Although it’s reasonable for him to suppose that they are in your possession somewhere.’
She conceded the point with an impatient cant of her head. He really was being tiresome, pointing out all the flaws in her fledgling plan, which she had not yet had an opportunity to refine. It was most discouraging, to say nothing of discourteous.
‘Perhaps, but he will not know that I understand their content,’ she shot back at him.
‘Even if he discovers where you are residing?’
‘What I intend to do is to lure him into some form of indiscretion,’ Donna said, preferring not to dwell upon the shortcomings in her plan which the earl had already identified. God alone knew, there must be plenty more that he had not yet noticed. Perhaps she was being overly optimistic, but she had always possessed a highly refined sense of right and wrong and would know no peace until she got to the truth. Neither would Mrs Bagshott’s spirit, which was also depending upon her. If that were not the case, Donna reasoned, the lady would have frightened her away rather than making her feel comfortable. ‘I have to know if he murdered my husband,’ she said, realising just how feeble that must sound to a rational man.
‘And what do you intend to do with that information in the unlikely event that you are able to extract a confession from him?’ His tone was combative. ‘He could just as easily retract it when confronted by a magistrate, putting it down to the lively imagination of a grief-stricken widow.’
‘Do you have a better idea?’ she demanded, glowering at him.
Her fit of pique appeared to amuse him. ‘Certainly I have.’
‘Then I must hear it,’ she muttered, tugging gently at the sleeping little dog’s ears.
‘I think we should play on his greed,’ he said, rubbing his chin in thoughtful contemplation.
‘We? This is not your fight.’
