Page 46 of Needs Must
‘We are waiting for another person to join us.’
Bagshott half-rose from his chair. ‘What the devil …’
‘They’re here,’ Jules said, opening the door.
Donna walked through it, looking windswept yet resolute. Her little dog danced at her heels, yapping at nothing in particular. It was almost unrecognisable from the bedraggled creature she had rescued just two days previously, and clearly understood that it had fallen on its paws.
Donna’s fresh beauty stole Cal’s breath away. When she turned in his direction and offered him an uncontrived smile, Cal would have been hard pressed to recall his own name, much less the reason for this gathering.
Miriam was twice Donna’s size and more than twice her age. Donna’s self-appointed guardian glanced at them all suspiciously, looking savage and no doubt ready to wield her rolling pin at the slightest provocation.
Cal returned Donna’s smile as he offered to take her cloak. She declined.
‘It’s cold in here, Lord Arndale. I shall keep it on, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not in the least.’ He paused. ‘Mrs Harte, may I make Mr Bagshott known to you?’
‘Harte?’ Bagshott raised a brow. ‘You are the woman who has taken a lease on my cottage. I only learned your name from Potts earlier today. Had I known that my new tenant is the wife of the man attempting to blackmail me, the wife of the man who killed my own beloved Esmeralda, then the lease would most certainly not have been granted.’ He turned to Cal, his frown ferocious. ‘What’s the meaning of this outrage, Arndale? What game is this woman playing? What torment?’
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, Bagshott.’ Cal’s curt tone was sufficient to see Bagshott sink back into his chair, still looking ready to commit a few murders of his own. ‘Mrs Harte has already endured enough incivility from my ilk without having to take it from yours.’ Cal’s words emphasised the differences in their station.
‘I perfectly understand your dissatisfaction, Mr Bagshott,’ Donna said with commendable calm, her lilting tone carrying a note of sympathy. ‘I don’t know if my husband was responsible for Mrs Bagshott’s brutal murder, but I do know that he cannot possibly be blackmailing you – unless he is doing so from beyond the grave.’
‘What’s this moonshine?’ But there was less antagonism in Bagshott’s tone now, and he looked more confused than angry.
‘My husband is dead and buried. He died in Jamaica a year ago.’
‘Don’t look at my lady as though you doubt her word,’ Miriam said, her voice a rumbling threat. ‘It’s as true as I’m standing here. I can attest to the fact, andIdo not lie either. I will not have you doubting my mistress, do you hear me?’
‘Thank you, Miriam,’ Cal said, indicating that she should take a seat. She did not, preferring to stand protectively behind Donna’s chair.
‘Then who …’ Bagshott spread his hands.
‘My husband had a wastrel of a brother,’ Donna said. ‘Did you happen to see them together, Mr Bagshott?’
Bagshott closed his eyes, clearly attempting to recall. ‘I cannot say that I did, not for sure. There were so many people around me at the time, clamouring to be a part of the scheme. And so many hangers-on. It’s hard to recollect.’
‘I asked Mrs Harte to join us so that you could hear her account directly.’ Cal perched his backside on the arm of a chair. ‘Now, before we proceed, perhaps you would care to tell me whether you believe her, Bagshott. We cannot form any sort of partnership unless you do.’
‘Partnership?’
‘We both have a pressing need to find Ian Harte and it will be easier to run him to ground if we work together.’
‘Of course I accept your word, Mrs Harte,’ Bagshott said gruffly after a prolonged pause that caused Cal to wonder if he actually meant what he said. ‘You imagine, one supposes, that it is your late husband’s brother levelling these threats against me.’
‘It is exactly the sort of thing he would do,’ Donna replied.
‘Very well.’ Bagshott rubbed his hands together. ‘How do we find him?’
‘There are two possibilities,’ Cal replied. ‘A person associated with him is in the area. We can have him followed and he will lead us to Harte.’
‘That would prevent me from being able to question him about my wife’s death,’ Bagshott protested. ‘He would simply scamper off and hide in the gutters like the cowardly rat that he is.’
‘Without a doubt,’ Donna said, nodding emphatically. Her hair had again been torn from its pins by the strong wind during her walk to the gatehouse and now tumbled round her shoulders in a riot of unruly curls. Clearly, she didn’t consider it time well spent to ensure that her hair was appropriately secured and for his part Cal delighted in her individuality.
‘The other alternative?’ Bagshott demanded with an impatient tut. Cal realised that he had been staring at Donna and the conversation had stalled. He reluctantly returned his attention to his neighbour.
‘You respond to Harte’s next note and arrange to meet him,’ Cal said.
