Page 32 of Needs Must
‘You see, even that wretched cur agrees with me.’ Miriam pointed at him.
‘He could just as easily have been siding with me,’ Donna replied. ‘Is that not so, Willow?’
‘Willow?’
‘It suits him.’
Donna sighed, aware that she was outnumbered. Miriam had chosen to take the earl’s side and she knew that her maid could be intransigent when she made up her mind about something. And perhaps it would be as well to be publicly accepted by the foremost family in the district. Surely Ian would balk at doing something reckless if he was aware that she had powerful allies, would he not?
‘I think we have done all we can here for today,’ Donna said, glancing around the sitting room that already felt cosy enough to live in, thanks in part to the fire.
Thanks too, she sensed, to Esmeralda Bagshott’s ghost. Donna could feel her presence and knew that she was more responsible than the fire for ridding the cottage of its chill. She was welcoming Donna, depending upon her to bring her killer to justice. Daunting though that task night be, Donna already felt an affinity with the poor, murdered lady and was determined not to let her down.
I will find him.She reached out with her mind instinctively, attempting to reassure, despite the fact that she didn’t have the first idea how to make good on that promise. A waft of warm air agitated her hair and touched her cheek. Donna smiled. Either she was losing her senses altogether or a ghost had just offered her the seal of approval.
Bertram conveyed them back to the Shipat a brisk pace. Donna drove and Miriam took charge of Willow. As always, the taproom was full of thirsty men and Donna walked swiftly past its entrance. Ordinarily she never looked inside, aware that her presence alone was sufficient to cause a stir and incite curiosity. But today, something made her pause. She gazed directly into the room and saw just one man amongst the sea of faces. He was looking directly at her and raised his tankard in an ironic salute.
Donna turned away without acknowledging the gesture, forcing herself to walk at a steady pace towards the stairs. Her heart was racing faster than her mind. Her hands were unsteady, and she felt physically unwell. How had he found them, and so quickly too? Who could have given them away?
The earl was the only person she had confided in, but surely he would not have … She chased the thought away. It was unworthy. She reminded herself that she was travelling under her own name and had made no attempt to hide her identity. Mrs Cooper had also extracted a few snippets from her with her persistent questioning. She knew that she was recently widowed and had just returned from Jamaica and would not have kept that information to herself. If Aykroyd had come to the village, throwing his blunt about and asking casual questions, it wouldn’t have taken him long to discover that a mysterious woman answering Donna’s description was residing at the inn.
‘What is it, pet?’ Miriam asked when they reached the relative safety of their chamber and Donna couldn’t stop trembling. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Did you catch a chill, loitering with the handsome earl in this damp weather?’
Miriam obviously hadn’t seen Aykroyd. Should she tell her? She knew that sheoughtto, if only for her maid’s own protection, but Miriam was a stranger to discretion and preferred the direct approach. If she even suspected Aykroyd of being in the taproom, she would march straight in there, wielding her rolling pin, and bash him over the head with it. A mother hen protecting her chick, Donna thought, with the suggestion of a smile.
‘No, Miriam, don’t fret. I did not catch a chill, but I am cold.’ She made a fuss of the dog, who licked her hand. ‘If Mrs Cooper would oblige with some hot water, a bath would be heavenly. Willow would probably appreciate one too,’ she added, sniffing the dog’s coat. ‘And some scraps.’
‘I’ll see to it at once,’ Miriam replied, bustling off to make the preparations.
Donna had suggested a bath because she relished the idea of a few minutes alone to mull over everything that had happened during the past two days.
She had become friendly with an earl, who had invited her to dine with his family. She swallowed. Very well. She knew she would not be welcomed by some of those present, but that was the least of her problems and she would not let it concern her. She had taken a lease on a cottage that was already inhabited by the ghost of a murdered woman, with whom she appeared to be on speaking terms. And she had rescued a stray dog.
Donna gave a little laugh. Communicating with Esmeralda in the cottage seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She was absolutely sure that in another life they would have been friends. But here, in the privacy of her chamber at the Ship,it seemed ludicrous, and she really did doubt her sanity.
Both of those matters paled into insignificance when she reminded herself that Aykroyd, her husband’s righthand man who had the morals of an alley cat, had found her already. Describing him as such was an insult to felines in general. She hated Aykroyd with a passion. He and Jonathan had grown up together and remained friends. Jonathan often referred to Aykroyd as the only person in his life upon whom he could depend absolutely, which had infuriated Ian. That, Donna had always thought, was because Aykroyd would do whatever Jonathan asked of him with relish. Not being in possession of a conscience aided him in that regard.
Donna had warded off his wandering hands more times than she could recall, often wondering what Jonathan would have had to say on the matter if he had known that his faithful lapdog was attempting to take liberties with his wife. Jonathan was fiercely protective of Donna, often accusing her of encouraging the attentions of other men. Why he imagined she would have any desire to do so when Jonathan’s idea of being a faithful and loving husband left her feeling bereft and unfulfilled, she was unable to fathom. Be that as it may, if shehadsquealed on Aykroyd, he would have told Jonathan that she had instigated the advances and Jonathan would have believed him, which would have resulted in a thrashing, or worse.
Oddly, Ian and Aykroyd, whose characters were so similarly dissolute, co-existed in wary disharmony, competing for Jonathan’s favour and the scraps from his table. Donna had always thought that they disliked and mistrusted one another because each saw the other as a threat. Could it be that they had teamed up after his death and that Ian had tasked Aykroyd with finding her?
And the letters?
‘We are not afraid of him, are we, darling?’ Donna asked Willow, who was dozing on her lap. He flapped his tail wildly but didn’t open his eyes. ‘You are the only man in my life now and that is the way that I intend for it to remain.’
She stroked the dog as she mulled matters over. What ought she to do? Aykroyd could not be here by coincidence. He had probably assumed she would return to this area, much as she had assumed that Ian would, and had been scouting out the villages surrounding Chichester in the hope of finding her.
Well, he had found her, and she was done with hiding, so the situation would have to be faced. Part of her wondered if she should send a message to the earl, explaining the problem before it escalated. There was every possibility that Aykroyd would lead them to Ian, and she could not pursue him on her own. Bertram would stand out like … well, like a cob in a field of thoroughbreds. The earl, on the other hand, had a dozen men at his disposal and could manage it with ease. But she dismissed the thought of enlisting his aid before it could take hold.
‘There’s only one thing for it,’ she told Willow. ‘I will not hide myself away. Anyway, I cannot. He knows I am here, and I will not sit about waiting for him to approach me.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘I will just have to instigate the first meeting myself.’
Chapter Nine
Cal followed his customary routine the next day, fighting a losing battle to keep on top of his myriad responsibilities. He worked his way through letters, reports and accounts without properly comprehending what he was studying. The majority of his thoughts dwelt upon the enigmatic, possibly idealistic and definitely optimistic Donna Harte. She would no doubt be furious if she knew that he had set people to keep a watch at the Shipand let him know if any strangers tried to approach her.
As yet, no such reports had reached him, but he had convinced himself that it would only be a matter of time before her whereabouts became known to her detractors. If Ian Harte was half as desperate to get his hands on those letters as Donna had implied, then he could not afford to let the grass to grow beneath his feet.
He would act first.
