“You!” Jemima gasped, launching from her seat in order to get away from him and the memories his presence at the table brought her. Her breakfast, so tasty only moments earlier, suddenly sat like a lead weight in her stomach and made her feel queasy. She sucked in great gulps of air in a desperate attempt to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The now familiar urge to run was strong; only the presence of Peter now standing next to her, kept her still.
“Jemima?” Dominic shot Sebastian and Sir Dunnicliffe a questioning look, easing back from the table himself in case there was any trouble.
Peter was clearly prepared to run after her if she took off, and had turned in his seat warily, his eyes flicking between a clearly horrified Jemima, and an apologetic-looking Sir Dunnicliffe.
His gaze locked on the latter and he studied the intent way the man was staring back at Jemima, without any hint of surprise at her horror.
Immediately, the hackles on the back of Peter’s neck rose and he rose to his feet, leading Jemima over to the window, away from the table and whatever it was about Sir Dunnicliffe that had scared her.
“I’m sorry, Jemima, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sir Dunnicliffe offered, leaving the table and moving toward them. He ignored Peter’s warning look and stood directly in her line of vision as she stared blankly over the immaculately presented lawns outside, forcing her to look at him.
Instinctively Peter shifted to put himself between Jemima and the source of her distress, only for Jemima to put a hand on his chest, stopping him with a slow shake of her head.
“It’s all right, I just wasn’t expecting -” she whispered, momentarily unable to put words to the random thoughts that swirled through her mind.
“I can understand your shock,” Sir Dunnicliffe said softly.
Jemima looked quizzically at him. “Can you? Can you really?” She wasn’t so sure, but at least he wasn’t posing any immediate threat to her safety.
Did he work for Scraggan? What was going on?
Dominic took the words right out of her mouth.
“I think you had better explain what is going on,” he demanded. The gaze he turned on Sir Dunnicliffe was far from friendly, and held a hint of warning that, government official or not, if he didn’t come up with answers, and fast, he would be out of the house as quickly as he could blink.
“Jemima recognises me,” Sir Dunnicliffe explained. “Don’t you Jemima?”
After several moments of calm recollection, Jemima slowly nodded.
“From where?” Peter was still tense, not liking the sudden paleness of Jemima’s cheeks. Sitting around the table earlier, she had looked beautiful, with her once pale cheeks softly tinged with colour, and all trace of fear gone from her eyes as she had enjoyed what was probably her first proper meal since leaving Padstow.
“Gaol.” Jemima’s blunt word made everyone lunge backward from the table and stand, glaring menacingly at Sir Dunnicliffe, who had the grace to look abashed.
Holding up his hands defensively in an attempt to ward off their imminent attack, he glanced ruefully at Jemima.
“If you could call off your guard dogs for a moment, I think we need to adjourn to the room next door and I can bring everyone, including you, up to date.” His voice was tinged with mild amusement that fell flat against the level of tension, which was practically humming in the air.
Jemima nodded jerkily, allowing Peter to draw her away. She was frowning thoughtfully by the time she was seated in one of the large brocade chairs beside the fireplace.
Despite the roaring flames in the grate, she felt chilled to the bone. The raw memories of the past two days made her feel as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
“I think you had better explain,” Dominic ordered, his voice cold and faintly threatening.
“He was one of the gaolers,” Jemima replied with a shudder. She glanced up at Sir Dunnicliffe, who had remained standing.
He looked most officious with his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders broad and straight, staring at each man in turn before looking at Jemima.
“I think it would be best if I started from the beginning, then you will all understand what this is about, and what needs to happen next.” Sir Dunnicliffe knew he sounded pompous but was happy to adopt an ‘official’ stance in order to ensure they didn’t lynch him.
“Please do,” Peter snapped, settling back in the chair beside Jemima, one booted foot resting casually on one knee in a pose that was anything but restful.
“Firstly, please call me Hugo. Sir Dunnicliffe seems such a mouthful.” He bowed at Jemima and offered her a soft smile that lit his eyes and eased some of the dark menace from his countenance.
“You are quite right, I was in Mr Simpson’s office, and waited with you in the corridor on the morning you were supposed to be executed -” He heard Dominic’s snarl, but refused to move his eyes from Jemima’s. He knew she was wary of him; that his presence in the house had frightened her, most probably because he brought so many bad memories with him. He couldn’t blame her if she despised him. All he could do was hope that once he had imparted all the facts then she would feel more inclined to be amenable toward him.
If not, then he had a major problem on his hands.
He glanced around the room at the assembled men and mentally heaved a sigh. He may be able to call upon Jemima’s good nature to plead her forgiveness, but this lot of battle-hardened warriors before him would be far harder to appease, if it was at all possible.