Her eyes met and held his calmly. “Mr Travers was a fifth generation fisherman. He had been going out every day of his life whatever the weather, since he was five years old. There had been no storm, no high winds, and his boat was kept in pristine condition. Nobody knew what had happened to cause him to just simply disappear. My father couldn’t prove anything, so there was little he could do. But then Mr and Mrs Bartram were both found dead. Mrs Bartram was inside, and Mr Bartram outside. It appeared he had died while digging his garden.” Eliza glanced up at Edward briefly. “Again, nothing suspicious about it, only that he had been hit on the head with a blunt object and had bled profusely. His wife was found several days later tied and gagged and left in a cupboard in the kitchen. Nobody knew she was there. She had choked on her gag whilst being stuck in the cupboard.”
“I can understand the last two being murders, but the others could have just been circumstance.” Edward argued softly, wondering if there was more to the story she was letting on, or whether grief was skewing her viewing events as they really were. He hated to see her so upset and bring her further distress by expecting her to recount such disturbing events, but there was little he could do. If he had a hope of keeping them both safe, he had to know everything that had happened – however distressing.
“This was all in the space of two weeks Edward.” Eliza’s voice became sharp, her eyes full of absolute conviction as she stared at him. “You are talking about a small fishing port where nothing much really happened. Oh, it was busy. Ships of all sizes came and went all the time but in essence it was a busy fishing harbour, not a major port accommodating warships or the like. It was also a village and like any other village up and down the country there were deaths, but mainly young children, babies and old people. For all of these people to die in the space of two weeks was suspicious on its own, without the question of Mr Macleary’s unusual circumstance and the murders of Mr and Mrs Bartram.” It wasn’t lost on Edward that she believed the accuracy of what she was saying.
“There were also the rumours.”
“What rumours?” Edward settled back in his chair, wondering if any of this had anything to do with the men chasing Eliza, or whether she was rambling through the grief brought about by the events of the past day.
“Two or three people became vocal about the suspicious nature of the deaths. They spoke to my father about it, and told him of some other facts that made my father begin to suspect Scraggan.”
“But that’s two or three people in a small village. Gossip is bound to be rife, especially if nothing much else happens and people are trying to get your father’s attention off the smuggling activities.”
“Edward, the people who became vocal and suggested that Scraggan was involved in the murders all turned up dead.” Eliza’s voice became harsh in the silence as she leant forwards in her chair. She had completely forgotten she was still holding the knife as she stared at him, urging her to accept the gravity of the situation that had unfolded.
“Can you really consider that just circumstance too?” She snorted inelegantly and settled back in her chair, returning to her whittling of the apple mulch as she stared absently into the fire.
“My father didn’t, and he began to investigate. Before the month was out, Scraggan had taken over one of the big ships in the port and had several of the more troublesome fishermen in his employ. They bullied the smaller fishermen into joining them. Those who didn’t join lived in fear for their lives. Some disappeared, leaving their families behind. Some disappeared with their families. As weeks passed Scraggan’s group became bigger and more threatening. Before long, someone mentioned to my father that it wasn’t just goods they were smuggling.” Eliza looked pointedly at him, watching wariness appear on his face.
“You mean spies?” Edward’s voice was hard and uncompromising. He immediately thought of his brother Dominic, who had been sent to deal with a ruthless band of smugglers in Norfolk prior to Isobel being kidnapped.
Eliza nodded slowly. “My father began to investigate. There were some in the village who carried on regardless, keeping a wary eye on Scraggan while remaining a healthy distance from him. They watched and reported to my father, but obviously lived in fear of their own lives.”
“Why didn’t your father send you away? He must have known you were in considerable danger yourselves.”
“We were a close knit family. I was eight years when my mother passed away, leaving myself and Jemima to depend upon my father. He idolised mother and never seemed to recover from losing her. Instead he turned his attention to raising us as best he could.” Eliza saw the scepticism steel over Edward’s face and became defensive.
“It might not be your kind of upbringing, but it was sufficient for me.” She snapped waspishly, feeling emboldened by her small display of temper. “When I was old enough I began to look after the house. Jemima, being older and at the time faster with her writing, helped my father with his papers.”
Edward watched the myriad of emotions flicker across her beautiful face and felt a keen sting of respect and a small flicker of jealousy for her ready defence of her family. Undoubtedly it had been tough for her father to raise two girls alone, especially while carrying out the duties of a magistrate. But Edward couldn’t accept that the man had allowed the girls to remain in the middle of such impending danger.
Any daughter of his would have been safely ensconced in the most secure place he could find and wouldn’t be allowed out until the danger had passed. The thought of a daughter with amber eyes and long, dark blond hair floated temptingly in his mind, teasing him with possibilities.
“Jemima knows far more about father’s work than I do.” Eliza declared softly, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace blankly.
“Do you think that is why Scraggan is after you? To find out what you both know?” Edward queried.
“They knew my father was asking questions. He found something out and suddenly announced he had to go and see someone in the War Office.” Eliza shifted uncomfortably in her seat, choosing her words carefully. “He said he would be back within a week.”
“But he wasn’t.” Edward finished for her flatly, unsurprised when she shook her head slowly, tears shimmering on her beautiful lashes.
“On the day he was due back, I decided we should have a nice celebratory supper. I began to walk into the village for some bits and pieces for a treat. It was such a lovely day, the sun was shining and despite the blustery winds, it was really quite pleasant. As I walked down the lane, I came across a group of horses standing by themselves, saddled but loose in the middle of the road with no riders.” Her voice became husky with suppressed emotion as she remembered that fateful morning when her life was shattered.
“I recognised my father’s horse and at first couldn’t understand why she was there – or where my father was. She appeared scared and restless and wouldn’t let me approach her. It took me some time to calm her down, then as I turned I noticed someone’s legs in the adjacent field. I wasn’t sure if someone had become ill, or fallen off or something, so went to take a look. My father travelled to London with his assistant and two out-riders for protection. All four men were lying in the field.” Eliza’s voice trembled with tears as she sought to find the right words to convey the graphic sc
ene that had met her.
“They had been murdered. Each man’s throat had been cut.” She couldn’t suppress the tears that flowed freely down her pale cheeks as the memories of the grass stained brown with blood, and the lifeless stare of her beloved father.
Edward stood, and drew her gently into his arms. Suddenly her reaction to seeing the men he had shot in the field made perfect sense. He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head as she gave herself over the grief of losing her father and guardian, made increasingly raw by her witnessing the killing of the two men last night.
He held her while she vented the grief that until now she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge. The tears suddenly seemed unstoppable as she leant against the solid comfort of his shoulder, his long arms around her waist holding her close as she sobbed.
“My father had been beaten before he was-.” Eliza hiccupped around the word, unable to finish her description of the graphic scene that had awaited her that morning.
“They were trying to get information out of him.”
After several moments, she quietened down enough for him to ease backwards and look down into her face. Her amber eyes were filled with so much pain that his heart clenched with frustration at his inability to ease her angst. He felt the physical pull of attraction draw him closer and it took every ounce of self control he had not to succumb to the tempting curve of her lips as she gazed at him.