Mrs Friswell inclined her head respectfully to her mistress but threw Finlay a hostile glare. As she walked away, she left a trail of damp footprints on the flagstones. Mud clung to the hem of her cloak.
“Mrs Friswell,” he called and waited for her to turn around. “Did you go anywhere other than the church this evening?”
In her hesitation, he could almost hear her panicked thoughts.
“I know you went into the woods,” he wanted to say, but it paid to be patient, to hold his tongue.
“To the cottage to deliver Blent’s supper. He requires sustenance after taking the foxhounds out on their nightly patrol.”
“It’s a two-mile walk around the perimeter,” Sophia explained.
“Yes, we walked the length of the boundary this afternoon.” He fixed the housekeeper with a penetrating stare. “That explains why your boots are damp. Little escapes me, Mrs Friswell. You would do well to remember that. Good night.”
The woman dipped a reluctant curtsy and went on her way.
“You made it sound as if she were out cavorting with the devil,” Sophia whispered as the housekeeper’s booted steps faded into the distance. “Mrs Friswell has served me faithfully these last five years.”
“I don’t doubt it, but something is amiss.”
The housekeeper hated enquiry agents or hated interference or hated men, that much was obvious. In a few days, Finlay would be away from this house and its secrets and ghosts. When he left, he would do so knowing Sophia had nothing to fear.
“It’s late,” he said, dropping his gaze to her bare feet. “You’ll catch a chill standing on these flagstones.”
Sophia looked up at him and smiled, though it was evident these worrying events had taken their toll. “Are you concerned for my health, Mr Cole?”
“Jessica needs you well and thinking clearly.” He knew cupping her cheek was a mistake, but she looked so fragile standing amid the faint shimmer of moonlight. “You must focus, must be strong if you’re to help with this investigation.”
He almost sank to his knees when Sophia touched his hand, almost hiked up her nightgown and pressed his mouth to her womanhood.
“Then I shall try to get a good night’s rest,” she said.
He snatched his hand away before he cupped her nape, drew her closer and whispered things he shouldn’t.
Sophia avoided his gaze. “Are you coming to bed?”
His stomach twisted into knots. Mother of all saints. Could she not be more careful with her words?
“No.” He swallowed numerous times. “I need to think and cannot do so upstairs.”
“You need sleep, too, Finlay.”
“Yes.”
She paused. “Well, good night.” Hesitated. “Remember, Dr Goodwin will be here tomorrow.”
“Yes.” He was keen to meet the incompetent individual. “Good night.”
Sophia left him standing in the draughty expanse of the great hall, cold and alone. Twice, she looked back over her shoulder. Twice, he prayed she didn’t say something to weaken his resolve.
He waited for a few minutes before heading out through the front door. The crisp night air brought a welcome relief from the suffocating confines of Blackborne. He looked to the inky sky and the scattering of stars and managed to breathe freely again.
As always, his thoughts turned to Sophia, but he pushed them aside and strode towards the small chapel. He’d not set foot inside a church since the day of Hannah’s funeral. A man had to direct his anger somewhere, at someone. Tonight, even his duty to the Order could not make him cross the threshold.
He might have lingered in the doorway, cursing in the dark, had he not been distracted by a light in the upper landing window. A black silhouette stood peering through the leaded panes. The light disappeared, only to return seconds later. It happened again, one burst of candlelight, then nothing.
Finlay stepped out onto the forecourt in a bid to identify the shadowy figure. For a brief second, they locked gazes before the person scampered back. Perhaps Jessica was sleepwalking. Perhaps Sophia heard him leave the house and feared he’d gone into the woods. Perhaps Mrs Friswell was making her nightly rounds.
Instinct said not.