He sat up abruptly. Laura slid from his lap to the couch, opened her eyes, and made a sound of protest as Theo shot to his feet and found that at least his flapping shirt tails made a screen for the deplorable state he was in.
‘We fell asleep,’ he said, convinced he was gibbering. ‘I thought I was dreaming.’ He reached the far side of the bed and Will Thwaite opened his eyes, studied his doubtless red face, and grinned.
‘I am sure you did,’ he agreed, suddenly serious again. ‘Could someone please tell me what is going on?’
Somehow Theo did not think Will meant that he wanted an explanation of what had been happening on the couch. A rapid glance showed that Laura was already halfway out of the door, her hair loose on her shoulders. He could just glimpse one very pink ear before she made good her escape.
‘Someone tried to kill you,’ he said. ‘Do you want to sit up a little and have a drink?’
‘Kill me?’ Will said faintly. ‘I had no idea my sermons were that bad. Yes, please. Actually, what I really want is the chamber pot and then a drink and then to know exactly what has happened.’
‘You were found yesterday morning in Fellingham churchyard,’ Theo explained a few minutes later as he helped him back into bed and poured a glass of what looked like barley water from the jug on the nightstand. ‘It appears as though you had lain there all night. Someone had clubbed you on the head and then stuck a knife in your back – luckily hitting your shoulder blade and not your heart. We brought you here because I thought it safest and you have been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since. The doctor thinks that, provided there is no infection, you should make a complete recovery. I’ll send for him now you are awake again.’
Will looked as though he was trying to swallow a large lump of gristle. ‘The Rector?’ he asked after a minute.
‘We sent to tell him what had happened and where you were. The Finchs replied with a message asking what they could do to help and offering to take you in at the Rectory. I refused on the grounds that the doctor advised against moving you. No doubt they will make enquiries again today.’
There was nothing wrong with Will’s intelligence, it seemed. ‘You refused on the grounds that I should not be moved. What was the real reason?’
‘That it might have been the Rector who tried to kill you.’
That did appear to knock the breath out of him. Will stared at Theo. ‘I assumed it was footpads or some starving, desperate vagrant.’
‘You were not robbed.’
‘I see. Or rather, I do not. And, forgive me, but was that not Miss Darke, just now? I tried not to stare, but…’
Well, that cat is out of the bag. ‘It was Laura Darke.’ Theo sat down and told the Curate Laura’s tale and the story of the dinner party and the reaction to his remarks about smuggling and the tomb. ‘I
t seems highly coincidental that you are attacked immediately after I tell the neighbourhood gentry that we are investigating Sir Brandon Flyte – who is completely fictitious, by the way.’
‘Something happened last night… I cannot quite recollect, it was dark and there was shouting.’
Theo recounted the story of the intruder. ‘And I find it significant that they attacked Miss Darke who was trying to block this door. They are still out to harm you, that seems clear.’
‘I am appalled to hear about Miss Darke – both that she was attacked and that her uncle should behave so. You have my assurance that I will not mention her presence. If there is anything I can do to assist, obviously I will, although how helpful I am going to be at the moment...’ He shifted as he spoke and winced. ‘As for the tomb, I do not understand why I pose a threat to whoever is behind this. I know less than you do now – ’
There was a tap on the door and Pitkin looked in. ‘Excuse me, my lord, Mr Thwaite. I came to see if I could assist. Mrs Albright thought you would want to rest, my lord.’
‘Send up hot water for me, Pitkin, and lay out a change of clothes then come down and see what assistance you can render Mr Thwaite. A wash and a shave might be welcome. Then when I rejoin him, have breakfast brought in and ask Mrs Albright to send to the doctor to tell him our patient has regained consciousness.’
After breakfast Theo found Laura hunting through some old editions of clerical directories in the library. ‘I can’t find any that cover the period in question,’ she said, not quite meeting his eye. ‘I ought to recall who the last but one rector was, but I was very young when I visited in those days.’
‘I apologise,’ he said abruptly, ignoring her words. ‘You were asleep on your feet when I got back last night and so I picked you up to put you on the couch and we became… entangled. It seemed easiest to wait a while and then I fell asleep too. I had no intention of taking liberties – ’
‘You did not,’ she said abruptly. ‘We both seem to have been somewhat, um, carried away in our sleep. You are, after all, a betrothed man. And an honourable one. Therefore it was not intentional. I do not regard it in the slightest.’
The colour in her cheeks gave her the lie about that, but Theo pretended to not notice. Things were embarrassing enough. And confusing. An honourable man? He had not behaved like one and being half-asleep was no excuse. He might have sown his wild oats in the past but he was not a rake and he he’d never had any trouble controlling himself around tempting, but virtuous, young ladies – so why did that embrace feel so overwhelmingly right and why had his instincts not woken him?
‘Will Thwaite saw you, so I had to tell him why you were here. He also understands that you were taken advantage of this morning – ’
‘Poppycock!’ The pink in Laura’s cheeks was anger now, he realised. ‘I was not taken advantage of. I was enjoying myself very much, thank you. Admittedly I thought it was a dream, but as I completely believe that you did too, no-one has taken advantage of anyone. I am quite capable of slapping your face when, and if, it is called for, my lord. I am sure you had no intention of betraying your betrothed. What is her name, by the way?’
Lady Penelope Haddon. My betrothed. Why am I having so much trouble remembering her name, let alone her face?
‘Lady Penelope Haddon,’ Theo said. If he said it often enough she might seem real. He held up both hands, palm out, in the fencer’s sign of surrender. ‘If I am back to being my lord, then I am truly in disgrace.’
She shook her head at him, but the colour had ebbed. ‘We must forget it. Is Mr Thwaite on the mend, do you think, Theo?’