‘It was not Mrs Finch who attacked me,’ Laura said. ‘That person was taller and I am certain it was a man.’
‘And it seems improbable that she could have overpowered and killed a whole succession of British agents,’ Jared observed. ‘On the other hand a large gang seems improbable to me. This is not smuggling where most of the local population is in sympathy. Keeping the presence of a murderous group in league with the French secret would be impossible for very long, I’d have thought.’
‘The person who attacked me was very clean,’ Laura said. ‘Their cloak smelt of leather and horses, but I was very close indeed and their skin… I could smell Castile soap, the kind with no perfume, and cloves on their breath. Does that ring any bells?’ She looked round at the Swinburns and Squire Jenner.
‘That damned groom of hers,’ Giles said. ‘Gave me the creeps, something not right about him – too quiet, too clean, always trimming his nails or polishing his boots. Never said anything, I’d swear he was dumb, although I know she talked to him. And I’d wager he’s been between the sheets with dear Aunt the way he looks at her. Looked at her,’ he corrected with a grimace.
‘That the fellow who chews cloves?’ Charles, who had shown no sign of following what had been going on, roused at that, sat up and looked round. ‘Don’t like him. Kills things. I mean, hunting’s all right and shooting, but getting yourself all over blood…’ He shuddered.
‘What things does he kill?’ Flynn asked, holding up one hand to silence the others.
‘Hmm? How would I know? Just saw him the once – went up to Aunt Finch’s to collect Mama’s reticule, she’d left it behind. Went into the stables and there he was, stripped to the waist, sluicing himself off and his clothes in a bloody heap and blood all over him. Looked like it does when they kill a pig,’ he added.
‘When was that?’ Flynn asked, keeping his voice calm and unexcited. He might have been enquiring about the weather.
‘When?’ Charles stared blankly at him. ‘I don’t know. I went away before he saw me.’
‘I do.’ His mother wiped her eyes with her sodden handkerchief, sniffed and seemed to pull herself together. ‘Last Easter. We had dinner at the Rectory on Easter Monday and I left my reticule. Charles went back for it on the Tuesday.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘Oh, that wicked woman.’
‘It would fit,’ Hogget said. ‘An agent went missing around then.’
‘Right, in that case we’d best send the Dragoons and Morefleet up to the Rectory to arrest the man,’ Perry said. ‘I’m the local magistrate, I imagine he’ll take someone on my orders.’
‘He’d be an fool not to,’ Jared remarked as Perry went out. ‘Do his career a deal of good. Let us hope he gets him alive, Dragoons have a habit of shooting first and asking questions later.’
‘You mean before he can reveal who else was involved?’ Laura asked. ‘There has to be someone who was directing agents asking for passage to France into the trap and at least one boat crew.’
‘I have had enough of this.’ Theo stood up and held out his hand to Laura. ‘I want to find a quiet, comfortable room to propose properly. One without Dragoons, bodies, infuriated cooks, dis
tressed families – ’
‘The back parlour.’ Laura curled her fingers into his and made for the door with a lack of hesitation that made him want to cheer.
‘Finally,’ he said as he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. ‘Peace and quiet and I can tell you that I love you.’ He had promised to go down on one knee, so he did. ‘Laura. Miss Darke, will you do me – ’
The curtain moved behind where she stood, smiling at him.
‘Stay exactly where you are.’ The man who stepped out held a knife in his hand. ‘One word, one movement and I kill her.’
Chapter Twenty Two
Fingers closed ruthlessly in her hair, jerking back her head. Laura felt the warmth of the man’s body close behind her, the cool draft from the open window, the cold fire of the knife blade pressed into the flesh of her throat.
A few feet away Theo knelt amongst the feminine clutter of the little room. A heap of sheets for hemming, a small stack of novels, the embroidery basket, a footstool, side tables and several rather battered comfortable chairs. His eyes were wide and dark, his focus beyond her to the man who stood at her back.
‘Let her go. I will go with you if you need a hostage.’
‘I think not. Your friends are less likely to risk a shot with a woman in the way.’
Laura tried to speak without moving her throat against the blade. ‘You are French, I can hear a trace of it in your voice.’
‘But yes,’ he agreed quite readily. ‘Now, tell me what they are doing out there. Who are they hunting for?’
‘For you,’ Theo said.
‘And where do they go?’ He emphasised the question with a jerk at her hair.
‘The Rectory.’