“Don’t have arthritis,” Atkins insisted, holding up his gnarled, twisted fingers. “Just proof I did good work.”
“I’ve never seen anything like the abbey,” Meg said, ignoring Dougal’s snort. She tried a different tactic. “Were you the one called in after Lady Dahlia left the house for the last time?”
“In fact, I was.”
Victory sparked through her, premature or not. “I hear there was a row.”
“Such a one as you ever did see, if the damage was anything to go by. He was a toddler, that one.”
“Da.”
“Bah. Never mind that, Allie. You should have seen what he did to the dining room.”
Meg and Dougal exchanged a glance. “What did he do?”
“Put holes in every mural, didn’t he? Took me a week just to fill them all. Except for one, which Lady Dahlia asked to fix herself. Odd that.”
Meg leaned forward. Dougal put down his beer. “Do you remember which one?”
“Which one what?”
“Which hole Lady Dahlia did not want you to fix.”
“Lady Dahlia,” he sighed. “Now she was a hoyden.”
Alice sighed too. She lowered her voice. “I’m afraid my father’s memory isn’t what it used to be. He wanders.”
“I’m fine,” he barked.
“I know, Da.”
“’Twas the west wall, somewhere,” he added. “She told me about green flashes over the sea.”
Alice’s eyes widened. “She did?”
“Aye.”
Meg smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Atkins. You’ve been most helpful.”
“He has?” Alice asked.
“I have,” Atkins confirmed, though it was clear he wasn’t quite sure how he had helped.
“We have a riddle,” Meg confessed. “And it led us to the dining room but no closer. I think your father may have helped us more than I can say!” She was already on her feet. “Sorry to have disturbed your supper!” Meg tossed over her shoulder. She was halfway out the door and Dougal gave Atkins and his daughter a hasty nod and followed. A storm had blown in off the water. Rain spattered, heavy and wide as silver coins.
By the time he’d reached the carriage, Meg was already seated and urging the coachman to drive on if the duke insisted on taking such a leisurely pace. Dougal hadn’t even shut the door behind him when the horses began to walk, the clip clop of their hooves loud in the quiet town. Most everyone was inside, candles burning at the windows. The sound of the sea snuck between the houses, barred from no door, no house, no carriage. The storm followed, intensifying.
Meg was vibrating like a wheel about to fly off its axel.
“I take it Atkins solved the riddle for you and if I hadn’t snatched you up, you’d be marrying him instead?” Dougal asked drily.
“One of the murals is more damaged than the others. And it wasn’t repaired terribly well.”
“And you’re not going to tell me which one it is, are you?”
“I…” She blinked slowly. “Dougal, I don’t feel at all the thing.”
“What’s wrong….” he trailed off, reaching for her but moving slowly, as though he’d been dipped in honey. Meg swallowed. The beer had left an odd taste in the back of her throat. She wanted to ask Dougal about it but he had already slumped to the side.
She would have been concerned, but everything seemed to melt and then went black.