“Fate had other plans for us,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Hannah was a kind, loving woman. She tried to be a good wife, tried to battle—” He stopped abruptly. Downed his brandy to drown out the morbid memories of finding her during a heavy downpour, shivering and soaked to the skin.
“Fate delivered us both a wicked blow.”
They remained silent for a time, lost in thought.
“You mentioned my last case,” he said, returning to her original question. “The maid wasn’t murdered. She took her own life because she could no longer tolerate the abuse.”
Sophia tutted. “Something has to be done about these poor girls in service.” She seemed equally keen to change the subject. “I often wonder if Mr Archer took advantage of Maud. They both confessed to sharing a mutual attraction, but men can be deviously persuasive.”
Deviously persuasive?
Was she referring to her experience with Lord Adair?
“There, you have proved my point. Your assumption that the maid took her life because of her employer is wholly incorrect.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Yet we both know such tragedies occur.”
One might say the maid’s employer was to blame. “He did have relations with the girl, but the housekeeper was the vile tormentor. The woman acted out of misguided loyalty in a bid to save her master’s reputation. She hoped her vicious tactics would drive the maid away.”
“Such schemes rarely go to plan.” Sophia stood. “Would you care for more brandy?”
Finlay’s traitorous gaze drifted from his empty glass to her bare feet. “No. I’ve had enough to help lull me to sleep.” Any more and he could not maintain his defences.
“Did you discover anything useful during your enquiries today?” Sophia placed her empty glass on the mantel. She drew the poker from the iron stand and prodded the dying embers.
“Blent gave me a tour of the grounds.” Avoiding the woman whose alluring presence followed him wherever he went had been his priority. “We visited the deadwood.”
During daylight hours, there seemed nothing to fear. At night, amid the spindly trees and the ravens’ caws, a confused woman might imagine all sorts of witchery.
Sophia’s eyes widened with alarm. “You went to the deadwood?”
“Someone made a fire there recently.” That was hardly surprising. Poachers stalked their prey at night.
She gave the embers one last prod before returning the poker to the stand. “Promise me you won’t go there again. There is something sinister about the place, and you have suffered enough since Hannah’s death.”
The atmosphere in the house was equally disturbing. He had lain awake for hours last night, certain he had heard whispering in the darkness.
“I’ll not discuss Hannah,” he warned lest she start probing into his past. “And you know I am dismissive of myth and superstition. When I questioned Blent about hearing ghostly echoes of a witch’s curse, he said people from the village often play pranks.”
Sophia appeared unconvinced. She pushed a silky blonde tendril behind her ear and stroked her throat, though he wished she hadn’t. The memory of pressing his lips to the sensitive skin burst into his mind.
“While that’s true, there are people who have lived in this area for generations. People who still follow the old traditions.”
“You mean there are women who make herbal potions and gather in the woods at night.” He was in no position to mock. He had seen and heard many strange things during his investigations.
“I mean, this entire area is cursed.” She drew her wrapper tightly across her chest and shivered. “You must have felt the oppressive energy when you rode through the woods.”
Finlay couldn’t lie. As a strong, virile man capable of fending off a brutal attack, the ominous aura had made him want to tear along the path at breakneck speed. Instinct told him there was something out there, though he would wager it had nothing to do with the supernatural and everything to do with a devious villain.
“One should fear the living, not the dead,” he said. “A man gave Jessica the bowl and encouraged her to come to the woods at night. A man is feeding her mind with nonsense.”
Blent wasn’t helping matters. And no doubt Dr Goodwin’s tincture made Jessica unstable. Why else would she exhibit odd behaviour the day before the doctor’s arrival?
“Other than Dr Goodwin, no one knows Jessica lives here.”
Finlay arched a brow. “Secrets cannot remain hidden forever. Trust me. As the days progress and we examine the evidence, a motive and a malefactor will become apparent.”
Her