Moon Love Page 7

  She fell to her knees beside him and said foolishly, “Are you hurt, milord?”

  “No, I enjoy having my skull cracked open,” he growled. “Of course I am hurt.”

  He sat up and began struggling to draw his handkerchief from his pocket. Amy took it from him to wipe the blood from his eye, fully expecting to be shoved off, but he allowed her to help him.

  “Get the lantern, George, and let me see how bad this wound is,” she called over her shoulder.

  George flew to do as he was bid. The dark lantern had landed upright and was still burning. He directed the beam to Ravencroft’s face. Amy steeled herself to examine his cut. It was bleeding copiously, but as Ravencroft was conscious and in control of his wits – though scowling and grumbling thunderously – she decided it was not a fatal wound.

  “We had best call a doctor,” she said.

  “And bring him here, to start asking questions?” Ravencroft huffed. “How do we explain our presence in this godforsaken place?”

  “We can get you to a sawbones at least,” she said. “Is your carriage nearby?”

  “I would hardly bring my carriage on a job of this sort.”

  “Your mount, then.”

  “I walked from the inn.”

  The blood continued oozing down toward his eye. He tried to tie his handkerchief around his head to cover the wound, but it wasn’t large enough.

  “If you would remove your cravat, I could use it as a bandage for you,” she suggested.

  Ravencroft reached up and fumbled with his cravat, finally yanking it off with one hand so brusquely it chaffed his neck, glaring at her with irritable accusation all the while. His hostility and her own feeling of guilt made her fingers clumsy.

  It didn’t help that she was so close to him she could feel the heat of his breaths on her cheek. Her fingers trembled as they brushed his forehead with the lightest possible touch.

  “You needn’t be afraid to touch me,” he said, as she worked at the turban. “I won’t break.”

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of. Your bark leads me to fear you might bite.”

  He snorted, but it sounded like an amused snort.

  By the time she got the cravat tied around his head and the ends tucked in, he looked like an angry pasha.

  “You can use George’s mount to get to the doctor’s,” she said. “George will go with you. Doctor Flynn is the closest.”

  “We can’t leave you alone, Miss!” George objected.

  “I will be quite all right. We don’t want anything to happen to Lord Ravencroft.”

  “That’s bolting the door after the horse has left the stable.” He sat a moment, recovering, then said to George. “See if there’s any wine left in Jemmy’s bottle.”

  “There ain’t,” George said. “I already looked.”

  “I gave him two bottles. Look in his desk drawer.”

  Amy made note of this trick for future use. She had not thought to ensure that Jemmy had wine.

  George nipped off and Ravencroft said to Amy, “You have some explaining to do, Miss.”

  “I believe my presence here explains itself. I was looking for Bransom’s body. I found it,” she finished triumphantly.

  This had the expected effect of distracting him.

  “What! Where?”

  She pointed to the largest coal mountain. “George and I will come back and dig it out after we take care of you.”

  Ravencroft leapt to his feet and hastened to the coal pile. Amy ran after him. “You really should rest, milord.”

  He took up George’s shovel and eased the coal away until he could get hold of Bransom’s wrist. He dug his own arm into the pile and when he had a good grip on the arm, he pulled. Slowly, inch by inch, the body came out. First the forearm, then the upper arm and shoulder.

  Ravencroft stopped and turned to Amy. “You had best not watch this, Miss Bratty. It won’t be a pretty sight.”

  “Do you know Bransom?” she asked. The strain of controlling her feelings left her voice hard and cold.

  “I’ve never met him.”

  “Then how did you plan to identify him?”

  Ravencroft didn’t reply. Miss Bratty appeared to have her feelings, if she possessed any, under control. He gave a heave and Bransom’s head, as black as the coal in which it had been buried, came out. The force of the pull caused it to waggle, as if he were alive. The face turned toward her, the open eyes staring at her. Amy took one look, then her head began to spin in circles, then blackness engulfed her as she fainted dead away.

  When she came to, her head was leaning against Ravencroft’s shoulder, with his arm cradling her closely against his chest. For one dreamy moment, she was unsure whether she was waking or asleep. It felt good to be held so gently in his arms, with his anxious voice whispering in her ear. “Miss Bratty – Amy, speak to me!”

  Then in a different voice to someone else, “She must have hit her head when she fell. Can you get the cork out of that bottle?”

  Memory returned. Her eyelids flickered and she saw George, sticking the blade of a clasp knife into a corked bottle. Behind him loomed a black pyramid. Bransom . . . Where was Bransom’s body? She stirred, murmuring his name. A hand patted her shoulder softly, comfortingly, almost lovingly, with tender squeezes between the pats.

  “She’s coming around, thank God,” Ravencroft said. “Hand me the bottle.” With his free hand, he held a bottle of wine to her lips. He spoke in an unnatural voice, gently, as if to a child.

  “Here we go now. Take a sip. That’s the girl.” As he spoke, he wedged the bottle between her lips and tilted it. A gush of wine cascaded into her mouth and down her throat, choking her. More went splashing down her chin on to her jacket. She pushed the bottle away.

  “Are you trying to drown me?”

  “Back to your charming self, I see,” Ravencroft said, and tilted the bottle to his own lips.

  She glanced at him, and was momentarily confused to see elegant Lord Ravencroft’s head encased in a turban, As she became fully aware of their situation, she saw he was kneeling on one knee at an uncomfortable angle, with the weight of her body against his chest. She sat up, drawing away from him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Are you all right, milord?”

  “I’ve been better,” he replied, and quaffed another drink.

  Ravencroft was back to his charming self too, she noticed. When George saw she was trying to stand, he offered her his hand.

  “Where is the body?” she said, turning to Ravencroft, who was having some difficulty standing as his legs were asleep.

  He pointed over her shoulder. She looked, and saw the inert form placed on the ground at the foot of the black mountain. She went forward and stood a moment with her head bent, remembering. She was glad someone had closed his eyes. Ravencroft came and stood beside her, with one arm around her waist protectively.

  “What should we do with him?” she said.

  “When I finish this wine, I’ll search his pockets. I also want to see how he was murdered.”

  “And after that? If we leave him here, whoever killed him might spirit his body away again. There is no murder charge without a body.”

  “We’ll call the constable, McIvor, to come and take care of the body. I’ll do it by note, anonymously. I don’t want to advertise that I was looking for Bransom. I’ll notify FitzHugh as well. The family will want the body taken home for burial.”

  “He was from Bath,” Amy said in a voice that was trying not to quake. When she felt hot tears scald her eyes, she turned away to prevent Ravencroft from seeing this weakness.

  “Are you well enough to go home now?” he asked in a gruff voice. “I’ll see McIvor finds Bransom.”

  She turned on him in wrath. “I’m not leaving his body here in this filthy place, alone!”

  Ravencroft took a deep breath to control his rising ire and said, “What do you suggest, then?”

  “I suggest we leave McIvor out of it altogether. He’s worse than useless. I�
�ll take Bran – the body – to the abandoned house. It will be easier to search the clothes and clean the body up there. You notify Sir FitzHugh and let him decide what he wants done. we can’t just leave him lying here in this filth, Ravencroft. There might be rats.”

  After a frowning pause, he agreed.

  “George and I will do it,” she said. “You go back to the inn. I suggest you have a doctor look at that wound.”

  Ravencroft stood a moment, massaging his chin. Then he said, not tentatively, but in the voice of authority, “George, I want you to take a message to the inn for me. My servants, Glover and Spinks are waiting in the taproom to hear from me. We’ll take the body to the abandoned house in a hired gig. Glover will see to the gig. You’ll have to wait here with me, Miss Bratty. You can hardly go into town dressed like that.”

  In the excitement, Amy had forgotten her disguise. She remembered it now, and regretted that Ravencroft should see her looking so unattractive. His disparaging, assessing eye wasn’t missing a thing, from the misshapen hat on her head to the fustian jacket and outsized man’s boots.

  She had to force such unimportant matters from her mind and concentrate on the business at hand. Amy had been unhappy to have to carry Bransom’ s body over the back of a horse. This would also have meant either that George had to walk, or the two of them ride on one mount. Neither was convenient.

  When she didn’t speak, he said, “Do you have a better idea?”

  It rankled that he was taking over, giving orders. “I’ll go with George to the inn. Let us go, George. You can deliver Lord Ravencroft’s message to his servants while I wait outside.”

  She strode angrily from the coal yard. “Do you think we should leave his lordship alone with that wound?” George worried, as they slipped through the fence toward their mounts. “It must be deep. I hit him pretty hard.”

  Once away from Ravencroft, Amy’s anger cooled. She realized that his plan was the better one. And if anything happened to him – “Very well. I’ll stay with him. But for goodness’ sake, hurry.”

  She climbed back through the fence. As she went forward, she saw Ravencroft ending over Bransom’s body, searching the pockets. Her first reaction was annoyance that he did it behind her back, but a moment’s consideration told her that it was his job. He showed no surprise, or pleasure, that she had come back.

  “How was he killed?” she asked.

  “Shot. In the back,” he said grimly. “I’ll get the bastard who did this. There’s no hope of a witness, of course.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “They’ve stripped him clean. His watch is gone, his money. That is to make it appear an ordinary robbery. But thieves don’t go to the trouble of hiding a body so carefully.”

  “Did you manage to search his room at the Greenman?”

  “His room had already been cleaned and hired to someone else. His belongings were in the proprietor’s office. I – paid a late night visit to the office last night. I found a couple of the forged bank notes rolled up in the hem of one of his jackets, but nothing to reveal what he may have discovered that got him killed. “

  “His watch was gone, you say?”

  “Yes, to make it look like a death incurred during a robbery, when the body was eventually found.”

  “I know the watch to see it. Keep an eye open for a gold hunter’s watch with the initials JRB intertwined on the front of the case. His name was James Robert Bransom. The initials were hard to read, but on the back was the Latin inscription, Tempus fugit. He was very fond of that watch.”

  The sad tone of her voice suggested that she had been very fond of its owner. “You knew him quite well?”

  “We had met three or four times,” she said in a quiet, wistful voice, “He was very nice, one of those people who are easy to talk to, as if you had known them forever. He wanted to live on the moors, and study the plant life there.”

  Ravencroft felt an unpleasant, tight sensation around his heart. The question that cropped out of his mouth surprised him. “Did you love him?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know him well enough to love him. I liked him. He was – nice.”

  It occurred to Ravencroft that if his body should be found, she would not speak so fondly of him. She told him a little about Bransom while they waited for George and the servant to return. When Ravencroft touched his bandage and frowned, Amy said, “I wish you would see a doctor.”

  “It smarts but it isn’t a deep ache. You mentioned, I believe, that you have medical supplies at the little pied-a-terre at the abandoned house?”

  “Yes, I’ll clean your wound up and bandage it properly.” No one came to disturb them until the sounds of the gig alerted them that help had arrived.

  Glover and Spinks, Ravencroft’s groom and valet respectively, were a study in contrast. Glover was a husky young ex-bruiser with a broken nose. Spinks was a gentleman’s gentleman of middle years and great refinement. It had come as a delightful surprise to Ravencroft to discover that his elegant little valet was also handy in a brawl. Spinks recoiled in horror at the sight of the coal black corpse. It was George and Glover who removed Bransom’s body to the gig while Spinks fretted over his lordship’s wound.

  “I’ll take care of that as soon as we get where we’re going,” he promised. “It is a good thing I brought a clean cravat with me. I doubt I shall ever get the stains out of the one you are wearing on your head. En effet, we have time to arrange the cravat now.”

  He drew an immaculate cravat from the case he carried and shook it out. Ravencroft reached for it. “Don’t touch it, your lordship! Your hands are filthy. Allow me. If you will just bend over.”

  “Do you know, Spinks,” Ravencroft said, “I have just remembered I am invited to dine with Lord Crawford tomorrow evening. He has promised to stop on his way home to Havergate, time permitting. I was planning to wear this jacket, which I have destroyed. Do you think you could get my bordeau velvet steamed and ready? Perhaps you had best go and see to it now. You know what a peacock young Crawford is.”

  Amy stared in disbelief to hear Ravencroft so concerned about social trivia at this crucial moment.

  “Lord Crawford!” Spinks exclaimed in alarm. Lord Crawford’s valet and Spinks had been locked in combat for a decade to produce the most elegant gentleman in London “Why did you not tell me sooner, your lordship? You know I am unhappy with the left lapel of your bordeau. I must take it apart and redo it. We shall require a new style of cravat! And you didn’t bring your ruby cravat pin to go with the bordeau jacket.”

  “Thoughtless of me. You had best dart back to the inn and get to work on that lapel at once.”

  Spinks stood a moment wringing his hands. He put down his valise, picked it up again, then set it down again, while Ravencroft took the cravat in his filthy hands and arranged it around his throat.

  “Can I trust Glover to tend that wound?” Spinks asked.

  “Miss Bratty is experienced in nursing,” Ravencroft assured him.

  “Well, if you are quite sure; I shall get to work on that lapel, then. The diamond cravat pin will have to do. Diamonds are always acceptable, and the stone is flawless.”

  He darted off. Glover uttered a rumbling laugh. “Crawford is in Scotland,” he said.

  “Spinks need not know that. I left myself an out by hinting that Crawford might not have time to stop. Spinks is an excellent valet, but a demmed shrew.”

  He climbed into the back of the gig. “You drive, Glover. I’ll watch Bransom’s body. We’ll meet you at Three Corners, Miss Bratty. No doubt you will be there before us. You might put on a kettle for tea.”

  He placed a blanket over the body and the gig drove off. Amy was halfway to the abandoned house before it occurred to her to wonder where Felix was during all this commotion. He was supposed to be with Ravencroft.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amy kept a spare key to the abandoned house tucked into the frame of the kitchen window. She drew it out and went into the dark, chi
lly kitchen, with George following behind. Along the way, she had decided that she must take George fully into her confidence. By stressing the importance of secrecy she appealed to his pride, letting him know he was the only servant who knew what was afoot.

  He was thrilled to death with his new importance. “You can depend on me, Miss Bratty. For now, I’ll just get the fire lit and a kettle on,” he said, as nobly as if he were marching into battle. “His lordship mentioned wanting a cuppa tea.”

  Amy tended to the lamps, while George set a light to the fire that was laid in the stove and rattled in the cupboard for cups and teapot, she got out her medical supplies to tend to Ravencroft’s wound. She also placed a clean sheet on the table to receive Bransom’s body. Once the fire was crackling, George filled the kettle and arranged a tray. As they bustled about, Amy kept wondering where Felix was. She sincerely hoped Ravencroft had not entrusted any sensitive duty to him.

  When she heard the sounds of the gig and horse, she went to the back door. George went out to help Glover carry the body in and place it on the table. Amy noticed that Ravencroft had either removed his turban, or it had fallen off. The wound had stopped bleeding, however. He looked tired and troubled and pale.

  “I’ve made a spot of tea for you, your lordship,” George said. He was eager to win Ravencroft’s forgiveness for the wound. “Why don’t you and Miss Bratty take it in the dining room, away from – “ He tossed his head toward the corpse on the table.

  “Me and young George here will clean up this poor mortal,” Glover added.

  “We’ll want a basin of hot water for his lordship as well,” George said.