Winterset (22 page)

“So you went looking for him?”

She nodded. “I knew he had gone into town tonight to play cards. He does it once a week. Some of the local men meet at Dr. Felton’s every Tuesday for cards—the squire, Mr. Norton, Miles. So, when I had that feeling, the only thing I could think to do was to ride into town. Of course, if I had ridden there only to find Kit peacefully playing cards with the other men, he would have been enormously embarrassed.”

“But your intuition was correct.”

“Yes. I saw trees, and, when I thought about it, I was fairly certain that what I had seen was a certain stretch of road, before you reach the larger highway. It is a little finger of the woods that stretches out, with the lane cut through them, and the branches arch overhead, forming a kind of roof.”

Reed nodded. “I know where you’re talking about.” He frowned. “So you actually saw what was happening? You had a vision?”

“Yes. I…well, I was just looking out the window, and my mind was drifting, I guess. And suddenly I was filled with fear. It swept over me. And I knew, I just knew, that something was terribly wrong. I had to sit down. I felt weak. And then I saw these branches, and I could feel the night air on my cheek. Suddenly there was a tremendous pain in my head, and I was certain that there was something wrong with Kit.”

“Pretty accurate, I’d say,” Reed mused. He reached over and cupped his hand against Anna’s cheek. “You may have saved his life.”

Tears threatened again as she whispered, “I think I did.” She blinked away the tears, muttering, “Damn.” She drew a breath, then went on, looking into Reed’s eyes. “When we rode up, I saw…someone bending over Kit.”

“What! Who was it?”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t know. It was very dark beneath the trees. I only saw this—this shape bending over him. I could tell nothing about him—height or size—except that he wore some sort of cape. He turned, and I glimpsed…something.”

“What do you mean? You saw his face?”

“I’m not sure what I saw. It must have been his face, but there was something odd about it. It was only for a second, and then he turned and ran. It was terribly dark, and I couldn’t send Cooper after him. It would have put him in too much danger.”

“Of course.” Reed rose and began to pace about the room. “Do you think it was the same man who murdered the other two?”

“It seems unlikely that there is another person running about attacking people.”

“Yes. It rather stretches one’s credulity.” He turned to her. “When you say odd, what do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you. It was only an impression. It just—it didn’t exactly look like a person. You can question Cooper. He saw it, too, but he seemed as uncertain as I about what he saw. It’s the sort of thing where you expect to see something, and then it isn’t what you expect. It takes you a moment to adjust, but he was gone in a flash. I can’t tell you what was wrong with his face, but the whole scene gave me the shivers. It was so eerie….”

There was a knock on the door, and Anna jumped, then let out an apologetic little laugh. “Come in.”

It was the doctor, followed by Thompkins with a tray containing a teapot and cups, as well as a few sandwiches and cakes that the cook had added. The doctor looked at Anna, then over at Reed, but if he found anything odd about Reed’s presence there at this time of night, he said nothing. His eyes went to Kit’s form on the bed.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “I scarcely believed your man when he told me. I just saw Sir Christopher not an hour ago.”

“Then he did play cards with you this evening?” Anna asked.

“Yes, of course. He was the last to leave, in fact. Not half an hour after I bade farewell to him, your man was knocking on my door.”

The doctor strode across the room and bent over Kit, examining the wound. “Hmm. Looks like he got a good crack on his head. Do you know what happened?”

“No,” Anna admitted. “We found him like this. He was lying in the lane, and his horse was near him.” She described the location.

The doctor frowned as he took out a bottle and cloth and began to clean the wound. Kit winced and let out another noise.

“I suppose he could have fallen from his horse,” the doctor mused. “And struck his head. He had a few drinks, although I certainly would not have thought him drunk.”

“Kit is a good horseman. Even when he’s been drinking, he can stay on a horse. And I can’t imagine that he was riding fast through there. It was rather dark.”

“Perhaps he did not see a branch and it knocked him from his horse. The trees are very low-hanging there.”

“There was someone with Kit,” Anna said. “When we rode up, someone was bending over him.”

The doctor looked at her, startled. “Who?”

“I don’t know. He ran away.”

Dr. Felton stared at Anna. “You mean, you think someone attacked Sir Christopher?”

“Why else would he have run away from us?”

“This is mad. Why would anyone have attacked your brother?” Dr. Felton asked.

“I have no idea. Why would anyone have attacked Estelle or Frank Johnson?”

Dr. Felton glanced from Anna to Reed, then shook his head. “It seems as if the world has run mad. Who could be doing such things?”

Anna shook her head. The doctor sighed and finished cleaning the wound, then bandaged it.

“Shouldn’t Kit have awakened by now?” Anna asked worriedly.

The doctor shrugged. “It’s hard to say. He got a hard knock. It tore the scalp, and there is a contusion. Normally, I would not have thought he would remain unconscious this long.” He bent, lifting Kit’s eyelids one by one and peering into his eyes. “He isn’t in a coma. I—he almost seems to be deeply asleep.”

He straightened, frowning, and looked at them. “Give him until tomorrow morning and see what happens. It may just be the effects of a hard knock after a few whiskies. Let me know if his condition is unchanged. Here is a powder for his headache. Simply empty the packet into a glass of water.”

The doctor had a cup of tea with them afterward, and then Anna and Reed walked with him downstairs, leaving Kit’s valet to sit with the patient.

As they reached the front door, Reed thanked the doctor for loaning them his father’s journals, then went on. “One thing puzzled us, however.”

“Oh, really?” Dr. Felton turned to him inquiringly.

“Yes. We noticed that there were some pages torn out of the journal.”

“Ah.” Dr. Felton nodded. “I should have mentioned those. Unfortunately, I’m not really sure what was on those pages. My father left the journals to me upon his death, so I could not ask him. I noticed the missing pages, as well. I asked my mother, but she had no idea. She had never read his journals.”

“We thought it might have been pages where he made a mistake in a drawing or something, and so tore it out and started over.”

“It is possible,” Felton agreed. “However, there are other places where he has simply crossed something out. I have given the matter some thought, and what I decided was that there were perhaps records of a patient that he considered too private, too confidential, to be revealed even to his son after his death.” He shrugged. “I am sorry I can be no more help than that.”

“Oh, no, we are very grateful for your help,” Anna assured him.

“Did you get any ideas from the journals?” the doctor asked. “I mean, about who could be copying the killings?”

“No, not really,” Reed told him. “Except that it must be someone who knew enough about the killings to imitate them.”

“I am afraid that might encompass all too many people,” Dr. Felton said. With a slight bow, he bade them good-night and left.

Reed and Anna turned back down the hall. Reed reached out and took her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Anna…about the other day…could we talk privately?”

“Yes, of course.” She led him into the music room, which was nearby, and closed the door, turning to him.

“I wanted you to know—I am sorry I was so harsh with you when you told me your reason for not marrying me. I had no right to blame you. You only did what you thought was right.”

“Thank you.” Anna could feel the anxiety and sorrow that had plagued her for the last few days loosening within her. “It is generous of you to say so. I have thought about it, too, and I see that you were right. It was my fear that kept me from telling you the true reason. I should not have hidden behind the falsehoods I told you. I thought only about myself and my fears, not about you. It was wrong of me.”

“But understandable,” Reed told her. “People have called my family mad for as long as I remember, and though I know that the epithet is untrue, still, it stings.” He paused, then went on. “I would hope that we can be friends now, however, that we will not have to shun each other’s company.”

Anna smiled, her face lighting up. She would not be completely cut off from Reed, would not have to face the rest of her life without ever seeing him.

“I am so glad,” she said. “It is what I want, as well.” It occurred to Anna that she seemed too eager, and she hastily explained. “I—I had hoped that we could continue to try to find the killer. I want to do so even more now that he has attacked Kit.”

“I would like it, too,” he told her.

“I went to talk to Nick Perkins today,” Anna said. “I can’t imagine why I did not think of him before. He is still quite alert and was a young man at the time of the earlier killings.”

“You went by yourself?” Reed frowned.

“It was broad daylight, and I took the pony trap. I did not walk,” she protested. “I was perfectly safe.”

“And did you learn anything from him?”

Anna frowned. “Not really. He said that he knew the farmer who was killed, but not much beyond that.”

“I dug through those records,” Reed said. “It took me a day, but I finally found the household expenses for forty-eight years ago.”

Anna brightened. “Did you find the names of the servants?”

“Yes, though I must say, I had the devil of a time figuring out the handwriting. And several of the servants had only their first names written down. But I gave the rest of the names to Norton, and he had his clerk track them down. Out of all the names, he did find one of the maids still alive and living in Eddlesburrow.”

“Really? That’s not too far. An hour’s ride, perhaps.”

“Yes. It is also where the records of the coroner’s inquests are held.”

Anna’s eyes widened. “I had not thought of those.”

“I don’t know how much more we will find in them than was in the doctor’s journals, but there might be something.”

“Of course. We should look at them. I couldn’t go, of course, until Kit is better.”

“No. We will wait. The maid and the records will still be there.” Reed hesitated, then continued, “Anna…I wanted to ask you about your uncle.”

Anna’s eyes flew to his face, and one hand moved unconsciously to press against her stomach, where her nerves were already fluttering. “What?”

“I thought about what you said quite a bit over the last few days. And I realized…Are you worried that it might be your uncle who is doing these things?”

Anna’s heart began to hammer. She stared at Reed, unable to speak.

“No, pray, do not look at me like that,” Reed said quickly, moving closer to her. “I do not mean to suggest that he is. I only thought that you might fear it.”

“I do,” Anna said, and her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Oh, Reed, I do….”

She pressed her lips together tightly, struggling for a moment to overcome her emotions. She had been carrying her fears silently for more than two weeks, and while it hurt to admit what she had been thinking about her uncle, it was a relief, as well. Once she started, the words seemed to come tumbling out of her.

“I cannot think that he would hurt anyone. He is not a violent man, not at all. He is a good man, truly he is. But I cannot help but wonder, because of the marks. I told you that he refuses to cut his nails, and they grow quite long, and Dr. Felton said the marks were spaced wide apart, like a bear’s claw. A man’s fingers would be similarly spaced.”

“Anna!” Reed took her hand between both of his. “Please do not distress yourself so. Those marks do not prove that it was your uncle.”

“I know.” Anna drew a calming breath. “And yet…everyone keeps saying how mad it is that someone would kill people this way. There is no rhyme nor reason. Uncle Charles has reasons for what he does, but they are so bizarre that no normal person would understand them. He is a gentle man—a pitiful figure, really, because he lives in such fear, even though all of it is created in his own mind. But he roams the woods at night. His keeper cannot keep track of him all the time. He has to sleep. And if, for some reason, my uncle thought that those people were the Queen’s assassins—well, it seems ludicrous to us, but to him it is very real, and I am afraid that if he was laboring under a delusion such as that, he could kill them.”

“Have you seen him, talked to him?”

“I have seen him. He seems much the same as ever. He did not mention anything about having had to do away with any enemies, but I’m not sure he would. He is so very secretive, even with Kit and me, or Arthur, his valet.”

“What did his keeper say?”