Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) Page 20

  “I don’t know either,” Victoria said perplexedly. “I don’t know why anyone would want to kill anyone else at all.”

  The footman entered with the hot pot of boiling tea. After he had replenished the teapot, he hesitated at the door.

  “Yes, what is it, John?” Victoria motioned at him to speak.

  “Excusing me my Lady, but in the penny dreadfuls, murder is normally committed by a jealous lover.”

  Agatha laughed as Victoria poured herself more tea. “Thank you, John, you have lightened the mood somewhat.”

  The footman grimaced and closed the door softly behind him.

  “Jealous lover!” Agatha snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “I’ve never had a lover.” Henry categorically did not count. “And whilst Charles wasn’t keen on jilting me, I don’t think he would have resorted to killing me just for the sake of the engagement!”

  “I hate to say this, but you are right, Aggie. You really did not have enough time with Charles in order for that to happen.” Victoria shifted on her seat. “But what of all the other motives?”

  “Hmm, jealousy, intrigue, intimacy, war, interrupted theft, knowledge, power…” Victoria and Agatha looked at Harriet in amazement. “I read the penny dreadfuls too!” Harriet shrugged sheepishly.

  “Alright. What about intimacy?”

  “What about it? I’ve already said I didn’t have any lovers!”

  “Good point. Interrupted theft?”

  “What?”

  “Quite often when a burglar is searching a house, and they are discovered, they kill the owner of the house in order that they don’t get caught.”

  “Harriet, I have never caught a thief in the act in my life.”

  “Next one, then, power.”

  “I don’t really have the opportunity to give anyone power.” Agatha mused. “Killing me wouldn’t have given anyone power over me, or really power over anyone else.”

  “This is futile.” Victoria stood. “Nothing seems to fit properly.”

  “Sit down, Victoria. I think we are on the right track.” Agatha tapped her finger on the back of the tablecloth, tracing the lace patterns. “Harriet mentioned intrigue and war in some of her motivations. It seems an elaborate plan to pass me off as a French spy. What if I’m not really the target? I only assumed that I was being shot at, when in fact it was Henry that picked up the bullet. Even though making me Monsieur Herr could hang me, it seems that Henry has a huge amount to lose as well if he loses the support of his war colleagues by becoming involved with me.”

  “It sounds plausible…” Victoria scratched her head delicately in doubt.

  Harriet put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. “So who is going after Lord Anglethorpe, then?”

  “Why Monsieur Herr of course!” Agatha said. Harriet and Victoria’s mouths both dropped open.

  “Of course,” Victoria said slowly. “Why not give your name to someone else whilst carrying on your activities?”

  “There’s just one thing.” Agatha shook her head. “When I was on the beach last night, I saw Henry walking up the beach with a woman from one of Renard’s boats.”

  Victoria frowned. “Renard?”

  “He’s a smuggler,” Harriet said distinctly. “Everything he has is for sale. He’s well known in Brambridge.”

  “Oh.” Victoria took a sip of her tea. “Did you see him there?”

  Agatha shook her head. “No. I was under a hedge shivering at that point. Anyway, the point is, this woman looked awfully familiar, but I didn’t recognize her. And she also tried to seduce Henry in the fifteen minutes they were on the beach.”

  Victoria choked, spraying water everywhere. “We must ah… tell him he’s in danger from Monsieur Herr.”

  Agatha stared out of the window. “Unfortunately he went off for a morning ride at around five o’clock.” She hadn’t been able to sleep.

  “You know, that is the same time as the Freddie and Mr. Lovall left too.” Harriet spoke pensively. “They thought they were being quiet, but the horses’ hooves clattered on the cobbles at the gate.”

  Victoria dabbed at her skirts with a napkin. “This woman must know something. Why else are they all following her?”

  “The stable was empty of all but a few horses when I took my horse out to ride.” Agatha closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. “But the first stable was locked closed.”

  “They must have taken her to the stables.” Dropping the sodden napkin on a side table, Victoria rose gracefully to her feet and held out a hand to Agatha. “Quickly, we must find out what this woman knows!”

  Jolting to her feet, Agatha let go of Victoria’s hand and stumbled into the hall. Pushing past a surprised Smythe, she unbolted the front door and ran down the drive, followed closely by Victoria and Harriet.

  “Whose is that horse? Jaquard will be most upset.” Victoria gasped at the large grey cropping the hydrangeas in the middle of the ornamental lawn.

  “Mine.” Agatha picked up her skirts breathlessly. “It was too far to walk from the stables to the house so I just let him go out here. I was in rather a hurry.” Darting onto the grass, she grabbed hold of the horse’s rein. “We’d better take him back to the stables.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Henry stood in the deserted taproom of the Fountain Inn and put his head in his hands. His friends and colleagues were meant to be the finest spies and operatives that England had to offer. As he listened to the conversation in the private room, however, his belief was sorely tested.

  “Come on, old chap, we must get going!” Anthony’s frustrated tones echoed loudly out into the tap room.

  “But I’ve barely had any sleep!” Bill yawned audibly. “And I’ve just arrived.”

  “Your beauty can wait, Bill, this woman apparently can’t. She’s going back on the next boat in.”

  “But why do we have to do this so early?”

  Freddie’s unmistakable laugh shook the window casements. “I can’t believe that for a man that is used to getting up at the crack of dawn to tend to his forge, you have the ability to complain so much about this.”

  “I didn’t sleep well. It doesn’t help when bloody Agatha ‘twenty knives’ Beauregard is back in the village saying she has been stargazing from what you have said.”

  Henry stiffened as he heard the mirth in Bill’s voice. He coughed loudly and rapped on the private room door. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed his head in and glared. “When you are finished, I’ll be waiting outside for you.” He withdrew without catching anyone in the eye. After a short silence, the scraping of chairs against stone filled the air. Anthony was the first to leave the inn. But the bickering still hadn’t stopped.

  “Hmm, I can imagine that is a bit disconcerting. Hold on, old chap, I’ll give you a leg up. Amazed you could find a horse big enough to hold you.” Freddie laced his fingers together and held them at knee height, standing next to an enormous shire horse that nipped him on the shoulders.

  “It’s all muscle,” Bill huffed.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

  “Look, you two. Shut up. Can we please go?”

  Bill and Freddie looked at each other and stopped bickering instantly. Henry watched as Anthony wheeled his horse in a tight circle in the road. “You’re lucky Earl Harding isn’t here. With his notoriously bad temper he would have walloped both of you.”

  “I think old Hawk Anglethorpe has caught a bit of that temper.”

  “I am here you know,” Henry said quietly.

  “We had better not be late, then. We only met at the Fountain to discuss strategy.”

  “And for the breakfast of course.”

  Henry groaned as Bill grinned.

  The four men guided their horses out of the Inn’s stable yard and straight over the grassy verge into a fallow field that had not yet been readied for planting. The horses’ hooves made little sound on the soft ground.

  They followed the field until they reached a smal
l lane which led in one direction back down into Brambridge Village, and in the other towards Ottery St Mary. They turned towards Ottery St Mary first, before cutting across on a green track.

  “I am a little lost,” said Anthony doubtfully as Henry led them from the front.

  “I’ve lived here all my life,” Bill said as he urged his horse into a trot up the hill behind Henry. “This area is full of tracks. They are well used. This will take us back to Hawk’s house the back way.”

  Freddie laughed and withdrew a hip flask from his pocket. After tipping some of it down his throat, he cheerfully offered it to the other men.

  “I think it is a bit early for me.” Anthony raised his eyebrows and darted a quick look at Henry. “I’ll have a cup of tea later.”

  Henry kicked his horse and took the lead again.

  As they crested the top of the hill, Berale House stood in the distance. It glowed squarely golden in the early morning sunlight, taking on a pinkish hue. Large windows reflected the sky. The grounds were immaculately kept with symmetrical plant borders and a small fountain to the front of the house. Henry frowned. There was something different about the house. It felt more welcoming somehow than when he had first reopened it.

  “He really does have a nice house, doesn’t he?” Henry heard Freddie say. “I wonder why he doesn’t have any peacocks or guinea fowl?”

  “Probably because he is coming and going at all times of the day and night and peacocks are bloody noisy if you disturb them.” Bill pulled sharply at his great horse’s reins as it sidestepped. “Met a lady over Seaton way. She had a couple.”

  Henry shook his head. “Ye gods.”

  In an uncomfortable silence, the men reached the edge of the estate where the hedges thinned slightly as if disturbed by constant use. Henry left the men behind and dismounted from his horse.

  “Where’s Anglethorpe gone?” Freddie swung his leg over and hopped off his horse.

  “Typical. He was with us a moment ago.” Bill hung onto the back of the horse as he dropped heavily to the ground.

  “If you were a bit quieter, you would have seen me.” Henry stepped out from a kink in the hedge. His steps were silent as he walked towards them in the long grass.

  “So that is how he does it. Like a tiger stalking its prey,” Freddie muttered audibly. Anthony watched silently as Henry approached.

  “We have a problem. I cannot go in with you.” Henry clenched his fingers in a fist. “The woman says she has information in reference to Monsieur Herr. I think she is telling the truth, but I also don’t trust her. I had to tell her I worked in the stables.”

  “How will you hear what is going on?” Freddie waved his hip flask in Henry’s direction and took another swig.

  “The stables have vents that carry sound from one to the other. I’ll stand in the next door stable and listen in to the conversation.”

  The men nodded and, tying their horses loosely to the hedge, stalked round the path to the stables, Henry half a yard behind.

  The woman was still asleep in the stable stall when the men entered, crashing the stable door against the wall. She must have awoken with a start because she let out a quick huff of air that even Henry could hear in the next door stall. It was clear that she was instantly focused, however, and not at all intimidated.

  “Gentlemen, you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

  Quietly, Henry pulled a bucket towards the vent and stood on it, attempting to peer through the slats. It wasn’t enough just to hear what she was saying, he needed to see too. Sometimes the body language said everything that was being left out. By tilting his head slightly, he gained a good view of Monique. She pulled her cloak closer around her as the men took in her undressed sleeping state. The curls in her long hair cascaded over her shoulders in disarray, and here and a small piece of straw had lodged itself in her tresses.

  “Tell us what you know of Monsieur Herr.” Bill squared his shoulders.

  The woman tsked. “Not even a cup of tea or hot chocolate?”

  “You are being paid for your information. There is no need for formalities.” Freddie leaned elegantly against the damp stable wall. “Answer the question.”

  The woman removed a piece of straw from her hair, letting her cloak slide down her body and revealing an expanse of tightly-laced chest. “I know that she is a woman.”

  Freddie looked at Anthony, who nodded. “She’s telling the truth.”

  “Of course I am.” She looked downwards and closed her cloak around her. “She also knows Lord Anglethorpe very well.” She gazed at the three men and winked. “In fact, their relationship started around five years ago. Why do you think Anglethorpe reopened his family home in this godforsaken cove despite his mother dying here? He’s been sending messages up and down the coast on her behalf for years.”

  Freddie stiffened. “What’s her name?”

  “Agatha Beauregard, of course.” Monique stretched languidly, the tops of her breasts threatening to pop out of her corset. “Ask anybody around here and they will tell you that when she and her little girl first came to live here, the little girl would only speak in French. Agatha couldn’t get her to shut up.”

  Henry wobbled slightly on his bucket. This woman was clever, so convincing, twisting the truth and adding in half lies to add credence to her tale. He wanted to stop her there and then but held back. Monique still hadn’t revealed anything that he didn’t know.

  “How do you know it is her? Agatha, I mean,” Anthony demanded, his eyes flicking from Freddie to Monique.

  “Bah. I will not reveal my sources. And that is all I am going to tell you. I have nothing more.”

  “I’ll guard her,” Freddie said roughly. “Anthony, Bill, you two go and fetch the stable boy. He will take her down to the boat again when we are ready.”

  “But…”

  “Just do it, Anthony.”

  Bill left first. Anthony more cautiously left the stable block backwards, his eyes on Monique.

  Stepping down from the bucket, Henry quickly left the adjacent stable and, rounding the building, turned left and loped around to the back of the block where he found Anthony. He beckoned quietly to him. Anthony nodded and followed Henry into the wooded boundary behind the stables.

  Henry stopped in a small clearing where Bill already sat. “We couldn’t talk by the stable block. The sound goes both ways through the vents to the outside and to the adjacent stable. I heard everything. Believe me, Lovall, I have not been sending messages up and down for Monsieur Herr.” Henry sat suddenly on a tree stump and put his head in his hands. “God, what a mess.”

  “Absolutely.” Anthony turned around and found himself a dry branch to perch against. “She wasn’t lying, however. Apart from the part about you sending messages. It was only at that point that she put her hand to her chin and wouldn’t meet our eyes.” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand how she could have said the other statements as the truth.”

  Henry licked his lips; for so long he had defended Agatha in his mind against all the evidence and yet this woman’s words were so persuasive. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped roughly at his mouth. “Perhaps each statement individually is the truth,” he said slowly, “but put together forms a lie.”

  Bill shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure I understand, sir?”

  “Take that comment about Harriet, Agatha’s niece. She spoke French because of her mother, not her aunt.”

  “What about you opening up the estate?”

  Henry shifted uncomfortably. “It’s true. I opened it because of Agatha. I… every year I came to make sure she was alright.” He stared at the path back to the stables. “We weren’t precise enough in our questioning. If you take out the blatant lie, the conversation went as follows, ‘Why do you think Anglethorpe reopened his family home in this god forsaken cove?’ Freddie asked ‘What is her name?’ and she answered ‘Agatha Beauregard, of course’.”

  “So…” Anthony paused, “err… t
he only other things we can draw as true in the conversation are that Monsieur Herr is a woman, and that you met her five years ago.”

  “Yes, I agree. Relationship could mean anything from acquaintance to friend to lover…”

  “I’m going to need a list of all the women that you met five years ago, sir. And the status of your relationship with them. And we still can’t rule out Agatha at this time.”

  Henry rubbed his shoulders tiredly. “I agree,” he said resignedly. “Go and get Freddie and I’ll take over the woman from here. Bill, you should go back to the forge.”

  Bill stood from his precarious perch on the branch and nodded at Henry. He disappeared quietly through the trees. Anthony waited.

  “I just don’t understand, sir.”

  “What is it, Harry?”

  “Mister Herr’s signature. If it is a woman, then why does she always sign herself ‘him’?

  Henry shook his head. “We’ll find out more. Go and get Freddie.”

  Nodding, Anthony left. Henry waited; minute after minute ticked by but Anthony did not reappear.

  Henry pushed his way back through the trees and towards the corner of the building. As he turned, a swirl of grey moved quickly round the next corner in front of him. He strode faster, trying not to make a sound, but there was no one in the entrance to the stables. The only noise was of the few remaining horses gently thumping their stable doors and clopping their hooves on the cobbled floors.

  The stable where Monique was being held was suspiciously quiet too; the stable door firmly closed. Carefully, Henry unbolted the door. Freddie lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling in the straw next to him as Anthony held a gash on his head.

  “Freddie!” Henry leant over his body, jerking as the sounds of screaming horses filled the air. “Good God, where’s Monique?”

  Anthony shook his head. “She was already gone when I arrived.”

  “Did you not hear her lock you in?”

  “Freddie was moaning too loudly.”

  Outside, a horse screamed, and then another, stricken cries renting the air. Springing to his feet, Henry strode into the yard. The previously stabled horses milled in the interior courtyard, nipping at each other, cantering and rearing.