And Then She Fell(51)

Rafe dropped over the stone, helped Millicent down, then, his expression grim, turned to James. “I saw it all—that stone didn’t just fall.” He held out his hand and, when James grasped it, pulled him to his feet.

Rushing to help Henrietta up, Millicent glanced sharply at Rafe. “Nonsense! How can you suggest such a thing? It had to have been an accident. The stone must have been loose and something nudged it the last little way.”

Rafe snorted. “Something like what? A clan of badgers acting in concert wouldn’t have been able to dislodge that stone.”

James knew that was true, but he held up a hand to stay further argument. “Regardless of how it happened, let’s get moving.” Meeting Rafe’s eyes, he flicked his own upward. There are more stones up there.

Rafe shut his lips and nodded. “Right. Let’s get on.”

Henrietta and Millicent brushed and straightened Henrietta’s walking dress while James vaguely dusted off his coat and breeches, then, with Millicent walking beside Henrietta and Rafe and James hovering close, glancing up and around frequently, they walked on.

Millicent, Henrietta noted, was wringing her hands again and was understandably wide-eyed, nervy and ready to jump at the least little noise. Henrietta suspected she should feel the same, but . . . she decided she must be in shock. She was simply too glad to be alive, glad to be able to breathe, to be able to glance along her shoulder and see James walking close beside her.

After being nearly squashed to death, being alive felt too good. She would worry about what had happened later, now that she was sure she would have a later.

They found the path and started along it, but a few yards on, James halted. When the others stopped, too, and faced him, he briefly studied Henrietta’s eyes, then looked at Millicent. “Why don’t you two ladies sit on the bank here and catch your breaths? I want to take a quick look at the spot from where the stone fell, just in case the hillside there is crumbling and we need to warn the Ellsmeres.”

Rafe nodded. “Sound idea. I’ll come with you.”

Henrietta might not have wanted to think too hard about how she had nearly died, but she wasn’t having that. “No.” She glanced at Millicent and saw her own resolution reflected in Millicent’s brown eyes. Looking back at James, she stated, “We’re coming, too.”

James hesitated, but, truth be told, he’d rather have Henrietta with him. “Very well.” He reached for her hand, turned, helped her clamber up the bank, then led her steadily on, onto the hill overlooking the ruins.

Rafe and Millicent climbed up behind them.

They found the wall and followed it along—to the gap where the lighter hue of the stone on either side identified the original position of the recently fallen capstone.

Halting in a semicircle around the spot, they stared silently down at the evidence imprinted in the soft moss growing in the lee of the top of the wall. It wasn’t hard to guess what had caused the capstone to fall.

Crouching, Rafe examined the smeared tracks left by a man’s large boots. After a moment, he grunted. “He slipped too much to be able to guess the size.”

“But,” James said, forcing his voice to remain calm and even, “it wasn’t a work boot.” He glanced at his own feet, then at Rafe’s. “Something more like riding boots.”

Rising, Rafe nodded, his face grim. He met James’s gaze, then waved down the hill. “We’d better get on, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

Subdued, each a prey to disquieting thoughts, they made their way back to the path and set off to return to the house.





Chapter Eight



After watching Henrietta and Millicent ascend the stairs on the way to their rooms to change for dinner, James and Rafe exchanged a glance, then went hunting for Lord Ellsmere.

They found him in his library, already dressed for the evening and enjoying a quiet brandy; Lord Ellsmere took one look at their grim faces and promptly offered them both a glass. After only the minutest of hesitations, both accepted.

Sinking into the chair his host waved him to, James took a revivifying sip of the fiery liquid, then, as Lord Ellsmere sat again, caught his lordship’s eye. “We were out with the others at the ruins. We were the last to head back and . . . there was an accident.”

“Accident? Good God—what?” Lord Ellsmere sat up. “Here—no one’s dead, are they?”

“No,” Rafe said, his deep voice rough, “but it was a very near-run thing.” He tipped his glass at James. “If it hadn’t been for Glossup there, and a frankly amazing tackle, Henrietta Cynster would be dead as a doornail, crushed under a fallen stone.”