“Your Grace! It is Mr. Pennington! One of his men brought him back. Your Grace…he is…dead!” Charlotte wailed.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Gemma paced her chambers. The chambers that had been given to her. More accurate to say that they were Emily Carlisle’s chambers. She was beginning to hate that she had ever allowed herself to take on someone else’s identity.
I should have thought it through. I should have considered the consequences. I acted without thinking, diving in without so much as considering if the water I was heading towards was deep enough. Or if I was about to break my damn fool head on a rock.
Charlotte sat on the bed, hands wrapped around a cup of hot, sweet tea. Tea that Gemma had liberally fortified with brandy. Her shoulders shook and she was staring into the fireplace with a haunted expression on her face.
“I never saw a dead man before. Not even in London in all the years I lived there. Heard of floaters in the river. Heard of men killed in pubs or in the street with a knife. Never actually saw a man. With all that blood and…not killed on purpose, like,” Charlotte whispered.
“Neither have I,” Gemma said, sitting next to her new friend and putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. “And I am glad that Nathan forbade me from the room. Though a morbid part of me wants to know what happened.”
“Shot by a poacher in the dark, they said. Shot in the back,” Charlotte added, shaking her head.
“Have some more tea. It will help to calm you,” Gemma assured her.
Charlotte sipped and made a face. “I was brought up a Methodist, Miss.”
“Oh, well. That hardly counts. It is purely medicinal. A physician would tell you the same,” Gemma said hurriedly.
Charlotte just nodded and took another swallow, pulling a face at the end of it.
“Don’t know how folks can stomach it. Tastes horrible.”
“Yes, it does. But it will do you good after the fright you’ve had,” Gemma said.
“He was trying to talk. When they brought him in from the woods on a stretcher. He was trying to say something. It was so horrible, all that blood and gurgling. Mr. Marshall was bending low over him, almost with his ear to Mr. Pennington’s lips.”
“Could you hear anything?” Gemma asked.
“Not a thing, Miss. Not a word. But Mr. Marshall did, sure enough. Sent me to fetch His Grace and told me to run.”
Gemma got to her feet once more, biting at her nails and resuming her pacing of the room. She could not sit still, could not simply wait. But neither did she want to bother Nathan and the others. What she knew was that Mr. Pennington had been clinging to life when he had been brought into the house. And died before Charlotte had even left the room. Now, Nathan was in conference with Marshall and the two gamekeepers that worked for Mr. Pennington. And Gemma did not know what to do for the best. If her worst fears were confirmed, and this was the wickedness of Elliot Stamford at work, then she would have to leave. A man was now dead and it would all be because of her. No equivocation. No excuses. Had she not come to Hutton Castle, he would still be alive. And if it was not Elliot…
In that instance, Gemma’s reprieve was only temporary. Emily would surely arrive in the morning and then the dream would be over anyway.
Either way, I must leave. And I must leave tonight. Oh Lord, but I am scared. I am scared right down to my toes but I must. For the sake of Nathan and Charlotte and everyone else here in Hutton. Even if this were not the work of Elliot Stamford, how long until it is?
The clock had ticked off the hours remorselessly since Nathan had ordered her to her room with Charlotte. He had ordered a groom to escort them both and watch their door.
How many hours? One, two, three?
She had long since lost track. The incident with the scalded hand seemed a lifetime ago. Their passionate encounter in the Water Gardens even longer. Her arrival here felt like years long passed.
I must act. I must make a decision. Charlotte will have to be sent away so I can pack a few things and then…but I can’t send her away when she is in this state. I can’t leave her on her own.
Everything was more complicated than it had been just a day ago. There was a knock at the outer door to her chambers. Charlotte squeaked and her cup rattled in its saucer. Gemma stopped her pacing, looking up with trepidation.
“Come in!” she called.
The door opened and Nathan strode into the room, running a hand through his hair. Gemma noticed the blood on his shirt and smeared on his cheek. There were red stains on his hands. As he entered the room, he was rubbing his hands together and must have felt the texture of the blood there. At the same moment, Charlotte saw him, rose to her feet unsteadily, and then fell back in a dead faint. The cup and saucer crashed to the floor. Nathan jumped, whirling in the direction of the sound as Gemma leaped to her friend’s side.
“She fainted. I think it is the sight of blood,” Gemma said.
“Do I have blood on my hands?” Nathan asked.
“You do. And your shirt, and your face,” Gemma said.
