Entering the reception hall, quiet at this time of day, she saw no one, but heard the front door close. Striding to one of the tall windows, she glimpsed the top of a man’s head as he trotted down the stairs and out of view.
Curious, she hurried into the adjacent blue parlour and to its window, pushing aside the heavy drapery.
A man rapidly crossed the hotel lawn and climbed the stile into Mr. Dodge’s field—bypassing the village instead of taking the lane into Swanford. Was it John? Whoever it was walked through the cold morning dew with neither hat nor greatcoat. Very much something her brother would do.
“Foolish creature,” she muttered.
“Miss Lane. Is something the matter?”
She turned in surprise and clutched the edges of her shawl, hoping Sir Frederick would notice nothing untoward in her attire—or in finding her watching a man from the window.
“Oh! You startled me. G-good morning.”
He stepped to the window beside her. “What are we looking at? See something interesting?”
“Oh, em, nothing. I thought I saw ... someone I knew, but I can’t be certain.”
He squinted out into the grey fog. “I don’t see anyone.”
A scream and a crash rang out from above.
Rebecca jumped.
“What the devil?” Sir Frederick bolted out of the parlour and loped up the stairs by twos.
Rebecca followed more slowly, palms sweating, fearful of what they might find.
At the top of the stairs, Sir Frederick turned toward room three. As she reached the landing after him, movement to the left caught her eye—a black-gowned figure disappearing around the corner. Turning to the right, she saw something worse.
In the corridor outside room three, two bodies lay on the floor.
Clutching her heart, Rebecca gasped.
Sir Frederick put out his hand. “Stay back.”
Jack George lay on his belly on the floor, legs sprawled, bloody wound on the back of his head, eyes closed.
A few yards away lay Mary, surrounded by shattered dishes and strewn food.
Bile climbed Rebecca’s throat and her pulse beat a drum inside her skull.No!
Concern overrode her fear. Disregarding Frederick’s command, Rebecca rushed forward and knelt at Mary’s side. Asa vicar’s daughter, she had seen death before. Closer now, she was relieved not to see it in the girl’s pale countenance.
“Mary?” She patted her cheek, still warm, though ghostly white. “Mary...?”
Sir Frederick knelt at Mr. George’s side, felt the side of his neck, and reported, “He’s alive.”
“Mary too. Thank God.”
Mr. George groaned and his eyelids fluttered.
Frederick asked him, “What happened here?”
The injured man tried to push himself up.
“Lie still. You are injured.”
Ignoring him, the man struggled into a sitting position with another groan.
