“I see no need to waste time, not when it’s this important, my Lady.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
“It turns out that Mr. Fricklebottom had a personal relationship with the maid Margaret. Margaret Johnson, was her name.”
“Was?” Daniel quietly asked.
“I’m afraid so.” Giles sighed wearily. “They did leave Fivetrees together. They were headed south and told Margaret’s sister—who lives about ten miles from here—that they were going to head for the Colonies. They’d come into quite a sum of money, apparently.”
Adalyn’s skin chilled and she shivered. “Oh no.”
“I believe so, yes. Mr. Fricklebottom was a clever lad, I learned. Knew all about spices and herbs…and, I’m sure, things that might be poisonous. He had aspirations…hoping to become a cook.”
Evan shook his head. “Yes, that all fits.” He stared at Giles. “It was a mushroom, then?”
“Quite likely. As a footman—and one who may well have served at that fateful meal—it would have been easy for him to slip a poisonous one into the sauce intended for Fairhurst.”
“And the motive was money?” Daniel looked disgusted.
“I would be surprised to learn otherwise.”
“Tell us the rest, Giles.” Adalyn watched his face. He sounded tired.
“I followed their trail. Just past the sister’s house, I came upon a small crowd just off to one side of the road.” He took another sip of brandy. “They were surrounding two people on the ground. A local identified the woman as Margaret. The other was a young man, similar in appearance to our Mr. Fricklebottom. He was still breathing, but in terrible condition”
“Attacked?” Jeremy asked.
“Shot. And robbed, too, by the way.”
Adalyn rose and walked to the fireplace, leaning against the mantel and staring into the flames. “And there goes our chance of getting Trick freed without having to go to Deepmere.”
“Someone tried to kill both of them, Adalyn,” said Evan thoughtfully. “And this time it was a clear case of murder. Perhaps now we’ll be able to pick up a trail that might lead us to their killer. Odds are that he has to be the man who paid them to dispose of Sir Amery. If Fricklebottom survives, then perhaps we’ll know.”
“But we’re still no closer to a motive, are we?” Adalyn looked over her shoulder at the assembled men.
“I have faith,” said Daniel. “Secrets seldom remain that way when people start dying.”
“We will not give up, Adalyn.” Jeremy rose and walked to her side. “None of us will give up.”
She sighed. “No, we won’t. We can’t. We’re Wolfbridge, and we care for our own.”
He nodded, picked up her hand and dropped a light kiss on the back.
Something inside her stirred. She was tired, but her mind still raged over the issues surrounding her. The flood, the bridge, Trick, and now these killings… She was frustrated, helpless to accomplish her goals...she couldn't stop the rain...
She needed…she needed…Jeremy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gilesknew.
Somehow he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts and as the evening wound down, she saw him catch Jeremy’s arm and whisper a few words in his ear.
They’d discussed all the events of the day, in great detail, and come to a final conclusion that no more could be said at that moment, either about Trick’s situation or the danger of the Wolf river flooding. The brandy glasses were empty, the table cleared, and the fires banked for the night in the fireplaces. It was time to retire, and Adalyn did so with a glad heart.
She was weary…the physical toll of moving people and things for a couple of hours had been strenuous, and the emotional toll of seeing Trick in his cell had added to the pressures of her day.
Even though her shoulders ached, and her limbs felt heavy, her mind still persisted in going over and over everything. So she walked past her bed and stoked up the fire, listening to the rain as it fell outside on the tiles over her windows. The chair and a thick shawl were beckoning, a warm nest and bright flames to ease the body and the soul.
