“Certainly, but I’m inclined to doubt that he is anywhere nearby. The village is small. This isn’t London. Around here everyone would remember a stranger who arrived at the railway station, inquired about directions to Hawthorne Hall and then failed to take the train back to London until after the explosion.”
“I see what you mean,” she said. “In order to remain as anonymous as possible, he would have wanted to be seen leaving the village long before the explosion occurred. But you are assuming he came and went by train. What if he hired a carriage?”
“Again, that is a possibility,” Benedict conceded. “But it is a very long trip from London by carriage. No, I suspect that he took the train, just as we did, and that he returned to the city hours ago. At the moment he is no doubt anticipating news of the explosion at Hawthorne Hall and the deaths of three people in tomorrow’s papers.”
A chill swept through Amity. “Dear heaven, the press reports. Yes, of course. My sister will surely see the accounts and believe that we are dead. We must get word to her.”
“We will do so first thing in the morning,” Benedict promised. “There is no hiking back to the village tonight, not with that storm about to break over our heads.”
“But Penny will be worried when we do not return on the midnight train.”
“There is no help for it, Amity,” Benedict said gently. “She is accustomed to losing track of you from time to time due to the vagaries of your travels. She will not panic.”
“I hope not.” Amity paused. “She is aware that I am with you. That will no doubt reassure her.”
“Come, we must find some shelter.”
He started around the side of the burning house. Amity collected the folds of her cloak and fell into step beside him.
“As you pointed out, the nearest farm is some distance from here,” she said.
“We won’t be able to get that far before the rain comes. We will have to content ourselves with that cottage we saw at the far end of the lane.”
“That should do nicely,” Amity said. “I’ve certainly stayed in far more uncomfortable accommodations.”
She tried not to think about the obvious but it was impossible to ignore. She would be spending the night alone with Benedict.
“It won’t be the first time,” Benedict said. “You spent three nights on theNorthern Starin the same cabin with me if you will recall.”
She smiled. “There are occasions, Mr. Stanbridge, when I wonder if you can actually read my mind.”
“From time to time I have wondered if you can read mine. But as neither of us claims to be psychic, I think we must look to another explanation for these occasional flashes of mutual intuition.”
“And what would that explanation be, sir?”
To her surprise, he hesitated, as if searching for the right words.
“I think that we know each other perhaps better than we realize,” he said finally. “I expect that lurching from crisis to crisis together as we have been obliged to do lately has that effect on two people. We know what to expect from each other in a pinch.”
“That is very insightful of you,” Amity said.
“You are surprised?” He smiled faintly. “I may not possess Declan Garraway’s knowledge of psychology, and as I have noted, I’m not a fan of poetry, but I can usually add two plus two and arrive at four.”
“Something to be said for a sound foundation in mathematics.”
“I like to think so.”
“What made you realize that Hawthorne Hall was about to go up in flames?” Amity asked.
“I knew there was a problem as soon as I stepped on the trigger mechanism hidden under the carpet and saw the spark. I admit that I leaped to the conclusion that the spark might ignite a fuse, but it seemed prudent to act on the assumption.”
“In hindsight, it was a positively brilliant assumption, Mr. Stanbridge.”
The cottage at the end of the lane was empty, but it was in better shape than Amity had expected. There were no signs that rodents or other forms of wildlife had taken up residence on the premises. The well pump functioned and there was a shed that contained a supply of firewood.
The storm arrived with a crack of lightning and a rumble of thunder just as Benedict came through the door with the last of several logs. Amity closed the door behind him, shutting out the blast of rain.
“I think that the owner of this place probably rents it out at least occasionally,” she observed. “Everything is in reasonably good condition, including the bed.”
