She winced as soon as the wordbedleft her lips. That particular item of furniture stood in the corner, but it seemed to dominate the small space.
Mercifully, Benedict politely chose to ignore both the comment and the bed.
“We will go hungry tonight,” he said. “But at least we will have water to drink and we’ll be warm. I’ll get a fire started.”
Amity smiled, feeling decidedly smug. “We won’t go hungry.”
He was on one knee in front of the fireplace, preparing to strike a light to ignite the kindling that he had brought in from the shed. He paused, looking at her with great interest.
“You found something to eat?” he asked.
“I brought something to eat.” She went to where her cloak hung on a peg near the door and opened the folds to display the many pockets sewn inside. With a flourish, she took out two small waterproof pouches. “I long ago learned that one should never set out on a journey without at least some biscuits and tea. One never knows what awaits at the other end.”
Benedict’s eyes gleamed appreciatively when she opened one of the pouches and removed a small packet wrapped in paper.
“I do admire a lady who is always prepared,” he said.
She found a kettle and used it to boil water from the well. When she opened a cupboard, she discovered a pot, some mugs and a few chipped plates. She smiled.
“It is as if we were expected,” she said.
Benedict watched her with a bemused expression.
“I am acquainted with a number of people—male as well as female—who would long since have begun complaining about the poor quality of the accommodations,” he said.
“When one travels as much as I have, one learns that the definition of poor-quality accommodations is subject to considerable flexibility depending on the circumstances,” Amity said.
Benedict glanced at the cloak. “Between the items you carry on your chatelaine and the number of pockets in your cloak it is no surprise that you occasionally clank when you walk.”
She cleared her throat. “You think that I clank?”
He nodded appreciatively. “I think that you are the kind of woman who is able to cope with unforeseen circumstances.”
She smiled and reminded herself that he did not read poetry.
When she had the small repast ready, they sat down at the table in front of the fire to dine on biscuits and tea.
They ate in a companionable silence and contemplated the cheerful blaze on the hearth. Outside, the bluster of the storm turned to a gentle, steady rain.
When they finished, Benedict helped rinse the mugs and plates.
And then they were left with the issue of the single bed in the corner of the room. Amity determined to take a brisk, no-nonsense lead. She was, after all, the kind of woman who could cope with unforeseen circumstances.
“It will be just like camping out in the West,” she said. “Except that we will not have to sleep on cold, hard ground and there will be no need to fret about wolves and bears.”
“Just a human predator who kills with a scalpel,” Benedict said.
Amity looked at him. In the firelight his face was hard and grim.
“Have you changed your theory about the present whereabouts of the killer?” she asked. “Do you think he is out there somewhere in the storm, watching us?”
Benedict looked into the fire for a moment and then shook his head. “No. I think he is being careful now. He got rid of the two people who knew his secret and who might conceivably go to the police. He will have returned to his lair for the time being. In any event this cottage is reasonably secure. The windows are too small for a man to crawl through and he cannot break down the door without an axe. That is not his style.”
“He might use an explosive device such as the one he left behind at Hawthorne Hall.”
“No.” Benedict sounded more certain now. “That sort of trap requires time, planning, access and—above all—the right materials. It is highly unlikely he traveled all this way prepared to set two explosive devices. In any event, he could not possibly know that we would escape the first explosion and seek shelter here.”
She watched Benedict for a moment.
