“There are only three names not eliminated,” Ian said thoughtfully. “Tom Shapman, Miss Nicholson and… is that John Whyte? I cannot quite read it.”
“It is. Nicholson’s illegitimate son, part of a large, rumbustious family. He had only recently discovered the identity of his father, and shortly afterwards he disappeared with a valuable horse. Naturally we were suspicious. But then he reappeared with a plausible story, and by that time, Shapman had confessed. But it is all most unsatisfactory, Lord Farramont. It troubles me greatly, and I know it troubles the captain too, that we never found a sensible reason why anyone would want to kill Mr Nicholson. Shapman’s reason is the flimsiest in the world, and although Nicholson was a rogue and should have gone to gaol for his misdeeds, they are not such as to cause a man to turn to murder, one would have thought.”
“No, I can see that,” Ian said thoughtfully. “Murder is such an extreme response that the cause of it must be likewise extreme. It is usually money or love or power that drives men to desperate measures, strongly felt desires or fears that cannot be met through the usual means.”
“Exactly so! Which is why I feel we have missed something vital, and yet because of Shapman, we can do nothing about it, and perhaps there is another person, quite unsuspected by us, who is walking around freely, and could perhaps feel moved to kill again. And then there is Miss Peach.”
“She is still missing? But it must be more than a week now.”
“Above two since she was last at her lodgings. A small bag and some items of clothing have been taken, so she intended to stay away for a short time, but we are becoming seriously concerned for her safety.”
“Captain Edgerton will find her, if anyone can,” Ian said, feeling that some such sentiment was required of him, although he harboured the same doubts as the earl regarding the captain’s abilities. Having failed so spectacularly to identify the murderer, he could hardly be relied upon to locate an elderly lady whohad chosen to hide herself somewhere in the vast expanse of the North Riding.
Just at that moment, noises drifted up from somewhere below. First men shouting, then a scream. Mr Willerton-Forbes dashed out onto the landing, where there was a view down into the great hall below them. Following him, Ian peered over the rail and saw several of the servants standing in a wide circle around someone wielding a sword.
“What thedevil—?”Ian muttered. Running back into the old schoolroom, he grabbed his cane from the table, then raced after Mr Willerton-Forbes, who was already making for the stairs.
Another scream, and more panicked yelling.
When he reached the great hall, Ian saw that the sword was being waved around by a boy of about twelve or so, a gleeful grin on his face. Nearby, a footman lay, moaning, bleeding copiously from one leg. The other servants stood a safe distance away.
“What do you think you are doing, boy?” Ian said sternly. “Put that sword downat once, do you hear?”
The boy laughed. “Make me!”
“As you wish. But be aware that if you choose to fight with a man’s weapon, you run the risk of dying by it, too. Are you ready to die, boy?”
“What are you going to do, hit me over the head with your walking stick?”
Ian drew his sword with a flourish. “No. Lay down your sword.”
“Not a chance!” the boy said, adopting a more aggressive pose.
“So be it.”
They circled round each other twice, then the boy lunged at Ian. He was not much more than half Ian’s height, with an arm reach to match, and he dared not come within range of Ian’s blade, so Ian did not even bother to move back. Instead,he neatly pricked the boy’s arm, so that he yelled, dropped his sword and grabbed at the arm, as blood oozed between his fingers. Ian kicked the fallen sword away, and grabbed the boy by his hair.
“Ow! Ow! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
“What are you doing to my boy?” a female voice screeched.
Ian saw a little group in the corner nearest to the drawing room — the earl, Izzy, Olivia, Jane Atherton and her daughters, and, the screeching woman, Mrs Wightman.
“Is this repulsive child yours, madam?” he said, as several people rushed forward to help the fallen footman.
“Put him down! You haveinjuredhim! My poor, fatherless child! I shall send for the magistrate at once. You should be locked up, sir, where you cannot hurt poor little children. There, there my poppet. Come to Mama.”
“Not so fast, madam,” Ian said. “By all means send for the magistrate, if you wish, and your obnoxious child can explain why he was waving a sword about, how he came to injure the footman there, and why he attacked me with it. I would have been quite within my rights to kill him, you know, so be grateful I have only pinked him.”
“Grateful!” she cried, her eyes almost popping out of her head.“Gratefulthat you almostkilledmy precious boy… my only child, my poor, fatherless son…”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Ian said impatiently. “How old is he?”
“Twelve, and a fine, well-grown—”
“Take my advice and enlist him as a midshipman. His Majesty’s Navy will make a man of him, which you are clearly failing to do. Take him away, madam, take him away. He is not fit to be in civilised society.”
“Well, really!” she huffed. “Jane, dear, we must leave at once. You there! Have Mrs Atherton’s carriage brought roundimmediately! We will wait outside. There, there, poppet! Mama will protect you from the bad man who hurt you. Come, now.”
