As she did, he rolled slightly, just enough for her to glimpse blood and his glassy stare.
The scream curdling within her bubbled, and she scrambled to her feet. She took one step backward, and then another, until she turned and ran as fast as she could back to Briarton Park.
***
James could hear it before he saw it—a desperate cry for help, a piercing scream.
He jumped from his desk and looked out into the courtyard. But from where he stood, all was still.
Had he imagined it?
But then he heard it again. This time there could be no mistake. He snatched his coat and punched his arms through the sleeves as he hurried down the corridor and out into the misty morning.
Running footsteps echoed from around the south entrance, and as he made his way in that direction, Miss Hale burst through the gate, her cloak billowing out behind her, her face ashen and her movements unconstrained.
Once she spotted him, she ran to him and grabbed his arms. “Hurry! You must hurry. It’s Mr. Longham. I think he’s dead!”
James started, sure he must have heard incorrectly. “What?”
Her hand slid down his arm and she gripped his hand tight. “In the garden. Please, he’s not moving. We mustn’t waste time!”
Before he knew it, she’d led him out into the courtyard. She dropped his hand, and he followed her hasty steps, unsure of where they were going until they were at the edge of the walled garden, where a break in it gave way to the main road.
Then he saw it, and his own frosty breath caught.
The foot. The leg. Then the man.
And he knew in an instant.
This man was dead.
He put his arm back to protect her from the sight and to make her keep her distance. “Tell the groom and send someone for Shepard. Go!”
The padded sound of her feet running the opposite direction faded into the morning stillness. Despite the cold, perspiration beaded on his forehead as he knelt next to the man and pushed his shoulders. He checked for a pulse, knowing full well he would not find one. Dried blood darkened Longham’s face. James was no expert, but it appeared he had been dead for some time.
But why? Why here? How?
Unsure of what exactly to do, he rolled the man over, searching, hoping he was mistaken and that he would get some sign of life. But he’d evidently taken a blow to his head.
James glanced around for any sign of a struggle. Had he fallen? Been struck? If so, why here at the garden’s edge?
Just to the side of him lay a satchel. It was the same one Longham had the first day he arrived at Briarton Park. His arrival that day had been suspicious too. The will. Peter Clark’s anger. Milton’s suggestion of the rumors. All the anger and speculation and possible scenarios regarding this entire situation struck James, and now a man was dead.
Suddenly things had taken a very dark turn, and whether he liked it or not, he was a part of it.
Chapter 29
Briarton Park had always been a quiet, sleepy place. That had been its allure—what had drawn him here. But now a death darkened the landscape. Not just an attack, but a seemingly violent demise that shook the entire household to the core.
James shuddered at the thought of what this man had endured. At what Miss Hale experienced upon finding him. At the possibility that one of his children or Rachel could have discovered the body.
The loss. The horrific, needless loss.
James stood at the edge of the fence watching the activity as it unfolded. Mr. Shepard and two constables had arrived shortly after being summoned, and the coroner shortly thereafter. A dozen or so men had joined to assist in the investigation—more people than had been on the property at one time since they’d arrived.
“What do you make of it?” James called out as Shepard approached him.
“’Twas no accident, I’ve a firm mind on that.” Once Shepard reached James he turned, arms folded across his chest, to watch the scene. “Did you see that head wound?”
