The horrific sight was burned into his memory, and he doubted he’d ever forget it. “Yes, I saw.”
“Come on, let’s let the coroner finish his investigation and we’ll go back to the house.”
James fell into step next to his guest as they headed toward Briarton. “Are you and the coroner in agreement that it was murder then?”
Shepard gave his head a hard shake. “No mere fall would cause that. It appeared he had two blows. One on top of his head, which likely came from someone higher than him, like on horseback or in a carriage. Then the other that seemed like he struck the stone wall. That was probably the one that killed him.” He retrieved the snuffbox from his pocket. “You said your governess discovered the body? The same woman we met the morning of Riddy’s attack?”
“Aye.”
“Hmm. I just heard about Longham and her visit with Peter Clark yesterday. Shady business, all of this.”
James grimaced. This situation was growing stickier and more complicated by the minute. “Do you suspect a connection?”
“Hard to tell. Normally I’d start by asking myself why anyone would want to kill a man like Longham. Aged. Generally well liked. He’s an unlikely target.”
The assaults on the millers ran through James’s mind. “Do you think it was a random attack? Or maybe the men who’ve been targeting the mills?”
“Not sure. All that will be brought to light, though, surely. About that conversation your governess had with Clark, you don’t happen to know what that was about, do you?”
“Something about Robert Clark’s will.” James was careful not to divulge information that was not his to tell.
“I figured as much. Rumors travel wide, but I needn’t tell you that. I’d like to speak with her.”
James had not seen Miss Hale since she’d run away from him back toward the house. But he could not stop the magistrate from doing his business. “Be my guest.”
James led Shepard through the corridor, where they encountereda maid, and he requested that she fetch Miss Hale and bring her to the great hall, and then he led the magistrate there.
A cheery fire blazed in the grate, its light warming and brightening the space during the otherwise dismal day. They waited in silence until dainty footsteps could be heard on the landing, and then she slowly descended the great staircase.
James could tell straightaway that she’d been crying. The redness of her eyes made them appear more vibrant, and her dark gown emphasized the pallor of her cheeks. Her chestnut hair was loosely bound at the base of her neck, but long strands escaped, untethered and untamed.
“Miss Hale, this is Mr. Shepard, the magistrate,” James said. “He wanted to talk with you about what you saw this morning.”
***
Cassandra’s head thudded with the day’s painful realities, and now this man—this stranger—was going to ask her questions. Her throat felt raw and dry, as if lined with wool. How would she ever be able to speak?
She recognized Mr. Shepard from her very first visit to Briarton. He was a giant man, with a barrel chest and broad face. He stood several inches taller than Mr. Warrington, with a mass of dark auburn hair and thick side-whiskers of a slightly lighter shade. His eyes were small and intense, and Cassandra resisted the urge to shrink away from them.
She tightened her shawl around her shoulders to ward off the shiver that seemed to not want to leave her body before finding her voice. “Of course. Mr. Shepard, what would you like to know?”
“You discovered Mr. Longham’s body.” His question was more of a statement.
“I did. I was out for a morning walk.”
“Did you see anyone else on this walk? Notice anything out of place?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. I did not.”
“And I understand you were acquainted with Mr. Longham. And the nature of that relationship?”
Her insides tightened, and the nausea that had plagued her ever since the discovery swelled. She flicked her gaze toward Mr. Warrington. She would have to share the details, she knew. All of them. He was a magistrate, for heaven’s sake. She could not lie. “I met Mr. Longham a short while ago, on this property. He said he was Mr. Clark’s solicitor.”
“And why did he want to talk to you?”
“He wanted to inform me that the late Mr. Clark was my father.”
Mr. Shepard’s bushy brows rose. “Robert Clark was your father?”
