She heard money hitting the floor seconds later.
“Pockets,” Ellen said.
Keeping an eye on her, they emptied them too. More clattered onto the boards. Ellen stepped aside, and they fled out and into the night.
She locked the door behind them. Walking around the shop, she saw no sign of Mr. Nicholson. The place was filled with shelves of books, each grouped by author and alphabetized. She noted some were thrown to the floor.
“Where are you, George?”
Taking the lamp in one hand and her umbrella still clenched in the other, she headed through the door that led to the rear. Tense and uncertain what she’d find, Ellen wished one of her family or Mungo was here. But if George was in trouble, she could not wait for them.
“You can do this.”
Exhaling, she walked into the room. Her knees went weak with relief when she found only books and other supplies in the small space.
“Okay, that’s good. No George,” Ellen said. She headed for the stairs.
Perhaps it was not George Nicholson she had seen in the vision?
Walking up, the fourth step creaked, making her jump. Instead of fleeing, which everything inside her was urging Ellen to do, she entered another room. The first thing she encountered was a pair of feet in black leather polished shoes.
“George,” she whispered. “Dear Lord, no.”
Approaching, she knew instantly he was dead because it was just like her vision. Dropping to her knees, she reached with her gloved fingers and gently closed his eyes.
“I am so terribly sorry this has happened to you, dearest friend.”
Ellen remembered the hours she’d spent in here discussing books. She bit back a sob as grief surged through her. Grief for the gentle man who had not deserved this fate.
Another vision of a hand holding a knife, the blade red with blood, flashed through her head. She sat there waiting to see if more came, but when it didn’t, she looked around and found something trapped beneath George’s body.
Easing him over, she pulled it out by the tips of her gloved fingers. Horror washed through her as Ellen realized what she was holding. Surely this wasn’t her uncle’s knife? Rising, she studied the intricately engraved silver handle. It was exactly like the one Uncle Bram owned, but why was it here and covered in blood that was likely George’s?
Removing her handkerchief Ellen wrapped the blade. She then tucked the knife into her sleeve with trembling fingers. Picking up the lamp, she hurried back down the stairs. Opening the door, she walked out, locking it behind her. She then made her way through the thick fog once more. The chill seemed to have invaded her limbs, and pulling her coat tighter achieved little as it seeped deeper into her bones.
George, her friend, was dead.
Ellen had seen the hand of his killer but not the face. She had to get help and then hurry home to tell her family what she had found. Tell them that their beloved uncle’s knife was under the dead body of George Nicholson.
CHAPTERTWO
When she was clear of the shop and heading toward Crabbett Close, Ellen cupped her mouth and yelled, “Help!” She yelled a further three times as she walked home clutching her umbrella.
Mungo would hear and come running. She collided with something large and solid seconds later.
“Unhand me!” she screamed when the person grabbed her. Ellen tried to kick him, but he held her close. She couldn’t get her umbrella free, as it was pressed between them.
“Let me go!”
“Stop. I mean you no harm,” a deep voice said.
Hands wrapped around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. She was then released.
“Back away, or I will hurt you,” Ellen said, now gripping her umbrella in both hands.
“You called for help, and I came. What has happened?”
“Who are you?” Ellen raised the umbrella as she took two large steps away from him. “If you touch me again, I will strike at you.”
