“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad.” Grey ducked under the lintel and, cursing volubly, backed out again. Overgrown trees shaded his expression, but fury colored his commands. “The two of you, take the curricle to the inn. Ask for a constable. Surely they have one.”
Andrew hurried to do as told but stopped when El didn’t follow. “El, you can’t stay here.”
“I can if his lordship can. I gather it is not safe, but two people will make a villain think twice. I don’t suppose you found the missing jewels?” El steeled herself for the answer. What had they got themselves into?
“More likely, the missing banker,” Grey retorted angrily, blunt as ever.
Six
Grey
Grey wanted to shake the obstinate Miss Leonard as her brother drove off, leaving him with a visibly distressed female and not the practical, efficient gentleman he’d hired. But an assistant assisted, and Leonard was observant, if a trifle shaken by his conclusion.
He supposed he wasn’t any too pleased either. One admired the art work of bloody paintings of war. The reality was a little too cold and remarkably impersonal, since they’d never met Comfrey.
“I assume you can tell the poor soul is quite dead and we cannot resuscitate him?” Miss Leonard’s mouth had straightened into a nearly white, straight line, but fortunately, she did not engage in female vapors.
“Affirmed. You will note dried blood on the lintel.” Grey used his cane to point it out. “See if you can find more, trace the villain’s path.” He had an eye for detail and looking to solve this horror helped gather his wits.
Blessedly, she did not question or make demands but followed the most logical direction toward the house. She bent to examine crushed twigs and the gravel remains of the old path but refrained from touching.
Grey had never had to look after anyone but himself, so it took a moment to realize, if the villain lurked, he couldn’t let her out of his sight. “Don’t stray farther than I can see,” he called. “I want to look around the building.”
She began working her way back toward him, examining the bushes more thoroughly. She’d been playing the role of male so long, Grey decided, that she actually behaved like one.
Of course, she hadn’t seen the banker’s mangled body shoved down the well. Grey had never been to war and had no experience in human death. Vermin, yes. A duck or two, certainly.
A poorly-shod banker shoved head first down a hole with only the worn soles of his boots visible—not so much experience with that.
By the time the curricle returned bearing the ginger-haired giant of an innkeeper and a short dark woman of foreign descent, Grey and Miss Leonard had explored all they could of the yard around the well and were back at the drive.
“Meera Walker, physician.” Mr. Russell handed down the plump, brown lady. “The well house?”
At Grey’s nod, the new arrivals hurried in that direction.
“Ellie, let me take you back. . . ” Andrew didn’t complete that sentence.
Miss Leonard was already following the physician—a lady physician, Grey noted. The village grew curiouser and curiouser.
“Watch the house and the horse, will you?” he asked of Andrew. “I’ll look after your intrepid sibling.” Grey didn’t wait to acknowledge the twin’s reaction. Surely by now, Andrew was inured to the female’s obnoxious habits.
Reaching the well house, the giant lawman bent in half and nearly crawled beneath the low lintel. “Comfrey, all right,” he shouted a few minutes later. “Same coat he wore this morning. They’ve nearly knocked off the pail winch in their haste. It’s almost rusted out.”
“Mr. Russell is only a bailiff, not a trained law officer,” Dr. Walker murmured. “He has some authority but limited experience in investigations.”
“Not a constable?” Grey quit worrying about that once the next horror occurred to him. The body would have to be dragged from the well in all its gruesome glory. He gritted his molars and prepared himself by trying to think of a way to send his assistant to Hades or anywhere else but here.
“Even though the bank claims most of the land, Gravesyde is still considered a manorial estate. We have no official government until our petition is accepted,” the physician explained. “We cannot pay Rafe. So the estate trust pays his salary.”
As they must pay the physician, as well, Grey realized. If the bank owned the village, collected all the rents, and didn’t pay for anything, no wonder the manor sought pirate jewels. He supposed he should meet the aristocrats eccentric enough to share their wealth. Dotty Dorothea had finally found her rightful home.
Unable to squeeze himself, plus a body, through the door, the bailiff shouted for a blanket.
Andrew was already limping his way down the path carrying one, a man who actually paid attention to the needs of others. “I didn’t think the ladies should see this.”
The physician muffled a derisive sniff. The bailiff/innkeeper nodded a curt acknowledgment and carried the blanket inside. Unfazed, Miss Leonard continued examining a crumbling stone wall, ignoring all else.
“The ladies? How well do you know your sister?” Grey asked sardonically.
