Andrew shrugged. “I can only try for propriety.”
“Perhaps find another endeavor. She is beyond your help.” With a sigh of distaste, Grey surrendered to the inevitable. He took a position beside the well house to assist in dragging the blanketed body through the doorway.
While the physician scurried ahead, they carried the corpse to the house, and lay him out on a cracked leather sofa. Rather than linger outside to avoid the grisly sight, Miss Leonard followed them in and began inspecting the parlor, opening table drawers and testing an old carpet.
Apparently, the bank had left the house’s contents in place. The letter had said it was furnished. It hadn’t mentioned even thieves wouldn’t touch the rubbish.
“I’ll need a lantern to take a better look in that well house. It couldn’t have been easy carrying him in there.” Russell strode through the house as if it were his own, returning with a lantern, leaving the bloodied banker in the care of the physician.
Dr. Walker had carried in her medical bag and was already unwrapping the blanket, with Andrew assisting her.
Grateful that the latest addition to his staff proved useful, Grey decided Miss Leonard’s fascination with the macabre had to end. He took her arm and steered her outside. “Let us show the bailiff what we have found.”
“Why would anyone kill a banker?” Apparently, as long as her curiosity was fed, she did not object to his demands.
“Any of a thousand reasons, I’m sure. Maybe they didn’t like his face. People are irrational. Murder is irrational.” And a deuced inconvenience. Now, where would they stay?
“Emotion may be irrational, but generally, people believe they have reason for their actions.” She shook off his hand to continue exploring the thorny thicket.
“It could have been an accident,” he remonstrated.
Russell emerged from the well house in time to hear Grey’s theory. “There’s not enough blood in there to believe he accidentally fell down the well and hit his head.”
“I’d say the wound was most likely incurred on that wall.” Miss Leonard indicated a large pedestal nearly buried in vines.
“He could have fallen,” Grey insisted. “Then crawled to the well. We found traces of blood along the path.”
“There is a great deal more than a trace on that wall.” Miss Leonard stepped aside so the bailiff could inspect it.
Russell grunted and eyed the trampled briars around the nearly-hidden stones. “Good detecting. How much of this did you crush?”
“None. We stayed to the straight and narrow after we found Comfrey.” Grey pointed at the trail workmen might have made in forcing themselves through the thicket.
Russell grunted approval. “We’ll see what Meera says about the wounds, but these broken twigs make it look like there was a scuffle. He may have fallen backward, hit that capstone on the wall.”
Grey was grateful the bailiff did not mention the blood and. . . other. . . spatter on the rock. He hoped his assistant hadn’t studied it too closely.
“Perhaps he caught a trespasser?” Miss Leonard suggested, pointing at a scrap of cloth caught on a thorn they had discovered earlier. “That does not look like weathered fabric. You might check Mr. Comfrey’s clothing.”
Or the killer’s. Grey felt a distinct chill down his spine. Perhaps they might continue on to Bath. Not as pastoral but there would be no killers looking for witnesses.
Muttering dire imprecations, Russell snatched the tattered cloth and headed back to the house, where Andrew stood guard, hatchet in hand.
The lad had good instincts. Now, if only they could persuade his sister to get the hell out of here. . .
Tall, slender, serene Miss Leonard floated after the bailiff and into the house. Grey exchanged grimaces with her brother. There would be no leaving now. What kind of life had she led to lose all female sensibilities? He swore she wore that gown the same way she wore trousers, striding about like a man.
“The wound on his head definitely killed him,” the physician announced, covering the corpse again. “There is a bruise on his jaw, administered before death.”
“Someone punched him, and he fell backward?” Russell suggested.
“Quite possibly. The wound is large and shapeless. I cannot identify any weapon. I did not notice any other bruises. He is not a particularly large or muscular man. His hands are well kept. I assume his position at the bank was not physical, so fighting back may not have been an option. Besides, the blow must have been hard, possibly rendering him unconscious even before he hit his head.”
“At least it’s not poison this time,” Russell grumbled, inexplicably. “I’ll fetch Henri’s cart, have Sutter notify the bank. Unless you’ll be going back to Stratford?” He raised a ginger eyebrow at Grey.
“It’s too late for travel. We’ll avail ourselves of your hospitality another night.” Grey donned his hat and reached for Miss Leonard’s elbow. It had been a great deal simpler when he thought her a man and could ignore her.
“The poor man has no family or friends nearby?” she asked, lingering. “We should express our regrets and sympathies.”
