They came to a clearing in the woods and stopped just shy of running into the hunting party: seven men on horseback and a gamekeeper on the ground with the hounds.
“Mira!” Walker said, eyes wide. “What are you—”
“You need to come right away,” she said, out of breath.
The gamekeeper stepped forward, taking Verona’s reins.
Byron steered his horse to her side. He removed his coatand placed it around her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until the warm fabric touched her skin.
“What’s happened?” he said, voice calm and steady.
“Silas Treadway is dead,” she said, teeth chattering. “I sent Miss Risewell to call the police, but I thought I’d better fetch you, erm, fetch Dr. Turpin back.”
“Dead?” Mr. Risewell said, paling. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”
“We need to get back to the house.” Byron brought his horse about. “She can explain on the way.”
February 9, 1889: Morning
“He’s right along here,” Mira said. Theyhad brought the horses to the fence line adjacent to the path. Byron dismounted and handed the reins to the gamekeeper.
“We ought to avoid disrupting the scene as much as possible,” he said, helping Mira down from her horse. “Dr. Turpin, if you’ll come with me.”
The good doctor was soon on his own feet and the three of them crossed the stile to the other side of the fence. The body hadn’t been disturbed, thank goodness, though there was some fresh powder on top of Mira’s coat. There weren’t any new footprints to or from the body either. Byron removed the coat from where it was draped over the body, shook out the snow, and hung it over his arm.
“You moved him?” he asked.
“I turned him over. I-I thought he might just be unconscious. But I didn’t find a pulse.”
Dr. Turpin crouched beside the body, lifting one of the hands. “Rigor mortis is just setting in, though the cold would delay that. Poor fellow.” He looked up the face of the slope and called back to the others. “He must not have seen the drop-off.”
“When do you think he died?” Mr. Risewell called back.
Dr. Turpin stood and brushed the snow from his clothes. “Midnight or thereabouts. Best to leave specifics to the coroner.”
The three of them crossed over the stile again. Byron helped her over, frowning as he took her hand. “We ought to get you warmed up.”
“Shouldn’t we look for—”
“The doctor is right,” Byron interrupted, catching her gaze. “We should leave it to the professionals once they get here. Though, the body ought to be guarded until then.”
“I’ll stay,” Walker said.
“As will I,” said Bertie Corbet.
“That’s settled,” Mr. Risewell said. “Mr. Sharpe, if you’ll take care of the dogs and the horses?”
The gamekeeper nodded.
They started the trek back up to the house, Byron with an arm around Mira.
“Shouldn’t we stay to investigate?” Mira whispered.
“I think it’s best, for the time being, if I remain a civilian, rather than a detective,” Byron said, voice gentle. “And I’m a little more concerned about you at the moment.”
“I’m f-fine.”
“Of course you’re fine. I can tell by the way your teeth are chattering,” he said, his tone good-humored. “We can discuss our next steps after you are in some dry clothes and have a cup of tea in hand. Was there a reason you left your coat behind?”
