“Where did you go yesterday after the constable went to the ice house to look at Perrin?” There might be others at Perrin Manor who had the maliciousness to shut him and Miss Smith into the ice house, but the secretary was the only one he knew about for certain.
A dark shadow crossed the secretary’s face. “Go? None of us can go anywhere.”
“So you remained in the sitting room with the others?”
Taylor lifted one bony shoulder. “I don’t remember. Some of us went to our rooms. I might have dropped into the library for a book. I wasn’t trying to remember my movements.”
“Or you could have been writing inquiries on the paper you took from the attic.” A knot formed in Henry’s stomach. The more he learned of this man, the more it angered him that Taylor had thought for one instant that he could have Miss Smith.
The knot moved up to his chest. Though apparently no one would be good enough to marry Miss Smith.
“Maybe I was.” Taylor rested the butt of his gun on the ground and leaned on it. Henry didn’t feel the need to warn him that his chest was now over the double barrels.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” Constable Adams waved as he hiked up to their position. “I have some unfortunate news to relay.”
“What now?” Havenstone muttered.
“The magistrate of Dorset is unable to travel here for several days.” The constable took off his hat and turned it in his hands. “As such, I must request that you remain here for a bit longer than you wanted.”
“Oh, come now,” someone muttered while another said, “This is insufferable.”
Mr. Smith stepped forward. “If this magistrate doesn’t have the courtesy to make his way here in a timely manner, I don’t see why we should feel any need to stay on his account.”
“We all intended to stay the week when Perrin was alive. As there has been a murder here, I think we can find it in ourselves to remain an extra day or two,” Lady Mary said pointedly.
“A murder is all the more reason the blighter should make haste and come to us.” Mr. Smith laid his weapon on the cart and rested his boot on the wheel. “And a murder of a fellow magistrate.”
Constable Adams raised a hand. “Due to the severe storms we had, a mine collapsed in the magistrate’s jurisdiction. Eighteen men are trapped, and he is leading the rescue efforts. While he is digging through mud looking for bodies, we ask that you remain at a fine house, having shooting parties and feasting. I hardly think it is too much to ask.”
Mr. Smith rubbed the back of his neck. “It isn’t all sunshine and roses here,” he muttered, but no one else raised an objection.
Lady Mary looked like the only person happy to receive that news. Henry would have to write his office, inform his partner of his delay and rearrange some of his appointments. He didn’t look forward to the crush of work that would face him upon his return.
But the delay would give him more time to go through Perrin’s papers. He still had only read about a third of the earl’s documents, not that he expected anything he found to help discover Perrin’s killer. He’d uncovered motives for most of the guests here. They already had reasons to want him dead. More reasons couldn’t make him deader. But he was trained to be thorough, and one never knew what fact would be key to winning a case.
Miss Smith raised her face to the sun. A line etched her forehead, and his fingers itched to rub her worries away. The extra time would give him the opportunity to learn more about Miss Smith, as well. He didn’t understand why she appealed to him. He’d met many a debutante who were just as soon forgotten. Perhaps it was only close proximity that made Miss Smith intriguing to him. Perhaps when he went back to Exeter he wouldn’t give her another thought.
And perhaps that was but wishful thinking.
The movement was subtle. Henry almost missed it. Taylor had tucked the butt of his fowling piece up under his arm. Whenhe turned, the muzzle turned with him, aiming straight at the grouping of women.
Henry grabbed the gun just as it fired. His palm and fingers burned as the barrel heated. He jerked his head toward Miss Smith, his pulse racing.
She and the rest of the women were unharmed. The ground a few feet in front of them had taken the brunt of the blast. Miss Smith pressed a hand to her abdomen and released a long exhale, her gaze locking with his.
She was all right. His shoulders lowered an inch. But it had been close. His heart pounded for a new reason. Anger.
He yanked the gun from the secretary’s limp hands. “You almost shot someone, you absolute ninny.”
A footman hurried over and took the gun, taking it to the cart.
“You bloody arse,” Mr. Smith roared. “You almost shot my daughter.”
Had that been his intent? Henry gritted his teeth as he glared down at Taylor. The ice house could have been nothing more than a prank, but almost shooting someone….
“I didn’t mean to,” Taylor stammered. “I was just holding it and it went off.”
Guns didn’t just go off. Henry took a step closer to Taylor. Whether through malice or ineptitude, Taylor had caused the piece to fire. He grabbed the back collar of Taylor’s jacket, lifting the man to his toes. “We are going to have a talk about gun safety.”
