to it, she looked in and let out a sigh of relief as she saw it was a study. Arthur Pickering sat behind the desk by the window, his head resting against the cushions, his eyes closed.
He looked as exhausted as she felt.
“Mr. Pickering, I am so happy to find you.” Jennet stood in the doorway, and waited for his reply. He didn’t stir, so she kept talking as she entered the study. “I fell asleep in one of the chambers upstairs, and now I seem to be stranded. I was hoping to return home with one of my neighbors. Perhaps I could prevail on you to call for your carriage?”
Pickering said nothing, and would not look at her.
“I am very sorry to wake you, but I cannot spend the whole night here. Mr. Pickering?” She reached to touch his shoulder, and then froze as he slumped forward against the desk. The hilt of a dagger protruded from the back of his blood-soaked jacket, assuring her that he would never again answer her or anyone.
Greystone watched from the stables as the last carriages left Dredthorne Hall. He’d felt it prudent to remain away from the house until everyone had left, and Jennet with them. Now he could go about his work without complication or distraction. She would hate him the more now for taking advantage of her before he left again. He would have preferred to have more than one wild embrace in the wildflowers to remember on cold, lonely nights.
All was as it should be.
As he approached the door to the staircase tower that led into the kitchens, Greystone caught the faintest trace of a particular, alarming odor coming from the firewood bin. He knew the stench too well to mistake it, but went to carefully lift the lid and look inside.
Foray lay among the splits, his eyes wide as he stared sightlessly at him. Blood from a deep gash across his throat covered the front of him.
Greystone closed his eyes, and lowered the lid carefully to avoid making any more sound. He then turned to scan the immediate area. More blood stained the ground where he suspected the valet had been ambushed; from the scuffling marks in the dirt he had tried to fight free before his throat had been cut. From there his body had been dragged to the bin. Two sets of boot prints, one small and one large, led into the house. When he bent down to peer closely at them he saw traces of Foray’s blood, which they both had stepped in.
Greystone recognized their method. One had approached to distract Foray long enough for the other to come from behind to attack. He straightened and listened for any sound of movement around him. The assassins had killed Foray to enter the house and move against Pickering and the two guards he had brought with him from London.
When they didn’t get what they wanted, they would kill them all.
He reached down to take the dagger from his boot, and walked silently around to the back of the hall. Lights still flickered in most of the windows, giving him a partial view of each room beyond them. All of the footmen had vanished from their posts, and he saw no sign of any of his colleagues, either. One of the garden doors to the reception room had been left open, and through that he heard two low voices arguing in French.
“Oú est-il?” Where is he?
“Je le retrouverai. Emporte la fille.” I will find him. Grab the girl.
Greystone heard something rustle behind him, but as he turned something heavy slammed into his head, hurling him into the black.
Jennet stepped back from Pickering’s body, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it inside her head. For once she understood why her mother became so distraught in moments of panic. She could happily scream herself hoarse, or faint where she stood. Possibly both.
A man is dead. Now is not the time to become Margaret.
Slowly her reason reasserted itself and coaxed her away from the edge of hysteria. She must make some sense of this. Pickering could not have stabbed himself in the back; someone murdered him. They had also arranged his body so that he would appear asleep.
Was he truly dead?
Jennet inched closer, and pressed her fingers to his neck, just beneath his jaw. She felt no heartbeat, and his flesh had already gone cool and stiff. Touching him made her want to shudder, but then she saw