Guy actually had the nerve to look regretful. “I’m afraid so. I’m simply trying to decide the best way. Shooting you would be messy, and one never knows what evidence might be left behind. Take Prudence, for instance. I believed I’d thought of everything in that particular scenario, and yet here we are.”
The man was obviouslyquitemad—and as deadly as an adder.
“You could simply leave,” she managed to reply. “Like Harry suggested.”
The footman gave a sharp nod. “She’s right. Tie them up and let’s be gone. I’ve no taste for killing women.”
Guy’s features suddenly drained of anything approaching humanity. “And let them trumpet to the world that I’m the one who murdered Prudence? I think not. Nor do I have any intention of living a life on the run. I’m not a lowly footman or the son of a criminal, Harry. I have an inheritance and a future, and I’ve no intention of giving either of them up.”
Emma could barely speak past the horror that threatened to close her throat. “You’re a monster.”
His chilling gaze settled on her. “Perhaps, or perhaps I’m merely determined to finally live my life as I see fit, once my father passes, that is.”
“Poor Squire Plumtree,” whispered Mrs. Hodges.
Soon-to-be dead Squire Plumtree, Emma feared. “You’ll never get away with it.”
He gave a bizarrely casual shrug. “Of course I will. With you and Mrs. Hodges out of the way and Harry in the wind, no one will suspect me of a thing. I’m only the ne’er-do-well son of Squire Plumtree, perfectly pleasant and perfectly harmless. I’ve been very careful. Only Harry knows who I am.”
Keep him talking.
“Not Mr. Barlowe?” she asked.
“That fool doesn’t suspect a thing,” he contemptuously replied. “I only befriended him to keep an eye on that blasted church for any lingering problems. And hedidprovide me with quite a handy alibi at the party. We spent most of the evening together, you see. Wouldn’t even occur to Barlowe to think about me disappearing for half an hour or so.” He paused, and then glanced at Harry. “Ah, I think I have it.”
His accomplice looked confused. “Have what?”
“How to get rid of them. A fire will do nicely. These old piles, you know, they catch fire all the time. We’ll just cosh the two of them over the head, move them to the great hall, and then set it alight. All that lovely old wood should do the trick.”
Under the table, Mrs. Hodges grabbed Emma’s hand with trembling fingers. Even Harry looked horrified.
“I ain’t coshing them over the headorsetting a fire,” he protested.
“You will,” Guy responded in a threatening tone.
Emma cast about desperately for something to—
Yes!
“You’re wrong,” she blurted out. “There is someone who can identify you. He recognized your voice, and it’s only a matter of time until he realizes it’s you.”
Guy shot Harry a startled glance.
“Don’t look at me,” said the footman. “Haven’t a clue what she’s yammering about.”
“Then I do believe you’re bluffing, Mrs. Knightley,” said Guy.
She lifted a defiant chin. “I’m not. And there’s also Henry, my nephew.”
Her captor frowned. “What about him?”
Harry muttered a curse. “I forgot about him. He’s staying here at the abbey. But I ain’t killing no kid, either.”
“You couldn’t even if you wanted to,” Emma retorted. “When I realized we were in danger, I sent him off to the Westons to fetch help.”
“That tears it.” Harry picked up the shotgun. “Plumtree, you can do what you like, but I’m leaving.”
“Don’t be a fool,” his accomplice contemptuously replied. “If shehadsent the boy to Randalls, Weston would surely be here by now.”
