‘He bashed him with a skate– I thought that was obvious.’
‘And who is “he”, Mr Knotte?’
He shot her a sly look. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t guessed?’
She shook her head. Was he really so far gone in his mania? How was she going to extricate herself from this situation? He could turn on a sixpence into someone else.
Unless…
The medicine– and the seemingly genuine desire to protect his friends. Was that action aimed against himself or someone else?
Before she could decide, potential rescue arrived in the shape of a man who jumped up on top of the wall to look down at them, rifle aimed at Knotte. Langhorne. How did he come to be there?
‘Hands up!’
‘There’s no need for a gun,’ said Dora, taking a half step towards him.
Knotte gave a shout of alarm. ‘Get away from him, Miss Fitz-Pennington!’
Langhorne gestured with the rifle barrel. ‘Move back, miss. Knotte is dangerous– far more dangerous than I realised. Imprisoning Barton– drowning, poisoning him– taking potshots at nobility. Who knows the full extent of his wickedness?’
Dora stiffened, caught between them. Who should she believe?
‘What do you mean, sir?’ she temporised.
‘He told me he killed his mentor in London, but I didn’t believe him, but now we find him with Barton– and then there’s poor Wright, head bashed in and left for dead. I very much fear we are dealing with a lunatic.’
‘I didn’t… that was you!’ Knotte’s eyes bulged with panic. Panic that he’d been caught, or indignation that he was being falsely accused?
‘Give it over, Knotte, the game’s finished and it’s time you handed yourself into the authorities. Come along now.’ Langhorne gestured with his rifle. ‘On your knees, hands behind your head.’
‘No!’ Knotte lunged towards him in a clumsy attempt to disarm him. The rifle fired and the bullet hit Knotte full in the face. He fell backwards without even a cry of pain– so sudden, so final. Dora screamed, then covered her mouth to stop her whimpers.
‘Damn,’ said Langhorne. ‘I was hoping to take him in alive. There’s a reward for his capture.’
‘You shot him,’ she said in a choked voice. She kneeled to feel for a pulse but knew it was too late for the shepherd poet.
‘I fear he was beyond saving. This is kinder than a lunatic asylum.’ Langhorne flashed her a sardonic smile.
Dora’s mind was whirling. ‘How did you know to come here?’
‘I met the two boys you sent. We’d better hurry. The doctor will be anxious to know you are safe.’
Dora got up and brushed off her skirts. ‘Hadn’t we better wait for help to arrive for Mr Barton?’
Langhorne gave a dismissive glance at the tent. ‘He looks safe enough. Let me take you to the shore and I’ll come back and show the stretcher team where to find him. They’re gathering at Birthwaite– it is only a few minutes’ sail from here. This isn’t the place for a lady.’
She rubbed her arms, uncertain. He seemed strangely unruffled by having just shot his friend. There was something distinctly ‘off’ about him. ‘I’m not sure that’s the best course of action.’
‘If you’re so worried, let me check on Barton. I’m sure he can be left for a short while but if you want reassurance…’
In her gut, Dora knew she didn’t want Langhorne anywhere near the vulnerable man. Her instinct was that he wasn’t innocent, that the radical young men had been plotting something that had gone awry. Until she could work out who was at fault, she had better get him away from here.
‘No, no, you’re right. If you would be so kind as to transport me to the shore, you can fetch the medical team.’ And she would have others to appeal to for help.
He nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad you see reason.’ He kneeled and put the rifle next to Knotte. ‘We won’t need that, will we? Not now the killer is dead.’
‘I… er… suppose not.’ Despite him surrendering his weapon, all her alarm bells were ringing; her one fixed idea was to remove him from where Barton lay in his fever dreams.
