“Yes, sir. He has been eating his meals with us.” Arthur peered over his shoulder at the body and shivered, Leo calm in his arms and licking his hand. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
James had seen death many times as an agent. It seemed to be unavoidable, but familiarity did not make it easier, especially now with Kate standing within reach of it. As much as he wanted to keep her near him, duty demanded he move.
He took a small step back from Kate but did not let go of her completely. He needed to hear her voice tell him she was well before he left her. “Kate,” he said, smoothing back a tendril of her hair caught in the morning breeze. “Would you like to return to the inn? Tess and Arthur’s mother can sit with you while I attend to this.”
Kate finally raised her eyes, now flashing with anger. “How could—” She choked on a sob, covering her mouth. “How could someone do this to a kind old man?”
“It might have been an accident. There will be an inquiry.” He knew the words held no comfort, but they were all he had to offer.
“No, this was no accident. The blood . . .” Her voice trailed. She clutched the ends of her cloak together.
Peters and several servants had followed him around the corner, horror stopping them a few paces away. He signaled for them to stay back. The body needed to remain undisturbed.
He settled an arm around Kate’s shoulders and held out his other hand to Arthur. “Come,” he murmured. “We will find yourmother and get you both by the fire.” He guided them toward the inn, where Tess and Mrs. Grant were already hurrying toward them.
James leaned toward Kate. “I hope to convince the magistrate to let us leave for Dover today, though he may have questions for you.”
He studied her face, relieved to see some color had returned to her cheeks, though her sadness had hardened into anger.
Kate cast her eyes heavenward, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’ll answer any questions he has. Whatever it takes to find the killer. But I don’t understand. Mr. Ashcombe was a kind man, a retired merchant captain. Who would harm him?” She didn’t wait for an answer before joining Arthur, his mother, and Tess, who beckoned her to follow them into the inn.
Mr. Ashcombe had been a ship’s captain? James tucked away that detail for later examination. The innkeeper, Kate’s coachman, and the inn’s stablemaster joined him at the inn door, forming a loose circle to decide what must be done.
“My lord,” the innkeeper said, “I hope you understand my wish to keep this matter quiet. Talk of murder would do terrible harm to the inn. If you would assist us in setting things to rights, I would be most grateful.”
James gave Peters a decisive nod. “The lady and I will remain until matters are well in hand. Is the local magistrate on this side of the river?”
“Yes, my lord. Only just down the road.”
“Send for him immediately.” He turned to Jones and the stablemaster. “Has anyone been in the yard or near the body?”
“No, my lord,” Jones replied. “The yard was empty when I prepared Lady Katherine’s carriage.”
The stablemaster added, “I’ve been awake since before dawn. Your party was the first out of the inn, and no new guests have arrived this morning.” He scratched his head. “Though . . .the gentleman who arrived yesterday seems to have left before dawn. His horse is gone from the stables.”
“I remember the gentleman,” Peters said. “Favored one leg a little. Paid to sleep in the stables, same as half the men here, but I never caught his name in all the chaos.”
James took note of the detail without comment. He met the eyes of each man in turn. “We must keep word from spreading to prevent the other guests from panicking. Can I count on your discretion?” he asked, letting his voice ring with authority. A round of nods answered him.
“Good.” James turned away. “I need to examine the body. Please send the magistrate to me the moment he arrives.”
As James turned, a balding guest stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, my lord . . . is that Mr. Ashcombe?”
James regarded him steadily. “The magistrate will answer any questions when he arrives. For now, please return inside the inn and say nothing that might alarm the other guests.”
The stranger swallowed. “Poor soul. Said he was waiting for the mail coach. Bound for Dover, I think.”
James stilled. Dover? Given the town’s proximity, many of the inn’s occupants were likely headed there. It could be a coincidence, but he had learned over the years there were precious few of those.
James gave a curt nod before turning back toward the trees, damp leaves clinging to his boots. The timing was abominable, but his rank and duty to the Crown demanded he remain. He drew close to the body, noticing details he had missed in his urgency to see Kate safe.
The mud-covered boots. The ripped woolen coat. The knife wound above the heart. The lifeless eyes staring at the heavens.
He returned to the wound. He bent low and went still.
No signs of a struggle. The careful angle. The calculated placement.
This was no impulsive act or clumsy killing by a desperate thief. This was the work of someone with precision and purpose. Someone who had killed before.
