Page 43 of The Rum and The Fox

“I been out lookin’ ever since you asked, sir,” Greenly protested, the tips of his ears burning red as one of his colleagues could be heard to snigger behind him. “The little varlet ‘as gone to ground. Vanished, ‘e ‘as, sir.”

“Find him!” Formby raged, banging his fist on his desk so hard that the brimming cup of tea Greenly had just set at his elbow jolted and slopped onto his desk, ruining several important papers. “You, too,” the inspector shouted, pointing at the fellow who’d been reckless enough to find Greenly’s predicament amusing. “And don’t come back until you have the blighter!”

Muttering under his breath as his men slunk from the room, Formby pulled out a handkerchief and began to mop up the overspill. His interview with the surgeon the day before had set him thinking about the blood at the foot of the stairs, and consequently he’d spent a sleepless night. On top of that, Lady Todd’s assurances that Lord Ashwicke was incapable of hitting a target had been wholeheartedly endorsed by everyone he’d spoken to. Todd had been shot at close range, so that was still well possible, but Martin Snyder? Not a chance. It was damned frustrating when he’d thought he had a handle on the case, and suddenly he was assailed with doubt all over again.

He was sure he was missing something obvious, and that when he’d cracked, it the whole case would start to unravel. But the indigestion that had attacked him yesterday morning had persisted, and Mrs Formby’s insistence that he drink large amounts of peppermint tea had not aided his temper nor his ability to think. After a restless night, he felt heavy-eyed, frustrated, and positively waspish. God help anyone acting the fool today, for he’d no patience for it.

Deciding that his constable was fool enough on a good day, he determined to go back and interview the neighbour, Mrs Richards, himself, and see what he could dig up.

***

Keziah forced herself to sit with her hands in her lap. Her nails had been bitten to the quick, a revolting and childish habit she thought she’d long since outgrown, but apparently not. The events of last night and this morning’s visit from Mr Formby had frightened her badly, and her nerves were all in a tangle.

If the inspector were to discover that she was not only well used to handling guns, but a damn good shot besides, she could be in deep water indeed. Not that Ash would mention it, nor Molly, but her father had used to show off her skills when she was younger. Betting some foolish fellow that his little daughter could beat him to flinders in a shooting contest, and winning large sums when he was proved correct. What if someone remembered and came forward and told him that?

But infinitely worse than that, she’d been seen.

When Formby had arrived that morning, she’d had her heart in her throat, believing he was there to question her, and when he’d told Ash about Martin’s murder, her legs had almost given out. What if the drunken fellow who’d seen her running through the streets in the dead of night and dropping the pistol concealed beneath her cloak when she’d stumbled didn’t keep their mouth shut?

Oh, God, she should never have left her bed.

But at least if the inspector had spoken to Ash’s friends, it was bound to be proved that he was a hopeless shot. No young buck could hide something like that from his contemporaries, as such sports were part and parcel of becoming a man. It would be bound to be something he was ragged over, surely? She could only hope so, and that Mr Formby’s attentions would turn elsewhere.

She swallowed as she considered what direction he might look in next, but couldn’t regret her actions. Ash deserved better. He was the best, kindest, and sweetest man she’d ever met. Having only experienced life with her father and Martin Snyder, and whatever low company they were keeping at the time, Keziah had not believed it possible for men to be honourable and true. Oh, she’d daydreamed about heroic figures who would carry her off into the sunset, but she’d never really believed in them. She still didn’t. Ash was no musclebound warrior wielding a sword and sweeping her off her feet, after all, and yet in his own quiet way, he was doing all he could to protect her.

She would not let him pay for a situation that her black-hearted father had dragged him into.

No matter what she had to do.

***

“Sir! Inspector Formby, sir!”

The inspector was staring out of his office window in a brown study. Mrs Richard had not been in, but he had left a message with the woman’s housekeeper that he’d be back on the morrow. Frustration was gnawing at his guts and giving his temper a short fuse, and seeing his blasted constable burst into his office without a by your leave was enough to make him see red.

“What is it?” he barked, turning on the young man in fury. “Because if it ain’t news that you’ve found that wretched boy, I’ll box your damned ears!”

His constable faltered for a moment. “No, sir, it ain’t that,” he admitted, paling as Formby glowered with increasing fury. “But I got some fellow ‘ere who’ll swear he saw Lady Todd and Lord Ashwicke practising shooting in Smallcombe woods.”

“You what?” Formby replied, jolted into action and pulling his coat on as he headed for the door. “Why the devil didn’t you say so?”

Greenly let out a breath of relief before hurrying on. “That’s not all, sir,” he said, his voice betraying his excitement. “He said that the young duke couldn’t hit a barn door if he was stood afore it, but he reckoned the young lady could clip the wings off a fly.”

Formby stopped in his tracks, staring at his constable with considerable shock. “Well, I’m buggered,” he said in awed tones before snapping out of his reverie. “Right, Mr Greenly, let’s go and speak to your witness quick-sharp, ‘cause I’m goin’ to be needin’ a few words with Lady Todd.”

***

Ash paced his study with his thoughts running in frantic circles. “For God’s sake, calm yourself, man,” he muttered, reaching for the brandy decanter though it was barely mid-morning. Slopping a large measure into the glass, he almost dropped the stopper, he was so distracted, and barely caught it before it smashed to the floor. Putting it in place with rather more care, he reached for the glass.

After taking a couple of large and fortifying swallows, Ash tried to think what best he could do to keep Lady Todd out of trouble, and kept coming around to the same answer. Keziah needed his protection and she was damn well going to have it. The trouble was that he doubted very much whether she’d be willing to take it.

He finished the rest of the glass in one large gulp and felt the liquor burn down his throat. Having made his decision, however, action was demanded.

First instructing Grant to ready his carriage immediately, he sat himself back at his desk and dashed off a few lines to a cousin of his who lived a short distance from Bath. This in turn was handed to his butler with instructions that it was to be delivered immediately.

Returning to his study, he took a moment to reassure himself that his appearance was all it should be in the large gilt mirror. He checked his cravat, tweaking it a millimetre to the right, smoothed down his favourite yellow, silk waistcoat - embroidered all around the edges with blue cornflowers - and ensured that his hair was as carefully arranged as his valet had left it this morning. Once satisfied all was as it ought to be, he grimaced and shook his head at the handsome but far from heroic face looking back at him.

“Courage, man,” he said to his reflection, his tone stern, before heading for the door.

Because today, Lady Keziah Todd would agree to do the only thing that would ensure that Ash could protect her in every way possible, and would bloody well marry him.