Page 97 of His Improper Lady

“Not sure. Some reason why he was shot,” Tom replied.

“There are any number of reasons to shoot Falk,” Desiree retorted, adding shakily, “but I think it was because of our search.”

Tom nodded grimly. “Something about this information Falk was hiding would be my guess. He could have tried to sell it to someone who didn’t want to pay the price. Or someone was afraid he’d sell it to us instead.” Tom shut the last drawer and looked speculatively at the hidden door. “It would have to have been someone very close to him for him to reveal that escape hatch.”

“I’m not sure Falk had anyone that close to him. But I figured out where it was. Others could have, too.”

“Or he could have told someone who conducted business with him, someone who would be embarrassed to be seen coming in the front. A gentleman, say.”

“Like Paxton,” Desiree said.

“Or Gregory. We know Falk was into blackmail. Or perhaps Falk actually found that will and was withholding it for more money.”

Desiree looked once more at Falk’s lifeless body. “I don’t even know what to feel. I’ve always hated the man. He was despicable. But it’s so awful, seeing him there. I feel guilty for all the times I wished he was dead. It’s not something I really meant.”

“Of course not.” Tom curled his arm around her shoulders, turning her away from the sight. “Even though his absence will only improve the world, no one had the right to kill him. But perhaps if we can figure this out, it might lead us to his murderer.”

Desiree nodded. “You’re right.”

“We should go. We’ll miss our train if we have to stay and talk to the police. There’s nothing we can tell them that they can’t see for themselves, and we can always go to them when we get back. And if this Trotter fellow decides to do something besides call the police, it’s just as well not to know about it.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Desiree looked up at him, her hand going to her stomach. “It’s urgent, Tom. We must get to that cottage. Now.”

THERE WAS NO possibility of getting there quickly, for the train rumbled along at its own speed, and it was teatime before they arrived in Weymouth. They had planned to spend the night here and go to the cottage the next morning, but Desiree could not wait. The urgency in her chest had been growing the entire trip, and now the pull from the cottage was too strong to resist.

“We have to get there as soon as possible,” she told Tom.

He glanced at the sky. “It’s summer. The days are long. It will be hours before complete darkness falls. Let’s rent a trap and drive on to Redham.”

The trap seemed impossibly slow, and the knot in Desiree’s chest tightened with every mile. They had not yet reached Redham when they met a farmer driving his cart in the other direction, and they stopped to ask for directions to Alistair’s cottage.

“Oh, aye, Sea Gift, that’s Lord Moreland’s place. It’s ’fore you get to town. Only another mile or so. But there’s nothing there to see. It’s just been sitting there for years now, and it’s a ruin.”

“Yes, but we really need to go there,” Tom told him, and with a shrug the man gave them detailed instructions of where to turn off the road, and Tom was able to follow them to a narrow lane that was rough and pocked with holes. A house came into view in the distance, sitting at the edge of the cliff. Every nerve in Desiree’s body shivered to life.

As they drew closer, they could see that the farmer had not exaggerated the house’s condition. Though the cottage had not collapsed, it had been worn by time and the salt air. It was small, and Desiree suspected that if it had been repaired and painted, it might have a certain cozy charm. As it was, it looked desolate, an impression that was not helped by the barren landscape around it. There were a few trees in front of the house, stunted and bent by the constant sea wind. Beyond the cliff was a gray expanse of ocean.

The house was gray and weathered, windows broken and shutters dangling or fallen. Two shallow steps led up to the cracked and weathered front door. Not far from one side of the house stood a rickety staircase leading down to the beach. A little farther along the cliff was a small shed, and attached to it was a wooden boxlike structure.

The entire scene was drenched in gloom, and Desiree’s stomach knotted. She didn’t want to be here, but she could not leave. This, she was certain, was where she was supposed to go.

“What is that?” Tom tied their horse to a stunted tree and walked over to the odd structure at the edge of the cliff. Desiree followed, grateful to put off entering the house for a moment.

The box seemed fastened to a set of rails, and it hung by a sturdy rope from the pulley above it. The rails were set all the way down the cliff, ending at the beach.

“It looks like a kind of lift to go down to the beach. Like a dumbwaiter,” Desiree suggested.

“But inclined,” Tom mused. “Like that funicular railway in Scarborough, only smaller and just one car.” He gazed down at the rocky beach, where the sea surged and crashed around enormous rocks. “I wouldn’t risk my life on it just to go down there.”

“Mm. Not terribly inviting.” She shivered, though it was not cold. “Nothing here is. This whole area reeks of something awful.” She turned to face the house.

“You ready to go in?” Tom asked.

“No.” Desiree stiffened her spine. “But I have to.”

They walked toward the house, the urgency in Desiree growing with every step. Tom turned the rusty door handle, but he had to put his shoulder to the damp-warped door before it opened. They stepped inside. Sand had drifted in over all the floors and furniture. Both the front and side windows were broken out. There were stairs to the left, as well as a short hallway leading to what looked to be a kitchen and another room. The room where they stood ran the width of the house. A sturdy stone fireplace stood in the center of the outside wall. A caned-seat straight chair stood on one side of the fireplace. A small sofa and comfortable chair, along with a couple of small tables, were the only other furniture. In front of the fireplace was a large woven rug, its colors muted by the pervasive sand.

Despite the abandoned look of the place, there was an eerie look to it, as if someone had just left. There were no dustcovers over the furniture, and the ragged curtains hung open. A teacup sat on a table by the sofa, and there was a hod half-full of coal beside the fireplace. A shiver ran down Desiree’s spine.