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Helen bobbed a curtsy. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”

“It’s all fine. This looks worse than it is!” he said cheerfully, as they tackled the stairs.

Cecey followed him up the stairs just as the doctor arrived.

An hour later, Rick was sitting up in bed, a bandage around his head, another around his ribs, and a poultice on his ankle to reduce the swelling. The doctor had left with instructions to watch for symptoms of concussion and to stay off his sprained ankle for a few days, and Cecey finally had the chance to ask him what happened.

“I fell off the barn roof,” said Rick simply.

“I gathered that, but how—”

“One of the battens gave way under my feet, I started to slide, and before I could catch hold of anything to stop myself, I went over the edge.”

“Why were you on the roof in the first place?” she asked, her alarm over his brush with death making her sharper than usual. She kept envisioning his lifeless body being carried into the house and interrupting her tea party with Helen and the children. She had been so happy seeing how much pleasure the children were deriving from her treat. And then bang! Out of nowhere, this! It shook her up.

“I’m not afraid of heights. I was on the roof of the cottage the day before yesterday.”

“Were you? I’m glad I didn’t know that!” Cecey sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “What if you had been killed!” she said, giving voice to her fear.

“But I wasn’t. I bumped my head, and I’ve cracked a rib or two and sprained my ankle. I’ll be fine in a couple of days. There’s no need to fret.”

Chapter 27

The funeral service for Mr. Sparrow was held on Saturday, and Rick, fully recovered from his accident, attended with Cecey and Reynolds. Mr. and Mrs. Baines and their three sons were present, as were the doctor, the publican Mrs. Catherine Freeman, her tapster Jones, Mrs. Rawlins, and a handful of older tenants and laborers.

Following the service, the women dispersed back to their homes, Reynolds escorting Cecey back in the curricle, and the remaining men accompanied the body to the graveside, where the hole to receive the simple wooden coffin had already been dug. Jones stood beside him, tears dripping slowly down his cheeks. He muttered under his breath, “He didn’t deserve this.”

The words made Rick glance over at the four Baines men observing the interment with suitably grave expressions. If one or more of them were responsible for Sparrow’s death, how could they stand there like this, confronted with their crime, and not show their guilt and remorse? Either they weren’t guilty or were possessed of a cold-heartedness that Rick couldn’t conceive of. If that were true, it was a kind of evil that Rick had trouble accepting was possible. He shuddered. And if they were guilty, how to prove it?

After the body was covered, the men repaired to the Dog where Mrs. Freeman, Jones, and her kitchen hands regaled with them with her excellent porter and home cooking. Rick was well on his way to being drunk when Reynolds appeared to take him home, which he didn’t recall arranging, but he was in that mellow state that made him amenable to anything.

He let Reynolds put him to bed in his own room for once, not wishing to disturb Cecey. He slept a little late the next morning, and when he entered the breakfast parlor, he found Cecey sipping tea and eating buttered toast with an uncharacteristic frown.

“Sorry I overslept,” he said with a rueful grimace. “Had a few more porters than I should have last night.” He helped himself to a plate of ham and eggs and sat down.

His fork was halfway to his mouth when Cecey put down her cup with a decided clink and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he said cautiously.

“About the gargoyle and the stakes.” She glared at him.

“Oh, well I didn’t want to worry you. And besides, I was fine, no harm done. Who told you?”

“Reynolds!” She rose to her feet, leaning forward on her hands. “Someone has been trying to kill my husband, and my husband didn’t see fit to tell me!”

“But—”

“Don’t but me! I’m furious! I knew you didn’t take that fall off the roof seriously enough, but if I’d known about the other incidents—! Rick, one man is already dead. We went to his funeral yesterday. And now I discover there have been—what—four attempts on your life?”

“Steady on, we don’t know any of them are deliberate attempts to kill me. They could all be accidents.”

“That isn’t what Reynolds thinks.”

“Yes, well Reynolds had no right to tell you anything!” He said rising and throwing down his napkin.

“He’s worried about you, and so am I! Why won’t you take this seriously?”

“Because it’s like something out of a gothic novel. Really Cecey, why would anyone be trying to kill me?”