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shoulders and gave her a single shake in an attempt to draw her attention back to him. The last thing he needed right now was for panic to take hold of her. It was bad enough that they had a body to content with, the last thing he wanted as a hysterical female on his hands as well.
“I want you to stay calm for me, Beatrice,” he murmured. “Go back inside while I fetch the constable.”
“Shouldn’t someone stay with him?” she whispered around a muffled sob.
“He is beyond help, darling. Right now we need to take care of the living. You need to see to Maud. I will go and get Fred.” He tipped her head up and waited until she looked at him. “It will be alright darling, just go back inside and keep the door locked until I get back.”
“It’s him,” Beatrice whispered. When he drew her into his arms, she didn’t hesitate to slide her arms around him and rest her head on his shoulder. “It’s the man who was looking through the window yesterday. God, Ben, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know darling, but we will get to the bottom of it. I promise.” Ben could feel the fine tremors that coursed through her and sighed.
Only a few minutes ago she had looked happy and carefree as she had wandered up the garden. Now she was frozen in fear, and clearly deeply distressed by the grim discovery practically on her doorstep. God, life could be so cruel sometimes.
“It’s him,” she repeated and leaned back to look up at him.
“Are you sure it is the same one?” He felt her nod.
If the man had needed help, why hadn’t he knocked on the window? If he wanted Beatrice, why hadn’t he knocked on the door? The fact that he had a piece of paper in his hand with Beatrice’s name and address on indicated that the man didn’t know, and wasn’t familiar with where she lived. But who was he? What was he doing here?
More importantly, who in the hell had killed him?
His thoughts immediately turned to the mysterious black carriage that had almost run her over - twice - and the strange visitor who had demanded his package back. Were they connected in some way? He hated to admit it but he rather thought that they were, only couldn’t fathom what Beatrice’s involvement was. After all, she wasn’t a botanist and, unless she was lying about how much work she had done for her uncle then she had nothing to do with the plant inside the study.
With more questions than answers, Ben carefully turned her toward the house and nudged her into a walk.
“We can’t just leave him here,” Beatrice whispered and rapidly blinked away the tears that loomed.
“Well, I am not moving him into the house,” Ben retorted flatly. When she threw him a wry look, he softened his stance. “I don’t mean to sound gruesome, but I think he has been dead for some time. A few more hours lying where he is aren’t likely to hurt him.”
She knew that he was right and couldn’t bring herself to argue with him. Right now, she couldn’t focus on anything other than the knowledge that while she had slept contentedly in her bed, this man had met a grizzly end only a few feet away.
“The poor man,” she whispered. “The poor, poor man.” She turned to him. “Who would do something like this Ben? Who?”
She sounded so lost, so confused, that his heart flipped and he drew her into another quick hug just outside the back door.
“I don’t know, darling. You go inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t answer it until I get back.” He all but pushed her into the house and closed the door behind her. Once the sound of the bolts being slid home assured him she was safe, he made his way toward his carriage and climbed aboard. He could only hope that Fred Dinage, the village constable, wasn’t doing his rounds because he didn’t want to leave Beatrice alone for a second longer than he absolutely had to.
Beatrice was pacing nervously in front of the fire when she heard the crunch of the stones in the driveway sometime later. She hurried into the front parlour and peered outside, only to groan at the sight of the nondescript carriage that blocked the end of the driveway. She had a horrible suspicion that she knew who the visitor was, and had absolutely no intention of answering the door to him.
“Hurry up, Ben,” she whispered and quickly made her way toward the back of the house, where she drew the kitchen curtains and made sure that the bolt was still across the door.
Heavy thumps sounded on the front door but she ignored them. Instead, she poked her head into Maud’s room only to find her fast asleep. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and a bowl sat beside her on the floor. It was evident that the housekeeper would have to remain in bed for the day and so, with a sigh, Beatrice set about clearing out the grates and lighting the fires. With something to do, it was easy to ignore the repeated thumps on both the front and back doors as the wretched visitor persisted.
Once the tidying was done, Beatrice turned her attention to the study. The shutters were still closed and the curtains drawn, but there was enough light from the doorway behind her to take another look at the strange plant. It was difficult to think that something so beautiful could bring so much trouble with it. If only she knew who had sent it to her, and why, she would be able to find out if the death of the man at the end of the garden was linked to the plant in any way. She coughed uncomfortably and, when the sickening smell from the source of the mystery became too much to bear, backed out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her.
The temptation to take a peek out of the shutters to check the body was still there was strong, but she daren’t, just in case the visitor loitered out there. Besides, she had no idea why she expected it to go missing; he could hardly get up and walk away after all.
Determined to put the matter to one side until Ben and Fred arrived, she turned her attention to tidying her bedroom. Then, once the house was all in order, she could sit down to wait.
The crunch of gravel in the driveway sounded again nearly an hour later. Beatrice put her sewing down and contemplated whether she should go back into the front parlour to see who it was but then decided against it. If it was the stranger again, and he happened to look through the window, he would see her. The last thing she wanted was for him to know that she was home alone.
The sudden rattle of the back door drew her quickly into the hallway. She arrived in the kitchen just in time to see the door knob begin to slowly turn. Unusually, there was no knock on either the back or front doors, yet the person was trying to see if the door would open. Her first thought was that it might be Ben, but she immediately dismissed that idea because she knew Ben would knock and call out.
While he was busy at the other end of the house, she hurried through the house and took the opportunity to study the black carriage parked at the end of the driveway. Now that she was able to take a closer look at it, she strongly suspected that it was the same one that had nearly run her over yesterday. Was the man who wanted his plant back really a killer? Had he returned now to claim her as his second victim?
Don’t be a goose. Get a hold of yourself, she warned herself. Why would he want to kill you for a wretched plant?
Everything went quiet. She stood in the hallway for a moment and listened carefully, but didn’t hear the crunch of wheels on the gravel to indicate that the man had left. Instead, the low murmur of voices broke the silence. Curious, she hurried into the front parlour to take a look out of the window.
