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“Miss Marlborough, do you mean? No, sir. Why? Is there something I should know?” Mrs Marks looked worried for a moment and threw an askance look around the neat and tidy room, as if expecting something to have been stolen.
“No. I just wondered if she had mentioned something in passing. Tell me, Mrs Marks, has the post arrived today?” Moss began to rifle through the paperwork on his desk.
“No, sir. It should be here within the hour, though. Is there anything else you will be wanting from me today?”
“No, thank you, Mrs Marks. That will be all,” Moss replied absently. He pored through yesterday’s post but couldn’t find any word from the Captain that might forewarn him of Clementine’s visit, or the latest deaths. “Now, why would you send her, of all people, to see me, of all detectives? I told you I was going to investigate the death of Sally Walcott. Why would you send Clementine and not tell me about them yourself?”
The only reason Moss could think as to why the Captain would send Clementine to him was because the Captain suspected Clementine was involved in some way.
“Given three people have died now, I think I am going to have to reconsider my beliefs,” Moss sighed, wishing now that he hadn’t been so abrupt with Clementine. “That is twice I have rebuffed her now. I am going to be lucky if she ever speaks to me again.”
Strangely, where Moss had thought he wanted never to cross paths with Clementine again, he now hated the thought of them never speaking. It was unusual because the likelihood of them ever meeting again was remote. Clementine lived a good twenty miles away, in a small village in the middle of nowhere. He, meanwhile, lived in a town and was used to the urban luxuries that town-life afforded him. He couldn’t ever contemplate life in a sleepy rural village, not least because there wasn’t anything to do there.
Or so I thought. It might be the sleepiness of that quiet rural village that mistakenly led the killer to believe they could get away with murder. Well, I have news for them.
Moss shook his head and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He leaned back in his seat to glare out of the window. Predictably, as happened on every other occasion when he had allowed his thoughts to stray to Clementine Marlborough, she began to plague him. Morning, noon, and night, she occupied every thought, every dream, every second of every day until he had to do something rash to try to forget her again.
Moss snorted and turned to help himself to a large chunk of fruit cake Mrs Marks had left on the tray for him. Biting into the juicy treat, he munched thoughtfully as he ambled out of his study and went in search of the Captain’s note. While he finished his cake, he re-read it. It didn’t say much, although the tone of the note held a warning that Moss needed to listen to what Clementine had to say. It was enough to persuade Moss that he had been far too harsh with Clementine – again. Regardless of his personal attraction to the woman, Moss had a professional duty to at least offer her his services, didn’t he? Moss had to find out what kind of bother the troublesome Miss Clementine Marlborough had gotten herself into this time because he suspected he was going to lose her if he didn’t. What troubled him more than anything was that he knew from experience that a killer so determined to isolate Clementine as they were probably intended to kill Clementine next, but only once the murderer had taken the lives of the possible witnesses and friends around her first.
“Mrs Marks!” Moss bellowed as he lurched out of his seat and strode across the room.
“Yes, sir?” Mrs Marks appeared nervously in the kitchen doorway. She blinked warily when Moss strode down the hallway toward the front door with purposeful strides.
“Get the luggage out and parcel up a pouch for me to take with my on my journey.”
“Are you going away, sir?” Mrs Marks asked, wiping her floured hands on an apron.
“Yes, and I am likely to be away for a while, so make sure the house is locked up, will you?”
“Where are you going, sir?” Mrs Marks called after Moss, as he raced eagerly up the stairs, two at a time.
“To the countryside for a while. Send my post to the Captain. You know the address.” Moss’s voice faded as he disappeared into his bed chamber, leaving Mrs Marks to stare in disbelief up the stairs after him.
Clementine walked into her kitchen several hours later and slammed to a stop when she saw who was waiting for her. She began to shake when she saw the look on her father’s face because she knew immediately what he was going to say. Her stomach dropped to her toes. Without speaking to either man at the table, Clementine dropped her basket onto the floor and removed her shawl, which she hung on the peg beside the back door with far too much careful precision. Inside, she was steeling herself for what was to come.
Slowly, carefully, she reluctantly turned around.
“Who is it this time?” she whispered as she slid into a seat opposite Reverend Ormstone who, although somewhat calmer this time, was sitting solemnly at the table beside her father.
She poured herself a cup of tea with a hand that shook violently while she waited to hear the dreadful news.
“Mrs Riverton,” the clergyman replied solemnly. This time, there were no inane platitudes. He merely looked sadly at her before he sucked in a breath and stared out of the window.
“Mrs Riverton,” Clementine repeated dully.
Cameron nodded.
“When?” Clementine coughed to clear the lump from her throat. “How?”
“Mrs Riverton was found this morning,” her father replied.
“How did she die?” Clementine turned her attention to the vicar.
“She appears to have had some sort of seizure,” the clergyman reported.
“Another seizure?” Clementine repeated thoughtfully.
She nodded slowly while deep inside she wanted to rage. A part of her wanted to race back to Moss’s house and tell him, to point out to him that there was something odd going on; she wasn’t some addle-brained chit, or wayward female. She knew the village she lived in. She knew there was something odd about the deaths. But Clementine refused to go back to Moss again. After his refusal to even accept that there was something in her suspicions worthy of investigation, Clementine had no wish to set herself up for further dismissal.
