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“Of course. If you are sure it is not putting you out too much? It would be a welcome help indeed.” The vicar threw him a grateful look.
Jeb took his leave before the vicar could launch into another explanation about the reliability of Mrs Banks. With the desperate need to see Sophia nipping at his heels, he hurried through the village toward Mrs Banks’ house.
“A completely wasted trip,” Jeb grumbled when he saw the house, and smoke billowing steadily from the chimney. However, to appease the vicar he continued to the house and knocked on the front door.
When his knocks received no answer, he made his way around the side of the house to the back door. He froze, and knew immediately that this was not a wasted trip at all.
Something
was terribly wrong.
“Mrs Banks?” he called as he eyed the open door at the back of the house with a frown. There was no sign of a struggle, but Mrs Banks was not in the garden, and no sound could be heard from inside the house. “Mrs Banks?” He yelled louder this time. “Are you home?”
When he still received no reply, he pushed the back door open and cautiously entered the kitchen. Fire roared in the fireplace, but he barely paid it any attention.
“Mrs Banks? Can you hear me?” Silence greeted him.
Glad that he had remembered to bring his gun, Jeb crept into the property. The rooms at the rear of the house were all empty. He glanced upstairs but couldn’t see anything untoward. The dining room at the front of the house was also devoid of life. He ventured across the hallway to the sitting room. As soon as he entered, he saw the back of a dark head resting against the back of a chair in front of the empty fireplace. Although her back was facing the door, he recognised the person in the seat as Mrs Banks.
He didn’t call out her name, partly for fear of scaring her, but partly because he knew that it was a waste of time. Mrs Banks had gone far beyond anybody’s reach. Bracing himself, he sidled around the outskirts of the room until he could see her face.
“Jesus,” he swore when he saw the mottled colour of death on her face. “Not you too.”
He studied the stiff features and suspected she had been dead for several hours. Rigor mortis had settled in and had yet to release its frozen grip. With her head tipped back to rest on the back of the chair, he could see the now familiar burn marks around her throat caused by the ligature that had killed her.
A dark frown scarred his brow. He hurried into the kitchen and stared at the heavily laden fireplace roaring away heartily.
“Now, if you have been dead for several hours, how in the world did you manage to light that?”
He knew from the fact that most of the wood in the grate had only just started to burn that this fire had been lit within the last hour, but who by? If someone knew there was a corpse in the house they wouldn’t light the fire, not least because going about such an everyday task was a tad disrespectful. Besides, any idiot knew it was best to keep a dead person cold.
Within minutes, Jeb had completed a search of the rest of the house, but found no sign of anyone. There was nothing out of place. The bed was neatly made, but Jeb doubted it had even been slept in. He suspected Mrs Banks had been murdered late last night and had not even made it to bed, or had been killed before dawn while still fully dressed.
Once he had helped himself a bedsheet, he draped it over the unfortunate widow, dampened the fire, and returned to the village to summon help. He didn’t want to leave the house at all, not least because he suspected that whoever had lit that fire had seen him coming, and was probably waiting for him to leave so they could go back.
Rather than head straight to the church, he stopped off quickly at the posting office and scribbled a quick note to Barnaby in London. He needed his colleagues’ help now, and the sooner they got there the better because he suspected the murderer wasn’t done killing yet. While he was perfectly capable of finding the killer on his own, he now had a rather personal stake in what happened in the village. In particular, to one of its somewhat temporary residents. Sophia. The thought that she was in danger simply by being in the village made him want to tear his hair out. Protecting her was now his top priority.
As he made his way to the church, he thought about the man she had noticed staring at her in the village. Was Sophia the killer’s next intended victim? The very thought made Jeb’s blood run cold.
“Not on my patch,” Jeb growled, using one of Barnaby’s sentiments fervently.
At the end of the road, he had two choices; go to Sophia’s house or the church.
Jeb eyed the church tower in the distance and shook his head. He knew that as soon as he notified the vicar, and summoned help, it would be many hours before he was free to call upon the woman who had captured far more than his interest. With that in mind, he had to see her to apologise, and explain that he couldn’t go for a walk as promised. He could then at least take the opportunity to warn her to remain at home and keep the doors locked.
“Hello,” he murmured minutes later once Sophia had opened the door. She positively beamed at him in such welcome that he couldn’t help but sweep her into his arms for a very thorough kiss.
When he did finally lift his head he glanced around the hallway. “Is Delilah not up yet?” he whispered.
Sophia shook her head. “She came back about one o’clock, and isn’t likely to be up this side of luncheon. She will remain in bed until it is time to take tea and prepare for tonight’s frivolities.”
“Oh? Where is that?”
“Delilah is attending a soiree at Mrs Dalentree’s house down the road. I am not going.”
“Good,” he murmured. “I will come and keep you company while she has gone.”
Sophia frowned at his hesitation. “What is it?” she whispered.
