‘And you will go with her?’
‘Yes, I shall hire a horse and ride alongside.’
He found Hannah was watching him closely and asked sharply, ‘Is anything the matter?’
‘No, no,’ said Hannah quickly. But she had been hoping for some sign that Lord Harley’s adventures with Emily had given him an interest in her. ‘Leave the matter of finding out the identity of the villain to me, my lord.’
Dinner found the party all restored to health. Lizzie was not present. She had elected to take a meal on a tray in the Red Room with Mr Fletcher. Neither Lizzie nor Mr Fletcher had been told of the adventures of the previous night. Lord Harley did not want to alarm Mr Fletcher and cause any deterioration in his health, and he did not want Lizzie to be frightened either.
The conversation round the table was cheerful. Everyone was looking forward to going on with his or her journey. ‘Tired of sleeping with you,’ said Mr Burridge with a grin to Mr Hendry. ‘What possessed you to put the bolster between us last night?’
‘Because,’ said Mr Hendry, ‘in your sleep you sometimes appear to think I am your wife and one morning I woke up to find your arms about me.’
This produced a roar of laughter. And then Mr Burridge said, ‘Anything planned for this last night, Miss Pym? Charades or plays or the like?’
‘I have it,’ cried Hannah. ‘We will have a letter-writing competition.’
‘And I will supply the prize,’ said Lord Harley quickly.
‘I ain’t a strong hand at letter-writing,’ grumbled the coachman. ‘What’s the prize?’
‘Five guineas,’ said Lord Harley.
There was a gasp of surprise.
‘Well, for five guineas I’ll try anythink,’ said the coachman. ‘What’s this here letter to be about, Miss Pym?’
‘You are leaving this inn without paying your shot,’ said Hannah, ‘but you must make an excuse which will stop the landlord having you arrested at the next stage.’
‘Reckon I could try me hand at that,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Five guineas. I need a new pig and I could get silk for a gown. When do we start?’
‘Right after dinner,’ said Hannah. ‘I am sure after your experiences last night, gentleman, you will be glad to join us ladies and forgo your port.’
Soon they were all gathered around the table in the taproom. Sheets of paper and quill-pens were handed out all round and a large inkwell was placed in the centre of the table.
Emily, who was suddenly aware of the reason for the letter-writing competition, looked at them all eagerly. Which one of them would produce the same handwriting as that on the letter supposed to have been left by Mr Fletcher?
She herself scribbled a short note complaining about dirty towels, barely caring what she wrote. She finished before the others and sat waiting. Then a thought struck her. All the guilty party had to do was to disguise his handwriting. Her heart beat fast. She muttered an excuse and left the taproom. She ran from bedroom to bedroom, looking for something with the handwriting of the occupants. Captain Seaton’s room was out, as was the Red Room. She searched the room occupied by the coachman and guard and then the room shared by Mr Burridge and Mr Hendry.
Downstairs, Hannah collected the letters and she and Lord Harley retired to a corner to study them.
‘Nothing like,’ said Hannah gloomily, surreptitiously comparing the letter from Mr Fletcher’s room with the others.
‘And I was so sure your plan would work that I sent the landlord to fetch the constable,’ said Lord Harley.
Then Emily quietly came into the room and handed Hannah a torn scrap of paper with writing on it and in a whisper told her where she had found it.
‘Come along there!’ called the coachman. ‘Who’s won?’
‘While Lord Harley makes up his mind,’ said Hannah, ‘I would like to tell you a story.’
‘Oh, I’d like that,’ said Mrs Bradley cheerfully. ‘Nothing like a good tale to while away a winter’s night.’
‘Once upon a time,’ said Hannah, ‘there was a pretty widow who had run off on the stage-coach with a military gentleman who was anxious to marry her and get her money before anyone else did.’ The guard glanced at the captain and nudged the coachman.
‘But on the journey, she met a lawyer, a nice, kind man, and fell in love. The stage-coach party found themselves stranded at an inn. To while away the time, they put on a play. In that play, the military man was supposed to pretend to fire a gun at the ladies, while another passenger fired his gun out of the window to make it all seem lifelike. But when the military man fired his gun, it went off, and as he had been pointing it at the lawyer, his rival, he was suspected of attempted murder, for the lawyer would have been most surely killed had not one passenger quickly put a metal tray in front of him to deflect the bullet.’
‘I never loaded that gun,’ shouted the captain, turning quite purple with outrage. Hannah ignored him and went on.
‘After the day of the play, the party decided to take a walk, for the storm had ceased. A young lady in the party started a snowball fight. Someone tried to injure the lawyer by throwing a snowball with a stone in it and everyone blamed the military gentleman.’
‘And they were wrong,’ growled the captain.
‘And they were wrong,’ echoed Hannah.
An air of tension crept into the group.
‘So our villain hit on another plan. He drugged a bowl of punch, being careful not to take any himself. While everyone was asleep, he went to his own room and pretended to be asleep, and when he was sure his companion was unconscious, he rose and dressed and went to the lawyer’s room. He dressed him and then left a note beside the bed supposed to be from the lawyer saying he did not want to marry the widow after all and was leaving. Then he lugged the body of the lawyer downstairs and put it in a handcart and wheeled him far out of town to a barn, where he left him with his hands and feet bound, meaning to release him the next day, when the cold had finished the poor fellow off. He left the lawyer’s portmanteau in the barn beside him.
‘But someone saw the villain leave the inn – a pretty young maiden who roused a handsome lord, one of the guests, and together they went out and followed the wheel tracks in the snow. As they found the lawyer, the villain locked them in the barn until he could think of a way of dealing with them. But they escaped and brought the lawyer back and set about discovering who this villain might be. And they did and they found out that we have a would-be murderer in our midst.’
There were sharp exclamations of alarm.
‘But surely you looked in the rooms,’ said Mr Hendry. ‘Anyone missing would have proved the identity of the villain.’
‘Apparently no one was missing,’ said Hannah, ‘and that, Mr Hendry, was because you put the bolster on your side of the bed and made it look as if there was someone lying in it.’
‘You’re mad! You’re lying,’ cried Mr Hendry.
‘Miss Freemantle found a scrap of paper in your luggage, part of a letter you had written, and with your signature, Mr Hendry,’ said Hannah sternly. ‘We compared it with the letter by Mr Fletcher’s bed, and the handwriting matches exactly. You wanted the widow for yourself. No doubt, given time, had your plan succeeded, you would have left evidence to point to Captain Seaton. I think that before the play, it was you that loaded that gun, but why he should so fortuitously point it at Mr Fletcher, I do not know.’
‘I know!’ shouted the captain, leaping up. ‘It was Hendry who told me it would be fun to give him a scare. That’s why I pointed the gun at that pip-squeak of a lawyer.’
‘Look out!’ screamed Mrs Bradley suddenly. ‘He’s got a gun.’
Mr Hendry backed towards the door, a small gun levelled at the assembly.
Behind him, the door slowly opened. A constable and two watchmen suddenly dashed in and pinioned Mr Hendry’s arms to his sides. He was led off struggling and screaming.