This particular night also brought a surprise. As he took up a vantage point in the undergrowth, he was alerted by a noise that seemed to come from the front of the house. Living so close to nature had given him the instincts of an animal and his back arched for a moment in fear. He quickly recovered and set off through the darkness towards the source of the disturbance. Valentine heard it more clearly now. There was the faint jingle of harness mingled with an unidentifiable dragging sound. Someone grunted under a strain, then he caught a few words that baffled him. Feet moved away from the house and a horse neighed as it was mounted. Two riders departed quickly into the void.
Valentine moved close enough to the front door of the house to pick out the shape of something on the hearth. It made him step back quickly into the bushes to consider what he should do. If he went to investigate more fully, he might be caught and unfairly blamed. If he knocked on the door to rouse the household, awkward questions would be asked about his presence there at that time of night.
He opted for another solution. Bending to gather some stones, he threw one at the lighted window beside the door. It bounced off harmlessly but produced no enquiry from within. He took a bigger stone and hurled it with more force at the door itself. Its thud was heard throughout the house and response was swift. The front door was opened by a manservant. Light spilled out from his lantern to illumine the figure on the ground. Valentine saw that it was a dead body which had been dragged up to the hearth.
The servant was so shocked that he let out a shriek.
***
Nicholas Bracewell was the first to react to the noise. He told Emilia Brinklow to remain in the parlour, then he ran along the corridor to the front door. The servant was now backing away in horror. Nicholas took the lantern from his quivering grasp and knelt down to hold it over the supine figure. Simon Chaloner lay on his back. Sightless eyes gazed up at heaven with a look of supplication but it was the grotesque wound in the forehead which transfixed Nicholas. A pistol had been fired at point-blank range into the skull to lodge deep in the brains. Dripping with blood, the gaping hole was like a third eye. Whatever else happened, Emilia had to be prevented from seeing such horror.
He stood up to give a stern order to the manservant.
‘Go to your mistress,’ he said. ‘Bid her stay where she is until I return. Say nothing of what you saw or you will answer to me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘About it straight.’
The man scurried away and Nicholas used the lantern again to make a closer inspection of the corpse. Matted blood in the hair at the back of the neck showed that there was another wound. He wondered if Simon Chaloner had first been knocked senseless before being shot. When he searched for the German cavalry pistol, it was gone from its holster. Sword and dagger were also missing from their scabbards. His killer was obviously fond of souvenirs. Yet the dead man’s purse had been left unmolested. He was not the victim of thieves.
Stifled gasps made Nicholas turn round. Other servants had now come to see what was happening and they were deeply shocked. Simon Chaloner was a regular and popular guest at the house but it was this last gruesome visit that would stick in their minds. Nicholas urged them to say nothing to Emilia, then sent most of them back into the house. The ostler stayed behind to guard the body while the book holder conducted a search of the front garden. The lantern failed to pick up the bloodstains on the grass but it clearly showed the route along which the body had been dragged.
Nicholas came to a verge in which eight hooves had gouged their autographs. Two horses had been spurred away from the spot only recently. They had galloped off in the direction of Greenwich Palace.
Two priorities existed. The murder had to be reported and-a far more difficult task-Emilia had to be informed of the death of the man she was betrothed to marry. Nicholas went back to the house. He told the ostler to let nobody near the corpse, then sent a manservant to fetch the local constable. Noises from inside the parlour told him that Emilia was protesting bitterly at being kept there without sufficient reason. When Nicholas went in, she was upbraiding the manservant for daring to give her orders in her own house. Anger faded to alarm when she saw the book holder’s grim expression.
The manservant left them alone and closed the door behind him. Nicholas conveyed the message with a glance. Emilia swallowed hard and her eyes filmed over.
‘Simon?’ He nodded. ‘Where is he? I must see him.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas, catching her as she tried to run past him. ‘It is better if you do not. There is nothing that you can do. His body lies at your door. Who put it there, we do not yet know. The constable is on his way.’
Emilia almost swooned. ‘Simon is dead?’
‘Shot through the head.’
‘Dear God!’
She collapsed in his arms and he helped her to a chair. Fate was cruel. Before she had even come to terms with one violent loss, another had been rudely visited upon her. A brother and a betrothed had been murdered. Emilia was in despair. Her life no longer had direction or meaning. There suddenly seemed to be no point in going on.
‘Simon was such a good man!’ she said. ‘A brave man.’
‘Perhaps too brave for his own good.’
‘I knew that he would do something too wild in the end. I stopped him a dozen times from riding off to confront Sir John Tarker on his own. I warned him this would happen.’
‘We do not know the precise details yet,’ reminded Nicholas, still with an arm around her. ‘We must not make a hasty judgement. I admit that suspicion points only one way but we must be certain of our evidence before we proceed.’
‘Why did Simon have to be killed?’
‘Because he got so close to the truth.’
‘When they tried before, he always fought them off.’
‘He was one man, they came in numbers.’
‘But why bring his body to lay at my door?’ she said.
‘Two reasons,’ he suggested. ‘First, it is a warning to us of what we may expect if we pursue our case against a certain person. Second…’ His voice trailed away.
‘Go on.’
‘That concerns you.’
‘In what way?’
‘Sir John Tarker-if this is indeed his work-is sending you a personal message. When he insulted you at this house, your brother was here to take your part and throw him out. Master Chaloner then offered you his strong arm to protect you.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘It is no longer there. That is the message-you are highly vulnerable.’
‘I am not afraid of him,’ she said, recapturing a little of her spirit. ‘He now has two murders to pay for and I will not rest until he has been brought down.’ Her voice cracked and her eyelids fluttered. ‘But what can one lone woman do against the power that he has at his command?’
‘Call on her friends.’
She looked at him with the most profound gratitude. A man who might well be ruing the day she ever came into his life was actually offering his service to her. Nicholas Bracewell was a rock in shifting sands. She had lost Simon Chaloner but there was still one source of strength to cling to her in her hour of need. Emilia reached up to place the lightest of kisses on his cheek. Nicholas was touched but she pulled back in embarrassment, as if unsure about the rightness of what she had just done. Grief battled with affection for a second, then she fell to sobbing again.
There was a knock on the door. Nicholas looked up.
‘Come in,’ he said.
Agnes entered and curtseyed. ‘The constable is here.’