The Scent of Murder (13 page)

‘What are you going to do with that?’ she asked when she had finished her report.

He put the bullet on the table, pointed end up, and stared at it for a moment, resting his chin on his palm.

‘I’m thinking that perhaps I can practise some of what the gunsmith has taught me.’

Pike put the bullet back into his pocket and leaned back in his chair. ‘But first I’ll visit the Uckfield police station tomorrow and have a talk with Sergeant Berry.’

‘You won’t be visiting the Hall?’ Dody popped a slice of apple and some cheese into her mouth. It was a treat to have such a simple, unadorned meal. She hadn’t eaten fruit since she had been at the Hall and the few vegetables she’d had there had been soggy and overcooked.

‘Not yet, not if I can help it. I’d rather Fitzgibbon forgot he ever met me,’ Pike said.

‘Highly unlikely, I’m afraid, Matthew. The man seems unduly interested in everything I do. I’m sure you have been pasted permanently into his mind.’

‘I noticed how he looked at you in the restaurant,’ Pike said quietly, examining his tankard of mead.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked with a hint of the coquette.

He looked her levelly in the eye. ‘It means I think it’s about time your chaperoning duties were brought to an end.’ From the next room, the thundering sound of a skittle ball reached them.

Dody frowned. Pike’s tone suggested he wasn’t teasing. ‘That sounds suspiciously like an order, Chief Inspector.’

‘More a suggestion to which I would advise you pay heed. That man is dangerous to women. I don’t like the idea of you and Florence staying there.’

‘You can say that after only one meeting?’

Pike threw back his head and downed the last of his mead. ‘Call it policeman’s intuition.’

‘But my stay at the Hall has finally become interesting. I’m not turning tail now. I need to know what happened to that girl. Besides, there’s also a chance I can assist Lady Fitzgibbon in improving the lot of the inmates in the local workhouse. I don’t like the sound of how it’s run and I might be able to help bring about some changes — medically, anyway. I’ve got two weeks left of my holidays and I want to do something useful.’

A drunk settled on the bench seat opposite them, unlaced his boots and held his stockinged feet to the fire.

Pike leaned towards him and scowled. ‘Must you? There is a lady present.’

‘This ain’t no place for ladies. Ladies got no right to be in ’ere,’ the man said, showing a row of brown, peg-like teeth.

He was right, of course. The public bar was off-limits for ladies. It was amazing that Dody had been allowed entry in the first place. She hadn’t given it a thought when she had first arrived. The only thing on her mind had been to follow the sound of the music.

She could tell her mention of Sir Desmond’s interest in her had put Pike’s hackles up. Normally so well mannered, he continued to glare at the shoeless man. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves. She drained her mead, rose from her chair and adjusted the scarf around her head, counting on Pike to follow her as she vacated the public bar. They met at the bottom of some narrow stairs; there was no one else about. ‘Room 3,’ he whispered and gave her the key. ‘I’ll join you directly.’

It was warm in the livery stable and the air was sweet with hay and horse sweat. ‘I’ve hired this horse and a trap for the duration of my stay,’ Pike said, running his hand slowly down the neck of a sturdy chestnut mare. Only minutes ago he had been stroking Dody’s hair in a similar fashion, but blowed if she would be jealous of a horse.

Pike had an affinity with horses. He had been in a cavalry regiment, and one of the things he’d told her he’d missed most since his knee injury was his ability to ride. Last year she had persuaded him, with great difficulty, to have the operation that had restored much of his knee’s function, and it could now bend in the stirrup with barely any discomfort.

He led the mare outside, hitched her to a covered trap and helped Dody onto the seat. The trap offered some protection from the driving rain, though a cold wind still scythed through its open sides as they splashed down the village High Street.

It was a dark night, the moon and stars obliterated by heavy cloud, and it took some time for their eyes to adjust. Pike turned off the road, taking a sunken path towards the manor. Dody gave directions as she jolted against him. Soon they came upon the squat silhouette of St Crispin’s Church, a darker shadow among lighter ones, looking no different from a monolith of pagan stone.

She opened her ears to the sounds of the night. Leaves whispered around them like a chorus of trembling voices; small rocks growled beneath the wheels of the trap. For a moment she almost believed she could hear the murdered girl crying out, begging them to restore her stolen name. She must be one of thousands buried in the earth around these parts, all with their own tale to tell of war, disease, murder or pagan sacrifice.

Dody leaned into Pike’s side. Maybe the girl’s killer was out and about under these same stormy skies, listening to the same voices of the night, the secret he carried crushing him with guilt; or maybe he was at this very moment sitting by his fireside, staring at the flames, the events of years ago nothing to him but a careless accident, best forgotten. Unless killing defenceless young girls was a habit of his. If that were so, was there more than one faceless victim out there, dumped in the ground by him and begging for recognition?

On Dody’s urging, Pike reined the trap to a halt. They listened to the rushing of the nearby river, which they could not see, and breathed in the damp, earthy smells of the wood. She pointed out the ice house, now nothing but an incongruous bump among the trees, explaining that it was where she had first examined the bones.

Pike burrowed his head into her neck. Goosebumps swept up her skin. She fought the desire to arch her back like a cat; this was not the time or place. He must have thought the same, for he straightened up with a sigh, clicked his tongue and set the trap moving again.

Soon the mare’s hooves were crunching on the gravel carriageway. The night was too miserable, it seemed, even for the ghostly black dog. Pike stopped the trap about a hundred yards from the stables and tied the horse to a fence post, and they proceeded the rest of the way on foot, stopping just before they reached the arc of the stable-yard lights.

Standing in the rain, they embraced. Pike removed his gloves, cupped Dody’s cold cheeks in his warm hands and kissed her tenderly. ‘Good night, my darling. Sleep well, and tomorrow evening we will meet again, God willing.’

He disappeared into the darkness, back hunched against the stabbing rain, hands rammed into his pockets. Damp and chilled, Dody hurried toward the rear of the Hall, the rumbling of the trap fading into the night. She would use the shelter of the stable walkway to take her at least part of the way to the Hall’s back entrance.

There wasn’t a soul about. No lights shone in the grooms’ quarters above the barn, and only a few in the Hall itself. Annie had been instructed to leave the tradesmen’s door open and Dody had promised to lock it behind her so no one would be the wiser about her nocturnal wanderings. The horse’s bite to her shoulder had been a godsend, providing her with a legitimate excuse to avoid dinner. She’d apologised to Lady Fitzgibbon, citing the need for an early night and some analgesia. Meanwhile, Florence had been bribing the taciturn groom to drive Dody in secret to the public house.

She passed the tack room, where saddles, bridles and bins of equipment were stored.

Then she started.

Something had dropped at her feet. A cat. It rubbed its cheek against her skirt and pulled away when it felt how wet it was.

‘Clever cat,’ Dody whispered. She was about to stride on when a light sputtered to life from the tack room, dazzling her. ‘Mr Philips, is that you?’ she called out.

‘Who? What?’ called a blustery voice. ‘Doctor McCleland? God-in-heaven, I could have shot you, woman! What are you doing about on such a night?’

Dody put her hand up to shield her eyes. ‘Sir Desmond, you frightened me. I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.’

He was swaying on his feet. His first attempt at hooking the lantern’s handle over a nail on the wall failed. He succeeded on the second attempt and turned, a shotgun moving unsteadily in his hands.

‘Perhaps you could put the shotgun down now, sir,’ she said, quite discomfitted.

‘My apologies. Of course.’ He leaned the gun against a heavy iron wood-bin standing near an unlit combustion stove.

‘Thank you.’

‘Some filthy swine has been stealing my feed and gear. I like to come out myself every now and then, on patrol, if you will. Can’t trust the layabouts who work for me,’ he slurred.

‘I will see you in the morning then, Sir Desmond.’ Dody turned away. She had only taken two steps when his hand shot out and he grabbed her by the arm. ‘Yes?’ she said, trying not to flinch as the fumes of strong liquor engulfed her.

‘I missed you at dinner, m’dear. How is the shoulder feeling?’ He brought his hand up and gently touched her sore shoulder, letting it linger there. ‘You’re like ice. Your clothes are soaking wet.’

His look was one that any woman would recognise. A shiver scampered up Dody’s spine. ‘Remove your hand please, sir.’

He left his hand where it was, as if he had not heard her. The glare of the gas lanterns had narrowed his eyes to nothing but slits in his chubby face, but their gleam was still disturbingly visible. His gaze slid to her chest, fortunately well covered by her sodden cape. ‘Philips keeps liniment somewhere in here for the horses. I’ll see if I can find some for you,’ he said, making no move to leave her.

Through clenched teeth she said, ‘Please take your hands off me.’ She attempted to shrug herself free. Sir Desmond moved his hand down her arm and tightened his grip, and suddenly he was pushing himself against her, shoving her back against the tack-room wall.

‘Need warming, do you, missy?’ The tone of the convivial drunk had vanished, replaced by one of menace. ‘Out for a walk, my foot. You were meeting that policeman, weren’t you? I knew he was your fancy man the moment I laid eyes on you together in the restaurant. When I made enquiries, the waiter confirmed my suspicions. I trust
Mr
and
Mrs
Pike enjoyed their meal?’

Dody’s heart pounded. So it had come to this. Well, why was she surprised? She had read the warning signals from him, as had Pike after only one meeting, and she had chosen to brush off Pike’s warning. She should have known there was more to Sir Desmond than the upper-crust fool his outward manner suggested. All it took was an overabundance of drink to release the demons.

‘If you don’t let go of me, I’ll scream—’

He slapped a huge hand over her mouth. ‘Not quite the straight-laced little virgin you make yourself out to be, eh? I’ll warrant you enjoy a romp in the hay as much as any slut. As for screaming, I don’t expect you have screamed in your life.’

She sank her teeth into the meaty part of his hand. He yelled an obscenity and cuffed her hard around the head. The room tilted. She fell against something, hit her head, and sank to the ground in blackness.

On waking she found her mouth gagged, his heavy weight pressing against her. Her cape was undone and her skirt and petticoats were bunched at her knees. Still concussed, it took her a moment to understand what was happening. When she did, fear gripped her like a madness. No lunatic ever fought harder against their restraints. She kicked and she bucked, lashed, twisted and gouged any part of him she could reach, the breath leaving her body in agonised rasps. Death was surely preferable to what he had planned for her.

‘Hold still and it will be pleasurable for both of us,’ he growled, struggling to constrain her.

He grabbed both her wrists in one of his enormous hands and stretched her arms above her head. The cold stone floor pressed into the bones of her back, and pieces of straw pricked her skin. Her cries for help through the gag were reduced to little more than wounded animal moans and whimpers.

He licked her ear, forcing his tongue down the canal, and left behind a cold, slippery trail when he withdrew it. The smell of his hair oil made her retch. She willed the rising bile to stay where it belonged, fearful of choking on her own vomit. His free hand pushed up her blouse. When it found what it was looking for, his fingers gripped her nipple like pincers.

‘No corset. What an easy woman you are,’ he breathed, nibbling at her neck.

Her head felt as if it were split in two. She must have caught it on the sharp edge of the wood-bin. Bolts of light flashed before her eyes. Put up with it just a little bit longer and your moment will come, she tried to reassure herself. But how much of this could she endure? His hand burrowed beneath her skirt and chemise, tore at her drawers and fumbled for her sex. Shame swallowed her, engulfing and complete.

With her last ounce of will power, she forced herself to relax. If she could do that, so would he. She eased the tension in her legs and, fighting against every instinct, made herself open them.

He stroked the hair from her face. ‘That’s my girl,’ he breathed. ‘I knew you would eventually comply, that you would not be able to help yourself. It will be worth your while, I promise you.’

Her moment came when he eased off her to unbutton his trousers. Dody brought her knee up and slammed it into his testicles. He toppled off her with a roar of pain. She sprang to her feet, lunged for the shotgun and feinted towards him.

‘Wait, Doctor,’ he panted from the floor, one hand over his groin, the other over his eyes as if to screen off his own approaching death. ‘D-don’t shoot,’ he stammered. ‘My sincere apologies. It was the liquor, you know; I wasn’t thinking straight. I assumed you were more free with your favours than you obviously are. I thought you might be amenable to a little …’

Dody ripped the gag from her mouth — his handkerchief, she discovered — and used it to swipe at the blood trickling into her eyes. ‘Did I look like I was being amenable?’ she shouted, throwing the handkerchief to the ground, her body trembling as if from fever. Heaven help her if she were to lose consciousness again.