Capturing Sir Dunnicliffe (The Star Elite Series) (13 page)

Harriett remembered vividly the humiliation of being sick in a bucket while Hugo held her hair
back off her face. Of him witnessing her pain and discomfort, desperately asking her what he could do. She thought of the villagers witnessing her seeking the doctor’s help, and knew that most of the people she usually treated would probably never come near her again.

She looked at
Hugo, and saw the guilt clearly written on his face. “It’s all right, you did what you had to.” She couldn’t be mad at him.

“We nearly lost you,” Hugo muttered, his voice growing hoarse with emotions he simply couldn’t acknowledge.

“Was it the apple pie?”

“It looks that way,” Hugo replied. “I take it you don’t like apples any more either?” His gaze was rueful as he looked at her. Although she was still deathly pale, there was at least some of
the old spark back in her eyes. It went a long way to reassuring him that she really was going to be all right.

“They will certainly be off my menu for a while, I can
tell you,” Harriett replied fervently. “Do you think they were just bad apples?” she asked, thinking of the strange aftertaste and over-sour flavour.

“No
, it was definitely poison of some sort.”

Her eyes met and held Hugo
’s briefly, silently asking the question.

“I don’t know who it was yet
, Harriet, but I am going to find out,” Hugo said, pouring Harriett a drink and handing it to her, waiting while she emptied the cup and held it back out for a refill. “You need to eat something,” he added, pushing a piece of toast into her hand. He only took a seat beside the bed and began to eat when she began to nibble tentatively on the coarse bread. As casually as possible, to prevent her from trying to leave the bed again, he placed his booted feet on the covers at her hip, relieved when she didn’t seem to notice.

“I have sent for reinforcements,” he added, shooting her a stern look. “Some of the men from the Star Elite are on their way to help investigate. We will get to the bottom of it.”

“Do you think they were after me, or you?” Harriett asked, looking pointedly at Hugo’s arm. “How is your arm, by the way?”

“It bled a little yesterday, but Joshua, the doctor, took a look at it and applied another of your poultices to it. It’s heal
ing well.”

“The doctor applied one of my poulti
ces?” She lifted round eyes to him, not sure if she had heard correctly.

Hugo smiled at her. “It appears he has a lot of questions for you and wants to learn all about your amazing skills.”

She frowned at him, and studied him closely. Was he jesting? His knowing smile made her wonder if he was being entirely truthful, and she remained silent.

“So?”

“So, what?”

Harriett rolled her eyes, as though perplexed by the density of men. “So, do you think they
were trying to kill me or you?”

“I don’t know yet,”
Hugo answered truthfully, swallowing his mouthful of toast. “But I am going to find out. I also have a spy smuggler to capture, and need the help of my men if I have any hope of achieving anything.”

“Do you have a list of people who have been in contact with the pie?”

Hugo’s feet landed on the floor with a heavy thud, and he scowled at her sternly.

“
Wait a minute! You are not getting yourself involved in finding the culprit. That’s my job.” But his blood ran cold at the stubborn tilt of her chin. A small voice inside him reminded him that a battle was looming, when she turned to stare haughtily at him.

“Might I remind you that it was
I who nearly died?” Harriett snorted inelegantly.

“You are still recovering,” Hugo argued,
calculating the number of days he had to root out the culprit. With the help of the Star Elite, they should be able to uncover a rural backwater, would-be murderer relatively easily, certainly before Harriett was up and about. “My men and I can manage by ourselves.” His voice was cold and hard as he shot her a warning look, which she blithely ignored.

“I may be a bit weak physically, but mentally I can put as much into this as you can,” Harriett persisted.

This time, Hugo snorted before realising his big mistake. He watched her warily, noting the faintly peachy tinge to her complexion. Her beautiful green eyes were now shooting sparks of fury at him. With her hair cascading wildly around her shoulders, she was stunning, even if right now she wanted to gouge his eyes out.

“
I am not saying you are incapable, just that it is too dangerous.” Hugo lifted a hand to halt her objection. “You need to spend your time recovering, and thinking of anyone who may hold a grudge against you.”

“You mean, besides half of the village?” Harriett snapped, unwilling to be appeased so easily.

“From what I saw yesterday, the villagers are waiting to welcome you into their fold with open arms; you just need to relax a little around them and not be so defensive,” and he lapsed into silence, realising he had said too much when Harriett stared woodenly at him.

With a sigh he tossed his toast onto the small plate at his elbow and sat on the side of the bed,
taking Harriet’s hand in his much larger one. He knew that what he had to say, he needed to say there and then, not only to get it out of the way, but to give her time to think about things while she was recovering. Even if she was angrier with him afterward, he had to accept it in order to help her.

“I cause
d a stir, riding through the village with you unconscious in my arms, and clearly ill. I was too worried at the time to pay much attention to them but, by the time I arrived here, there was a large crowd of villagers following us.” His eyes met and held Harriett’s, his gaze solemnly. “Those villagers remained outside for most of the night, until Joshua sent them home, but even then some remained until the wee small hours, waiting for word of you. They were willing to do anything to help you. Someone is tending your gardens, someone else went to fetch your herbs and poultices, another man has secured your cottage, and several ladies have brought you flowers. Some villagers are still out there right now. Harriett, these people really want you to become one of them. They were genuinely worried for you, and even went so far as to send a boy to knock on the door every hour for updates on your condition. Whatever has happened in the past, you have to let it go. The people in the village now have nothing but respect and admiration for you. Look at Mrs Partridge; she was crying last night, for heaven’s sakes!”

Hugo shifted uncomfortably, knowing he had probably stepped over
some invisible boundary by commenting on something that was none of his business. But if there was one thing he could do before he left, it was make sure that she didn’t spend any more of her days alone and ostracised from society.

A tiny voice inside him asked if it would really
make leaving her any easier, but he quickly silenced it. He wasn’t the marrying kind and his future didn’t belong in the village, whatever emotions the woman in the bed roused in him. He’d been as close to terrified as he had ever been in his life while watching her retch and not be able to help. The idea of her dying had given him pause to consider life without her, and the possibility shook him far deeper than was wise. It made him realise that while his time with Harriett was precious, he had to leave - soon.

H
e was better off capturing the would-be murderer, helping Harriett take her rightful place amongst the villagers, before taking his leave and heading off to rejoin the Star Elite somewhere else. Until then he had to remember Harriett was a friend, nothing more, and keep his hands to himself.

“Hello
, Harriett,” Simon said, poking his head around the door. “I am so glad to see you are faring better.” He nodded briskly at Hugo as he entered and approached the bed.

Harriett
’s gaze flicked from her father to Hugo and back again. She knew instinctively that something had happened between the two men to make the atmosphere frosty, to say the least.

“What’s happened?” s
he asked, feeling the tension shimmering in the air between them.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked nonchalantly, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed.

“You two.” Her gaze swung from one man to the other, and back again. “You are like two dogs sizing up the same bone. What’s happened?”

Simon’s eyes met Hugo’s over the bed, his silence leaving Hugo with no option but to answer her.

“I questioned your father about the apple pie when he arrived last night and insisted he stays out of the investigation. I don’t want anyone at the Manor being aware that I will be investigating,” Hugo replied, knowing Harriett wouldn’t settle for anything except the absolute truth.

“So how are you going
to investigate?” Harriett asked when neither man made any attempt at conversation.

Hugo could feel Simon’s gaze on him and felt his hackles rise. Was the man guilty for his daughter’s near death? Could anyone poison their own daughter? He wasn’t certain
, but there were far more questions than answers and he couldn’t yet rule anyone out.

“Some of my colleagues from the Star Elite will help. There is not only the attempted murder to solve, but I also need to capture the spy smuggler.” He said the last with his gaze firmly locked on Simon, and noted the raised eyebrows of the man on the opposite side of the bed. His eyes met and held Simon’
s for several moments while he waited for Simon to ask questions, or probe for further details, and was perturbed when he made no attempt to do either. He didn’t look all that shocked either, either at Hugo going out to capture the spy smugglers, or the knowledge that the spy smugglers were in the area.

“So, now that Simon is here, he can tell us who came into contact with the pies,” Harriett said, breaking her gaze from Hugo’s and folding her hands on top of the crisp sheets.

She knew she couldn’t do much about capturing the spy smuggler; that she would definitely have to leave to Hugo. But she could take an active part in capturing the person who had added the poison to the pie.

“You are not going to get involved
, Harriett,” Hugo warned, his voice dropping in warning.

“If you don’t include me, I will just have to
find the poisoner myself,” Harriett snapped, unrepentant.

“Ha
rriett, you are in no condition-”

“Pha
h! I’m fine, just a little weak, that’s all.” She waved her hand dismissively.

Hugo rolled his eyes, and wondered if he should just tie her to the bedstead. Immediately his body responded to the thought and he quickly closed off the images that flashed through his mind at the prospect.

“Fine!” she huffed when Hugo made no attempt to answer her. “If you two would kindly leave, I need to get dressed.”

“Harriett
-” Hugo sighed.

“Out, please,” she persisted, pushing the covers back to sit on the edge of the bed. Besides being tired, and sore around her stomach, she felt
reasonably well, and wondered if her herbs were responsible for her not feeling too poorly after such a bad bout of illness.

Simon shifted
from his seat when Harriett made to stand, and hesitated, clearly unsure whether to offer her assistance or leave her to struggle.

“Al
l right!” Hugo half shouted. “You can help, but don’t do anything unless I say so, do you understand?” he asked, watching as Harriett sat back down on the bed. “Today, you just rest. Tomorrow I should hear something from my colleagues, so I can decide who is going to do what. Until then, Harriett, I want your absolute word of honour that you won’t go off and do anything rash.” His scowl was dark as he glared at her.

H
e would leave her to mull over the possibilities while safely tucked up in bed recuperating. He and his men would be the ones going out and about. He just couldn’t tell Harriett that. His arm was recovering well; the hole was already starting to harden over and had begun to itch fiercely, a sure sign it was on the mend. 

He flicked a warning look at Simon who wisely remained quiet
, and carefully resumed his seat once Harriett was back in bed.

“So who are the suspects?” Harriett asked.

Hugo rolled his eyes and shook his head, glaring across the bed at a smirking Simon.

“Simon, for one,” Hugo remarked, watching the smirk on the man’s face vanish. He turned his stare to Hugo, one brow raised in enquiry. “After all, it was his pie,” he added, watching the man closely for any reaction.

Simon twisted his lips in a rueful grimace and shrugged. “I suppose that does make me look guilty,” he admitted reluctantly. “But in my defence I will say that I adore Harriett, and would never do anything to harm her. I brought her the pie purely because I know she loves apple pie, and I thought she might enjoy it. I would never do anything to put her life at risk.”

Hugo wasn’t convinced. There were many questions he wanted to ask Simon, and fully intended to. Just as soon as Harriett was busy doing something else.

“Because it was Simon’s pie, although I don’t believe he would do it, we have Simon on the list of possible suspects,” Harriett added, shooting an apologetic look at Simon before turning to Hugo. “Who else?”

“Mrs Partridge,” Hugo added, thinking of the older lady who had helped Marion the previous night.

“Mrs Partridge?” Harriett stared at him aghast. “How can she be a suspect?”

“She doesn’t usually come to call on you in your cottage. Why did she call on that particular day? Did she have access to the pie while your back was turned or anything?”

Harriett frowned, thinking over the unusual visit. “She may have, when I was closing the door
and briefly when I turned to get some tea cups. The pies were on the table so were within arm’s reach.”

“It would have to have been quick though,” Simon a
dded. “If you were in the room, she couldn’t be caught with her finger in the pie, so to speak.”

“It just seems odd that she calls on the same day that you are poisoned,” Hugo surmised, thinking aloud. “That definitely makes her a suspect.”

“But she is ill,” Harriett protested. “She was still wheezing for heaven sake.”

“She managed to walk up the hill,” Hugo argued.

“The man who tried to kill you,” Harriett added, nodding at his wounded arm.

Hugo paused, and frowned. “Did you leave the pies anywhere on your journey
, Simon?”

Simon paused, and frowned
absently at the bedcovers while he thought about the day when he delivered the pies.

“No, I balanced the box on the saddle and had to ride carefully all the way from the Manor. I daren’t
dismount until I got to Harriett’s house in case I dropped the box. When I got to the cottage, I rested the box on the wall while I dismounted, but I was standing right beside it all the time. Nobody was around and could have had the opportunity to get to the box.”

“So, it
must have been tampered with either while in my cottage, or at the Manor,” Harriett surmised, her thoughts immediately turning to her stepsister.

“So it can’t be the assassin, unless he went to the Manor to do it
. He would have to have known I was in the cottage in order to poison the pies, and why just the apple pie? It is a tall order to go to somewhere unfamiliar and poison a random pie without the staff at the Manor knowing, and the right person eating the pie,” Hugo countered.

“Because they knew that I would eat the apple pie,” Harriett replied quietly.

“Romilla,” Simon said, his voice dropping in disdain, causing Hugo to raise his eyes and look at him enquiringly.

“Romilla is my step
daughter – my wife’s daughter. Thoroughly spoiled, and a bit of a brat. She also hates Harriett.” Simon shot his daughter an apologetic look for being so blunt.

“It’s al
l right. I know Romilla doesn’t like me,” she replied, smiling gently at him. “But does that make her a murderer?”

Simon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I have told her recently that I was bequeathing everything to you upon my death,”
and he flicked a glance at Hugo before turning back to his daughter. Although this was a private matter between him and his daughter, he wanted the man across the bed to understand just what Harriett meant to him. “I promised your mother I would look after you and I fully intend to keep my promise. You will inherit everything when I am gone; the Manor, my fortune; everything.”

Harriett winced. “You shouldn’t do that
, Simon–”

“You are my daughter; my own flesh and blood. I cannot conceive of leaving it to anyone else,” Simon declared flatly. “I don’t care what Romilla says or wants
- she isn’t mine. She has relatives of her own in Lancashire.”

“So why did she stay with you when your wife died?” Hugo asked, frowning at Simon.

“Because she doesn’t like her uncle, and at the time I was too busy-” he paused, glancing cautiously at Harriett. He didn’t want to add that he was too busy thinking about the ways he could re-establish contact with his estranged daughter to think about Romilla. He had never questioned why she had remained at the Manor rather than leave to live with her blood relatives when her mother died.

“Romilla doesn’t seem to like anybody,” Harriett added, mumbling an apology to her father.

“You are quite right, my dear. Romilla is spoilt and not a particularly nice person. But I am not sure even she would resort to murder.”

“But being left out of your will could make her vengeful and very dangerous. When did you tell her you changed your will?”

“A few days ago,” Simon said, staring in horror at Hugo as the realisation dawned that Romilla’s spite may well have run so deep that she would resort to murder.

“Have you changed your will yet?”

“Yes, yesterday.”

“Does Romilla know you were going to do it then?”

“No, I don’t think so. I didn’t tell her because it has nothing to do with her, and I am not in the habit of explaining to my stepdaughter what I am going to do. I have changed it, though,” Simon explained, frowning down at the floor. Had Romilla had the opportunity to go down to the kitchens to poison the pie? He made a mental note to ask Cook if Romilla had been anywhere near the kitchens on the day the pies were made.

“Who inherits if Harriett dies?” Hugo asked, casting an apologetic glance at Harriett.

“It is split up and passed on to my distant relations. Romilla doesn’t get anything. My original will doesn’t mention her, and as she is six and twenty, she has no right to receive any bequest.”

“So that leaves who? The spy smugglers, who may have hoped I would eat some of the pie eventually. Mrs Partridge, even if you ignore the fact that she had no reaso
n to want to kill Harriett. You Simon, and Romilla. Anyone else?” Hugo asked, casting Simon and Harriett a questioning glance.

“Can’t think of anyone,” Simon shook his head,
watching Harriett, who looked equally as blank.

“Me either.”

Hugo heaved a sigh.

“I’ll ask Mrs Partridge a few questions, see if I can get to the bottom of why she really came to see me yesterday,” Harriett said decisively, when everyone
had lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

“You will do no such thing,” Hugo snorted. “I mean it
, Harriett. You aren’t to do anything until my colleagues get here. I’ll apprise them of the situation and then we can decide what to do. They have been doing some more work on trying to locate the spy smugglers, and may have more detailed information that might shed new light on the matter. Until then, none of us,” his stern gaze included Simon, “are to do anything at all that will give any hint that we suspect anyone in particular.”

“Well, now that I know you are safe, I will take my leave. I take it you are going to remain here for a few days?” Simon asked, rising to move to the edge of the bed.

“No,” Harriett replied, shaking her head warily. “I am going home.”

“You need to stay here and recuperate a little,” Hugo argued, beginning to lose his patience with her stubborn
ness.

“I feel fine,
just a little weak, and a bit sore around the stomach. I have already had something to eat and that has settled. There is no reason for me to clutter up the doctor’s house.”

“You won’t be. H
arriett, you were seriously ill. You will not go anywhere for the next couple of days.” He held up a hand when Harriett took a breath to argue, and heaved a sigh of frustration. “You have terrified the locals enough, and will not scare them even further by walking through the streets looking as pale as you do. You need to recuperate and get some rest before you go anywhere.”

Harriett slumped back on the bed with a sigh of frustration. If she was honest, she was feeling far more tired than she should be for having spent the morning in bed. Smothering a yawn, she tucked her legs back under the sheets and lay back down with a sigh.

She jerked when Hugo appeared beside her and sat down on the bed.

“Promise me that you won’t take any risks, Harriett,” he murmured softly, easing a curl away from her face. “At the moment we don’t know who the pie was intended for. It could be me, but it could be you. Don’t do anything that can give them an opportunity to get at you again. I’ll check your food before you get it, so don’t eat any food gifts, or drink anything that tastes or smells strange.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Harriett replied, stunned by his tender concern. She had never expected him to show such affection for her.

Their eyes met and held as silence settled between them. She watched in amazement as Hugo lifted her hand in his and gently kissed the back of it, before placing it carefully back on the sheets.

“I’ll check on you later,” he promised, leaving a bemused Harriett watching him as he left.

He decided to take advantage of Harriett being incapacitated and do a bit of preliminary investigating. A quick check on the remnants of the pie was the place to begin, and he left the quiet of the doctor’s residence, said goodbye to Simon, and headed down the hill toward the harbour.

He briefly contemplated fetching his horse from the inn, but as it was a nice, sunny day,
he decided to walk instead and get a rough idea of the layout of the village. Besides, it was nice to enjoy the sunshine and the gentle sea breeze on his face.

Having
obtained Harriett’s key from one of the villagers earlier that morning, he took a circuitous route around the small house, arriving at the rear of the property. Cool green eyes scanned every nook, beneath every hedge and around every corner for any sign he was being followed, or under any threat, but he could detect nothing untoward.

Within minutes he was standing beside Harriett’s kitchen table. From the look of the place, some of the village wom
en had been very busy. Although the house hadn’t been dirty in the first place, it now positively glistened with polish. The strong scent of beeswax hung in the undisturbed air. A small vase of flowers sat in the middle of the table, waiting for the mistress to return. It had a homely feel that made him want to slip off his boots and take a seat.

Giving himself a mental shake, he walked to stand before the pie.
It was undisturbed except for the missing piece that Harriett had cut to eat. Rather than touch it with his fingers, he dipped his head and sniffed cautiously. He could smell the tangy scent of the apple, and something else that was vaguely earthy.

There was nothing else for it. Briefly touching the apple mix, he looked at the sticky apple and juice on his finger cautiously and sniffed it again before carefully tasting it with the
very tip of his tongue. A faintly bitter taste invaded his mouth and, with the memory of what had happened to Harriett still raw, he immediately spat the sticky mixture out. He could faintly taste the bitter aftertaste Harriett had reported, and knew now why she had been so poorly.

The earthy taste was distinctly like mushrooms. Hugo didn’t know much about cooking, but he did know that some mushrooms could be very dangerous, even lethal
, to the unsuspecting person who ate poisonous ones.

Unfortunately
, knowing what type of poison was used didn’t put him anywhere closer to finding the would-be killer. Anyone who knew a bit about mushrooms could have picked a poisonous one, and mashed it up enough to put some into the apple mix. All it would take was a quantity small enough to be invisible, but large enough to pose a significant problem to her health and wellbeing.

It also raised the question of how the mushroom – poison – could have been put into the pie while it was in Harriett’s house. Except for a small hole in the middle of the pie that had been made by Cook before it was baked, there was no clear way of getting a dose of poison into the pie without disturbing the pastry. Was that hole big enough to fit a small dose of poison in at speed? Harriett had taken a bite out of the narrowest end of the pie – exactly where he had tasted the poison. Curiously he dipped another finger into the apple mixture nearest the crust of the pastry and sniffed it. Again, he could smell the tangy apple. Heaving a sigh, he touched the mixture with his tongue but could detect nothing but apples. There was no earthy aftertaste.

Although it appeared that the poison had been added to the pie through the hole in the middle made by Cook, that didn’t mean the poisoner was the Cook, or Mrs Partridge and he was left no nearer to finding out just who the poisoner was.