Smuggler's Glory (22 page)

Francesca considered that for a moment. Did she really want
to see her friend in death? Something inside her quaked at the
thought. It sounded cold and callous, but she really couldn’t bring
herself to go outside, into the biting winds, and study the empty
body of her companion. Even to say goodbye. She simply couldn’t do
it.

“
Where are you taking her?”

“
Archie is going to arrange burial for her in Launceston. We
have contacts in the right places that won’t ask too many
questions. When all of this is over, I’ll take you there so you
know where she is. She will be close enough for you to go and visit
her grave whenever you want.”

“
But I just can’t go and attend her funeral?” Francesca asked
incredulously.

Simon
didn’t want to explain the various steps they would take to lose
anyone that was following. For all intents and purposes a cart,
loaded with hay and straw would go to Bodmin. Nobody needed to know
that on the way, the cart would take several circuitous routes,
double back numerous times and finally arrive at a different
location many hours later. The right people would then be informed
and the body quietly removed and stored. When the cart had left,
the body would be buried under the cover of dark, in a quiet corner
of the most isolated graveyard they could find.

“
I’m sorry, Francesca, I wish it could be
different.”

For some
reason Francesca felt inordinately angry. Not only at Simon for the
ridiculous need to be so secretive about everything that happened
around him, but at the man who had the audacity to invade her
personal space. She even felt anger toward Madeline for changing so
much during the course of their acquaintance that Francesca was
left wondering if she really knew the woman at all. She struggled
with the wild urge to kick something, thump someone, to scream and
rant and rave at anyone and anything.

Instead
she flopped back on the bed and stared blankly at the canopy above
her.

“
I can’t see her,” she finally admitted, refusing to look at
him. “Just take her.” With that, she rolled over, curling into a
tight ball. She sensed Simon studying her but refused to look at
him, or even acknowledge his presence, and drew the covers up to
her ears instead to block out the sound of him leaving. It was some
time before he quietly left the bedroom, closing the door behind
him with a quiet click.

As far
as she was concerned, he could keep his secrets and take them with
him when he left. A small voice inside her warned her that she
didn’t really mean it, but she refused to listen. The anger gave
her something to focus on, something to think about other than the
growing ache in her chest that refused to budge.

Only a
few short weeks ago, she had briefly considered she was in control
of her future. That she was a woman who was, for once, answerable
to nobody. A woman who was financially secure enough to decide what
she wanted to do and when. Now? Now she knew that if her family got
wind of the fact that she was living alone; if the villagers found
out she was living in such a huge place all by herself, or even
worse, Mr Lindsay uncovered her solitary occupancy of Thistledown,
they would all descend upon her like flies on a piece of
meat.

She lay
for some time beneath the covers, refusing to face the world. That
is, until the loud rumbling of her stomach answered the gentle waft
of toast emanating from the kitchen, driving her to leave the safe
confines of her bed. She splashed cold water into the bowl on her
dresser and set about her ablutions, changing her clothing for a
pale blue walking dress after only the briefest hesitation over her
black clothes. To wear black so blatantly would only raise
questions if anyone from the village happened to catch sight of
her.

Minutes
later she quietly entered the kitchen, pausing just inside the door
to study the almost domestic scene before her. Pie was seated
before the fire polishing his boots. Bertie was at the fire,
stirring a pot of what smelled like broth. Her gaze landed on the
all too familiar sight of Simon sitting at the table, poring over
yesterday’s broadsheet obtained while he was at Launceston. It was
Simon who seemed to sense her presence.

He
glanced up and immediately lurched from his seat, moving toward her
with a frown of concern on his face.

“
Francesca, you’re up. How do you feel now?” he whispered,
absorbing the reassuring sight of her dressed and looking more
restored. Sometime during the morning she seemed to have gotten
herself under tight control and now stood before him almost
defiantly. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not, at the
sight of the slightly militant look in her eyes.

“
I’m fine, thank you. Much better now that I have rested,” she
replied, giving Bertie a gentle smile as she approached the fire
and savoured the delicious aroma coming from the pots.

“
Good to see you back, my dear,” Bertie said gently, nodding at
her with almost fatherly pride.

Francesca gave him a ghost of a smile in return and nodded
kindly at Pie as she moved to stand before the kitchen window. From
her position she could see the well, and the location of Madeline’s
murder. She shuddered to think what she would have done if she
hadn’t bumped into Simon outside of the kitchen door and had
instead run to the well. She would have fallen over Madeline’s
body.

“
What did you find out about her?” Francesca asked, aware of
the silence that fell over the room at her question.

Simon
could feel Pie’s look and Bertie’s anxious shuffling beside her.
Although he couldn’t see any reason to lie, he didn’t see any need
for Francesca to know just how bad her friend’s life had
got.

“
She had an acquaintance who was a brute,” he replied
cautiously, trying his hardest to sound as casual as possible. He
could only hope she wouldn’t sense his hesitation and demand to
know what he wasn’t telling her.

“
Mr Lindsay?”

Simon’s
brows shot skyward. “How did you know?”

“
Something about the way she behaved when he had left the other
night,” Francesca replied. She had thought long and hard about
Madeline’s defensive anger. At the time she had misread the banging
of the pots and pans as temper; disgust with Francesca for her
rudeness. But now that she came to think about it, although she may
not have acknowledged it at the time, she had seen the fear in
Madeline’s eyes when Mr Lindsay had departed. “She was scared of
him.”

“
She had good reason to be. He was a bully. From what we can
gather she appeared in his life with debts, and left those debts
with him when she suddenly disappeared a few months
ago.”

“
Had she been to debtors’ jail?” Her heart lurched at the
thought of her friend being confined in such squalid
conditions.

“
Yes. We don’t know if they had any prior acquaintance prior to
her going to jail, but our friend Mr Lindsay paid for her release.
There are a few weeks we cannot explain, but we do know she
reappeared in time to accompany you here.”

“
Do you think Mr Lindsay sent her here because he wants the
house?”

Simon
nodded slowly. “I think that may very well be the case.” He was
pleased that Francesca had set aside her grief and was intelligent
enough to be able to think carefully through the facts in search of
the truth.

“
The other day when I was attacked by Charlie and Tom,” she
turned to meet Simon’s direct gaze, pleading with him not to keep
secrets for once, or lie to her, “They thought I was her, didn’t
they?”

“
I think so. They may have been paid by Mr Lindsay to frighten
her into carrying out hte task she was here to do, I don’t know.
But given your hair colouring at the time, it was easy for them to
mistake you for Madeline.”

“
They weren’t trying to molest me or anything, they were trying
to take me with them,” Francesca declared softly.

“
I think they may have been paid by Mr Lindsay to get her back.
When they failed, they tacked a warning to the kitchen door that
was intended for her.”

“
The harbinger of death,” Francesca sighed, looking at him
sadly. “It was a forewarning that her life was at risk if she
didn’t co-operate.”

“
I think so, yes.” Simon was more than happy to keep discussing
the events with her. She was so calm and controlled though, that it
was slightly unnerving to see her so detached from everything. It
was as though she had closed off, and simply refused to acknowledge
the grief.

“
But why? What would he need to send her here for?”

She had
clearly been giving this a lot of thought and had the intelligence
to read the situation for what it was. For some reason, it made him
want to be as honest with her as possible.

“
She may have been sent to Thistledown to find something only
we don’t know what. There has certainly been someone searching
various parts of this house whenever the opportunity arises. Was it
Madeline?” Simon sighed and shook his head. “I think we may have to
consider that she was sent here to find Thistledown’s deeds of
ownership.”

“
But why does he want Thistledown Manor so desperately? It
seems a lot of trouble to purchase an almost derelict house in the
middle of nowhere.”

“
I don’t know, sweetheart, that is something we need to find
out,” Simon sighed, watching Bertie spoon broth into bowls for them
all. “We do know now though that the tin mine across the valley was
sold by your uncle several months before he died. The owner is
someone from London who himself died shortly after the purchase. My
associate is trying to locate the inheritor as we speak, but I
think we can be fairly certain that it isn’t Mr Lindsay.” He didn’t
add that the sale of the tin mine could have coincided with
Francesca’s uncle’s strange behaviour during her last visit to
Thistledown. Had he been trying to protect her from threat by
selling it? Lost in thought, he began to slice the loaf of bread
they had purchased yesterday and motioned for her to take a seat
beside him. She made no protest at being ordered around in her own
home, merely sat down and did as she was told, savouring the warm
meaty flavour of the broth with a soft moan.

They ate
in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, feelings
and suspicions. When the bowls were cleared away, Francesca stared
down at the scarred table top, aware of Simon’s close scrutiny. She
looked at him and waited.

“
When you disturbed the intruder in your bedroom yesterday,” he
began, reluctantly to bring forward fearful memories, “Did he seem
familiar to you at all?”

“
No, he is definitely someone I haven’t seen
before.”

“
Was he local?”

“
I don’t know, I’m sorry. I don’t think so.”

“
What was he doing in your room?”

“
He was searching through the drawer of the table beside my
bed.”

“
So he may have been looking for something small, like deeds or
something equally small?”

Francesca paused and considered that for a moment. She hadn’t
thought about what the man might have been looking for, she was
still struggling with the notion that he had invaded her house in
the first place.

“
It must have been, otherwise why would he have been looking in
what is probably the smallest drawer in my bedroom?”

“
What could it be?”

“
Do you think that Mr Lindsay is after Thistledown Manor at
all?”

“
I think he is, yes. For some reason he considers it valuable.
Until we find out what he is after, don’t take any chances and
certainly don’t run out into the night again,” he warned darkly. “I
take it the deeds are in a safe place?”

“
You mean not in my bedside table?” Francesca asked ruefully.
“They are with my solicitors in London.”

“
Do you have any valuable items that you are aware of? Any
items of jewellery, the odd valuable painting, or anything of the
kind?” Pie asked hopefully.

Francesca shook her head. “Sorry.”

Simon
nodded, grateful that at least one problem had been solved
relatively easily. He had awoken a few times in the night in the
strong grip of fear at the thought of what could have happened to
her if he hadn’t arrived home when he did. Although he hadn’t said
anything to her, she didn’t need to know, but Madeline was still
warm when she was found, indicating that the murderer had only just
left. That left Simon to face the very real possibility that the
man Francesca had found in her bedroom, was the same person who had
killed Madeline.

“
Have you finished the inventory now?” Simon asked, several
minutes later.

Francesca nodded and looked at him.

“
Would you mind if I took a look at your lists?”

“
Of course not,” Francesca said, pushing away from the table
and leaving the room. She could have told him where he could find
it and left him to go and collect it, but she had the strong urge
to get away from his close scrutiny, even if it was only for a few
brief minutes.

Collecting the large roll of papers, she dropped them onto
the table before him before resuming her seat. She couldn’t see
what use they could be. They had no idea what the man had been
looking for and, as far as she could tell, there was nothing on the
lists that stood out as unusual in any way. The only items that
were listed were various ornaments, pots and paraphernalia that
people usually accumulated throughout their lifetime.