Page 13 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

C aptain Michael Edgerton rested his hands on his hips, and uttered a curse.

He had examined the whole stretch of shrubbery edging the drive, no more than thirty feet or so, and found nothing — no lurking gunman, nothing but the acrid smell of gunpowder in the air.

There was a thirty foot drop over the wall behind the shrubs to the void below, and not so much as a patch of grass or bush to break a man’s fall.

He could not have escaped that way. But nor could he have run down the drive, for it was wide open and clearly visible, lit by lines of torches.

“Anything?” Lucas Atherton, Bertram’s brother, had been the first to help in the search.

“Not a thing. He has vanished into thin air.”

“Let me look.”

Lucas went over the ground in the same way as Michael, slowly and methodically, shifting aside every bush to look at the ground. The light was dim with deep shadows, but the lines of torches along the drive cast enough light to show that no gunman was lurking in the shrubbery.

Eustace Atherton came up just then. “I wish I had not stayed inside with Miss Wilkes,” he said ruefully. “Another pair of eyes might have seen something.”

“It is not another pair of eyes we need, it is ideas for how the fellow managed to disappear so completely,” Michael said.

“Are you quite sure this was the place? Might the shot have come from the castle… an upper window, perhaps?” Eustace said.

Michael frowned, pondering. It was an interesting point.

Kent Atherton ran up to them bearing a torch, his usually smiling face solemn. “Any sign of him?”

“None,” Michael said, gazing up at the windows, assessing the likelihood of a shot from there. “He has vanished.”

“What about the gun?” Kent said. “Have you looked for it?”

“He would have taken it away with him, surely?” Lucas said.

Kent shook his head. “Not necessarily. He must have been in a great rush to get away, so he may have just tossed it into a bush. Lucas, hold the torch, will you, while I look?”

“No, no, let me,” Eustace said. “Those silk knee breeches will be ruined if you crawl around in the dirt out here. At least I am wearing black.”

For some time, Eustace crawled about under bushes. Eventually, he gave a yell. “There! Kent, hold the torch a little lower. Ha! Got it!”

He rose triumphantly, waving a pistol.

“Well done!” Michael said. “Hmm, a fairly nondescript affair. What do you make of it, sir?”

“Is it one of yours, Eustace?” Kent said, to general laughter.

“Oh yes, I brought one of my own pistols and then tried to shoot my own cousin with it, did I?” Eustace said, laughing too. “This is a naval pistol, I would say, but not one I recognise.”

“Perhaps it is from the castle collection?” Michael suggested. “I do not recognise it either, but you would know the collection better than I do.”

“There are none of this type in the Armoury,” Eustace said. “I know the family collection intimately, and I have never seen this pistol. Well, there is not much more we can do now. We have the weapon, but the fellow has got clean away. We should see to the ladies inside.”

“I should still like to know just how he got away,” Michael said. “Unlikely he was firing from inside the castle, since his shot would have to cross the full width of the moat and hit a narrow target in relative darkness. If Bertram Atherton was even the intended target.”

“Who else?” Eustace said. “Miss Franklyn, perhaps?”

“I will talk to everyone tomorrow,” Michael said pensively. “There must be a reason for this. It was such an audacious act, the gunman must have been desperate, yet I can see no reason for an attack on anyone here tonight.”

“Is it connected to Nicholson’s murder?” Kent said.

Michael heaved an exasperated sigh. “It must be and yet… how can it possibly be? There is something here that I do not yet understand.”

Lucas was prowling round the bushes, looking over the wall at the void below, frowning. “Eustace, Kent, what is below this shrubbery, do you remember? It is not the stables, they are further round. It must be store rooms of some sort.”

“The apple store, maybe?” Eustace said. “Cheese? What has that to do with anything?”

“I wondered if it might be one of the coal stores, for they have access hatches above so the coal merchant can tip the stuff straight in.”

“You think someone clambered over a pile of coal and out through a trap door?” Eustace said. “Not very likely.”

“I only ask because we used to play in them as boys, do you remember? When one of them was empty, obviously, but on the back wall there was a ladder up to the hatch.”

“The coal stores are on the other side of the castle, I think,” Eustace said. “No, I am sure. Opposite the armoury tower.”

“But they used to be on this side,” Kent said excitedly.

“Do you not remember, Eustace? Mama had them moved, and new hatches made, because she was entertaining someone important — the bishop, I think — in the library, and there were the coal merchants huffing and puffing about outside and not very careful about their language.”

He began to stamp about, trying to find a solid surface under the layer of earth and fallen leaves.

Eustace looked startled. “Ha! I had forgotten that! But surely the hatches would not still be usable?”

“Mr Franklyn’s cane might be useful here,” Lucas said, running off to find him.

The two soon hurried back, and Mr Franklyn prodded the ground methodically with his cane.

It was not long before there was a solid thunk.

Michael was instantly down on his knees, clearing away dirt and debris several inches deep, to uncover a wooden trap door.

A metal ring was set into it to raise it, but it would not shift.

“Bolted shut below, I imagine,” Michael said, “but in any case, this has not been used tonight, or for some time. But there will be—”

Mr Franklyn gave a shout. “Here! Another one, not covered with earth.”

It was tucked away under a bush and thus almost completely hidden, but it lifted easily. Down below, a light burned, showing a solid metal ladder leading downwards.

“There is our answer,” Michael said grimly. “The villain came up here, took his shot, then vanished again.”

Instantly he was over the edge, and climbing swiftly down the ladder.

An overpowering smell of cheese assailed his nostrils, so it was not a surprise when he reached the bottom to find himself surrounded by racks of cheeses.

One empty shelf bore a candelabrum, still burning strongly.

Passing the cheese racks, Michael reached the outer door, opened it and stepped outside.

Looking up, he saw several faces peering over the wall at him.

“Cheese store!” he called up, before looking round for the nearest door into the castle, directly below the bridge. The stable yard door, locked only last thing at night. Very convenient.

But so risky! He had called it an audacious act, but it was almost reckless.

With the castle full of guests, the servants moving about here and there, the possibility of being seen at any moment, yet the gunman had calmly left the party, gone down to the basement, across the yard and into the cheese store, then climbed up to take his shot before returning the same way to rejoin the party.

Which led to an inescapable truth — he was still there now. One of those in the castle at that very moment had just tried to kill a man.

But who was it?

***

O livia could not stop weeping. If only Mama were there to hug her — there was no one like Mama for bringing comfort to the darkest hour.

Tess would weep with her, and listen, even if with only half an ear, for Tess was always more interested in her own concerns.

Even Izzy would at least understand, and would rant and rage about the room, which was comfort of a different sort.

But poor Papa had not the least idea how to deal with a distressed female. No man was properly sympathetic. Walter would roll his eyes and pass her a handkerchief, Eustace would creep away as soon as he could, and Kent would tell her to pull herself together.

Instead, she had Bea Franklyn as her only source of comfort, and who would ever have predicted that?

Bertram was even now reclining on a sofa in Papa’s study, with Aunt Jane at his side, the two most solid footmen outside the only door and Captain Edgerton’s Scottish colleague prowling around restlessly.

Most of the other guests had gone home except for the Franklyns, and now they and the family had gone in to dinner as if nothing at all had happened.

How could they possibly eat? Even Aunt Alice had said calmly, “We all need to restore our composure and dinner will do as well as anything else.”

Not for Olivia, and not for Bea, either, so the two of them sat side by side on a chaise longue in the library, weeping steadily, and awaiting the arrival of the surgeon from Birchall.

Suppose the marquess had been there? Surely he would be suitably compassionate towards a poor girl who had had a very trying time of it. And Osborn would probably tease her out of it. That was a more interesting train of thought which cheered her a little… a very little.

Mrs Edgerton came in just then. She had not gone off to eat lobster patties, all unconcerned. She brought dry handkerchiefs, and then poured wine for Olivia and Bea.

“I have ordered a tray of food to be brought in here for you,” she said.

“I know you do not feel like eating, but if you can manage a few morsels and a little wine, it will do you all the good in the world. Miss Franklyn, I am sure the surgeon will confirm that Mr Bertram’s wound is very small.

The bullet passed directly through his shoulder and out again, so once the surgeon has cleaned it properly and ensured that no fragments of cloth are embedded in it, he will make a very rapid recovery, you will see.

The wedding may even be able to go ahead on the day you planned, or not very long after. ”