A Death in Norfolk

Chapter Eleven

I was out of my seat and lunging over the table at him before the hard hands of the lackey shoved me back down in the chair. I understood now why Denis had asked in particular for a man who'd once beaten me into unconsciousness to bring me in here today.

I held my walking stick in a hard grip. "If you touch any of them," I said. "I will kill you."

Denis sat back, hands flat on the table. "At last, I have raised a spark of interest in you. Have I your attention now, Captain?"

Sitting here, I realized my folly at softening toward Denis even a little. Grenville, usually more generous than me, had been right, and I had grown complacent.

Denis had helped me in a number of situations, it was true, but he'd done it for his own purposes. I'd known that, even as I'd accepted his assistance, but I'd let myself imagine him interested in my problems. Pride can make a man an idiot. Meanwhile, I'd given him plenty of time to gather information about everyone I knew and cared about.

"I was right when I first met you," I said. "I called you filth."

"Because you believed me to be a procurer."

"Because you use others without regard. I decided you had no honor or decency. I was right."

The chill returned to Denis's demeanor. "Honor and decency are for the highborn. I do what I need to. As do you, so do not become highhanded. My demands have not changed. You will stay here and help me find Cooper, and your friends will be left in peace."

I still clutched my walking stick, but quelled the urge to bash him with it. "If I agree, I do so for my own reasons. Not because you threaten me."

"I do not give a damn why you decide what you decide. I simply want you to do it."

I sat in silence, trying to calm my anger. I did not want the anger to go away entirely, but I needed it to lessen so I could think clearly.

"You cannot stop me from searching for Cooper as I see fit," I said. "That means I speak to the local people and consult with Grenville. He is a clearheaded thinker. You chased him away from the scene of the murder, but I would like his opinion."

"Use Mr. Grenville by all means. And your manservant. But do not involve your magistrate friends; or Mr. Pomeroy, your favorite Bow Street Runner; or the local parish constables. I will not have them find Cooper only to arrest him for crimes he committed in the past."

"I agree that this would be unfortunate," I said.

Denis gave me a sharp look, but he let my remark pass. "If you are finished with your repast, I wish you to begin at once. I will make arrangements to have your things brought here."

I gave up. "Happily, my baggage is light."

I wiped my mouth again, pushed back my chair, and made my way from the room, my hand very tight on the walking stick. The lackey stood back and let me go.

I was still angry when I rode away from Easton's. I knew that one day I'd make it across whatever barrier Denis put between myself and him and punch Denis in the face before anyone could stop me. I looked forward to that day.

A thorough search for Cooper would take more than one man, whatever Denis thought. I could not be his lone bloodhound. I rode to Blakeney and sought Terrance Quinn.

He was not happy to see me. Terrance scowled at me outside the blacksmith's forge where I ran him to ground. He'd come to have a kettle repaired for his mother's cook, and he was displeased that I'd caught him running such a menial errand.

I made certain we were out of earshot of the blacksmith and his apprentice and asked for his help.

"Who is it that's gone missing?" Terrance asked.

"He works for a friend, and my friend is worried that this man might have become lost or hurt."

Terrance's scowl deepened. "Cease lying to me, Lacey. Who is he?"

I conceded. "He works for James Denis-the man who took over Easton's house."

"I knew you had something to do with that."

"Very little, I assure you. Denis bought the house years ago, when I was still in Spain. I'll thank you not to blame me for everything that's gone wrong in Norfolk since we've been away."

"A funny way you have of asking for a chap's help."

"I beg your pardon. I am not in the best of moods. I need to find this man and find him quickly, for my sake as well as his. Will you help or not?"

Terrance gave me a grudging nod. "I'll help. If he's a city man, he could have gotten himself into any number of scrapes. Fools believe they can survive anywhere."

"Can you round up a few trustworthy men to help us? I do not want a hue and cry after him; we need him found, but quietly."

"I do understand, Lacey. I've asked about this Mr. Denis, and the little I could discover is that he is unsavory. He does not like magistrates and constables in his business."

"Exactly."

Terrance looked at me more in curiosity than anger. "Why don't you chuck him?"

"Reporting him to the magistrates would not help, because he has most of them in his pocket. Look what he did to Easton, who was magistrate for this parish."

"I mean, why don't you kill him?" Terrance ducked into the forge, retrieved the cooled pot the blacksmith gave him, and balanced against its weight by tilting his torso to his armless side. "If he's as bad as I think he is, put a gun to his head and pull the trigger."

"I have thought of it," I said. "But I refuse to hang for him."

Terrance gave me a sharp look. "You'd hang if you thought it necessary. I remember you well, Lacey, and I doubt you've changed."

I fell into step with him, but I did not bother offering to help him carry the pot. He'd grow enraged if I did. "You could be right about that," I said.

Terrance could ride a horse if someone boosted him onto it. He'd learned how to loop the reins together and guide the horse one-handed, a modification of a technique I'd used when I'd had to ride and fight at the same time.

Terrance recruited the blacksmith's apprentice and Robert Buckley, son of the publican from Parson's Point, who'd married the woman with a farm. I'd borrowed a map of the area from Denis, and now I assigned portions for each man to search. We'd meet at the pub in Parson's Point every two hours and discuss what we'd found.

Clouds had blown in from over the North Sea, and they lowered and threatened rain. I pulled my coat closer and rode along the coast road, the blustery weather not assuaging my anger.

Donata and Grenville would be rising now and breakfasting, wondering between them where I'd got to this time. Matthias would tell them, Bartholomew having informed him when Denis's man came to fetch him.

Would my friends be angry at me for allowing Denis to ensnare me? Or somehow try to extricate me? I wanted Donata on the road to Oxfordshire, hang the weather. I knew that Denis could reach out for Lady Breckenridge any time he wanted to, but I'd feel better if she resided at her father's house and not here. Her father was a powerful man that even Denis might think twice about harassing.

I passed through Morston, Parson's Point, and Stifkey, and the ruins of a Roman camp. I'd played among the silent, grassy mounds as a boy, pretending I was a soldier fighting the barbaric might of Boadicea and her army. Glorious days, I'd thought. That was before I'd discovered that war was mostly blood, mud, and arguing against the stupid decisions of men who stayed warm and dry in their tents while sending me and my soldiers out to certain slaughter.

After the camp, I turned north to search the marshes.

The edge of the marshes marked where the sea could wash at the highest tides. It was low tide at the moment, and the sands stretched beyond the marshes far into the sea. The land wasn't completely dry-pools glimmered in the gray light, now spattered with rain.

Though my errand was dire, I let myself be entranced with the beauty of the place. I'd met plenty who thought Norfolk flat, wet, and dull, but that was because they didn't take time to have a proper look. The contrast of sea, sky, grasses, dunes, rivers, farmlands, and villages combined to create a pleasing splendor. It was no accident that artists liked to paint here.

I knew that beauty could hide darkness, however. Small farms were full of lonely people who fought amongst themselves and with their neighbors, bad weather meant famine, and the stream of soldiers returning from the war meant more mouths to feed. Many soldiers had nothing to return to, or had been badly injured. In a world where anything less than a whole man was regarded with suspicion, these soldiers, like Terrance, struggled to find their place again.

But out here, where wind and sky met marsh grasses and water, I could clear the cobwebs from my mind, and remember the joy of it. It was cold, and I'd grown to dislike cold, but here it seemed bearable, unlike in my cramped rooms in Grimpen Lane in London.

I crossed a sheep bridge in the middle of the marsh, and there found Lady Southwick's horse. The horse's halter rope looked as though it had been caught in mud and knotted grass, tethering the beast. Dark birds flapped around it, ready to wait for it to starve and die.

The horse jerked its head when it saw me approach, giving me a heartrending neigh. I did not want to dismount, because I always had a hell of a time getting back on a horse by myself, so I rode as close as I could and looked down at the rope.

The rope hadn't tangled. A few stout beams had been driven into the ground here, as though someone had started to build something then given up. The horse had been tied to a thick hook in one of the beams.

I leaned over and untied the rope at the halter, freeing the horse's head. The poor thing took a few running steps to the stream I'd just crossed, lowered its head, and began to drink.

I had rope in my pack, which I could use to lead away the horse without having to dismount. As I twisted around to drag it from the back of my saddle, I saw, on the other side of the beams, a nasty quantity of red.

Nothing for it. I swung my good leg over the horse and slid to the ground. I hobbled back to the posts.

More than the horse had caught the interest of the carrion birds. Blood coated the grasses, and a lone human hand lay upturned to the rain-soaked sky.