A Death in Norfolk

Chapter Twelve

The hand was attached to nothing.

In fascinated horror, I drove the birds away and bent to study it. Cooper's? I did not know the man well enough to tell.

I scoured the ground around it, but I did not see the rest of the body. Only the hand, left behind.

In my stints in India, the Netherlands, Portugal, and Spain, I'd seen my share of dismembered corpses. Men missing limbs but still alive had crawled to me for help, leaving bloody bits of themselves behind in the mud. Others had died, their bodies scattered across the hot grass under the Spanish sun.

A lost hand held nowhere near the gruesomeness of those days. And still, it made me shiver.

I did not fancy carrying that hand back and laying it before James Denis, but I supposed I'd better. He'd know whether it was Cooper's.

I hunted in my pack until I found a bit of canvas. Using the end of my walking stick, I tipped the hand onto the canvas and folded the cloth over it, then wiped my walking stick on clean grass. I put the package back into the pack. The horse, scenting blood and dead flesh, moved uneasily.

I searched the area around the bloody patch as far as I could. I found the leavings of a campfire not far away, the ashes still warm. Whether Cooper's killer had built it, or Cooper himself, or a shepherd, or someone passing through, I could not judge.

But I found no more blood, no footprints, or anything to tell me who'd tied up the horse and why. Sheep grazed not far away, uninterested in me. Their wandering likely had trampled whatever evidence might have been left behind.

I returned to my horse and knew I'd never climb onto him out here in the flat. I untied the rope from the hook, caught the other horse, who was grazing by the stream, and led them both out of the marshes on foot.

My leg was aching by the time I reached the road. I had to walk back to Stifkey before I found a mounting block and finally got myself up into the saddle again. I sighed in relief as I eased my weight from my sore leg.

I led Lady Southwick's horse past the curious stares of the villagers and out the other side of Stifkey to make for Parson's Point. At the Parson's Point public house, I gave both horses to the hostler and went inside for a much-needed ale.

"You look all in, young master," Buckley said, drawing a tankard of bitter without me asking, and setting it on the table.

"I'm a bit elderly to be called the young master," I said.

"That's how I think of you. Always did. You and young Mr. Quinn were thick as thieves, laughing together and hiding from your dads in that corner over there. The young master and the vicar's nephew drinking yourselves sick and only fifteen years old."

"And you making sure we got home in our sorry states. You make it sound like happy days."

"They were happy, Captain. Before war and sorrow made you dark."

He had a point. But then, I remembered my youthful misery, my need to be anywhere but in this place.

I tried not to think of the gruesome thing I had in my pack in the stable, but I could not stop picturing how I'd found it-gray skin covered in blood, the birds pecking at it. Dark memories rose in my head, the noise and smell of battle seeming to come back to me. Fighting had been exciting and terrifying at the same time, my body pumping with exhilaration. And then afterward, the exhaustion, the wonder that I was still alive, the days I'd wanted to sleep for hours and not awaken.

"Captain? Are you well?" Buckley leaned on the table and peered at me in concern.

"Tired," I said. "I have much to do."

"Aye, and you're looking for that man what's disappeared. Hope he didn't come to grief."

I nearly laughed, and I covered it by taking a long drink. Though I'd told the others to keep our search quiet, I ought to have known that the news would travel quickly.

Terrance came in at that moment, but he shook his head as he sat down opposite me. "Nothing," he said.

Robert Buckley and the blacksmith's lad entered while Terrance was asking for his pint, with the same to report. I decided, at that moment, not to tell them about the hand. Not here, anyway.

"I hear you have a farm now, Robert," I said as we drank.

Robert brightened. "Aye. Fine bit of land. Better yield this year than last. Come to see it, if you have time. The wife would be honored if you did."

I was not certain what his wife would think, but Robert seemed eager to show off his luck. "I might do that," I said.

Robert nodded and took a pull of his pint.

We finished ales and went back out to search. I told the other three I'd take the western route this time, as I needed to return the horse to Lady Southwick's stables.

The hostler had fixed me with a better rope for Lady Southwick's horse, and he'd rubbed down the beast and given it hay and water. The horse looked better than I did.

The hostler helped me onto my horse, and I led Lady Southwick's along the road that would wind to the south of Blakeney. I decided to take this road, because the Lacey house lay on it as well, and I wanted to stop there.

I rode in through the gates I'd entered three days before, the weeds still in abundance. The house loomed out of the rain, imposing at a distance, even grand. As I drew closer, the ruin of the thing became more apparent.

I was surprised to see Grenville's landau stopped at the front door. The landau was empty, and Jackson was checking the harness. Grenville's groom came forward, unasked, and helped me dismount. I took my canvas-wrapped bundle from the pack, left the horses for the groom to look after, and went inside.

Denis's men were not there. They'd finished stripping my walls to bare stone, and a whiff of smoke from the garden told me they'd burned the rest of the debris.

Lucius Grenville stood on the stairs of the wide hall, with Lady Breckenridge a few steps above him. The two of them did not notice me come in, being too busy arguing.

"You are a pompous prig," Lady Breckenridge said clearly. "I tossed aside being obedient to a man the day after I took my wedding vows."

"It is not a question of obedience-" Grenville broke off his retort when he saw me standing below. "Lacey." He looked embarrassed. "I beg your pardon; we ought not to have barged in without your leave."

"It's raining," I said. I tucked my package more firmly under my arm. "I do not mind my friends running tame in my house, but I must wonder why you wish to."

Lady Breckenridge gripped the wrought-iron railing with a dove-gray leather glove. "I came to pry through your mother's sitting room for any clue to the gown and the takings from the church. Bartholomew told us that you'd been ordered to Denis's hunt and nothing else."

"And I came to encourage her to return to Oxfordshire as planned," Grenville said, his face still red. "Why, Lacey, did we take up with such blasted stubborn women?"

I looked at Lady Breckenridge as I answered. "Because they are more interesting than meek ones. Grenville is right. Please go to Oxfordshire and stay with your son."

"If you are concerned about threats from Mr. Denis, you know I am as safe from him here as I am there," Donata said.

"I know that, but I'd feel better if you were gone."

Something sparkled in her black-lashed eyes. "And the same day I decided to give up obedience, I vowed not to live to make others feel better."

She'd gazed at me as boldly the day I met her, when she'd handed me her cigarillo and then proceeded to trounce me thoroughly at billiards. She'd looked at me without shame then, and she did so now.

"For your own safety then," I said. "Please."

Her eyes were very dark blue in the dim light of the hall. She turned away, lifted her mauve and brown striped skirt, and walked on up the stairs. Neither of us went after her.

Grenville came down to meet me on the ground floor. "What are you doing back here, anyway, Lacey? We thought you'd be busy with Denis's search."

"Because this is the last place I saw Cooper. I wondered if I'd missed something." And, frankly, I was putting off reporting to Denis. "I assume the weather meant an end to Lady Southwick's shooting match?"

Grenville looked pained. "Not a bit of it. Lady Southwick was annoyed that she could not watch you pop at targets, but she made the rest of us capitulate. She regretted it soon, because Godwin almost winged her."

"Good Lord." I thought of Godwin and his bizarre, dandyish clothing. "What happened?"

"I am not certain, to be honest. Godwin lifted his pistol to shoot, we heard a bang, and Lady Southwick gave a yelp and fell. Godwin looked very confused. I could have sworn he fired down the range, but Lady Southwick had stepped off the terrace at just that moment, foolish woman. I thought she'd been hit, but the ball had missed her. Went right past the poor woman's nose. I found the bullet in an ornamental urn down the terrace. Lady Southwick decided we should find our own entertainment for the rest of the afternoon." Grenville dusted off his sleeves. "Lady Breckenridge insisted on coming here."

"There is a second reason I want her gone." I motioned for Grenville to follow me out of the house.

The wind nearly swept us from our feet as we walked onto the old terrace. Another storm was coming, and coming hard.

I pulled the canvas-wrapped bundle from under my arm. "This is thoroughly unpleasant."

Grenville looked curious. "What is it?"

"A man's hand. I do not have to show you."

"Good God." Grenville took a step back. "No, show me. Get it over with."

I gingerly unwrapped the canvas. The hand lay palm down, fingers blackened, fleshy part thoroughly pecked. It was a workingman's hand, blunt-fingered and callused.

Grenville tugged out a handkerchief and pressed it over his nose. "Highly unpleasant, I agree."

I wrapped the thing again and described how I'd found it.

Grenville dabbed his mouth and returned the handkerchief to his pocket. "I suppose, if the appendage belongs to Cooper, we can conclude that Cooper took the horse when you left it, rode out to the marsh, met an enemy, fought, and lost his hand in said fight. But where is the rest of him? Carted away? Or did he drag himself away?"

"If he'd gotten away from his enemy, he could not have gone far in such a state," I said. "Who knows what other injuries he sustained? Yet, no villager or farmer reports having a hurt man wander onto his fields or ask for help. And, if he did survive, why not return to Denis? Or make it to the nearest farm and send a message?"

"The enemy might have taken him away," Grenville said. "Killed him elsewhere. Not a good thought."

I looked across the open land to the copse and the gray curtain of rain coming toward us. "The trouble is, no one in these parts keeps things to themselves. Denis asked me not to let on that we were looking for Cooper, but everyone already knows it. If someone had seen Cooper being dragged or carted away-or even spied an unfamiliar face on the road-everyone for ten villages around would know. And someone would have told me."

"Unless Cooper's enemy was a local person," Grenville pointed out. "Someone so familiar he would not attract notice-if he were seen driving a cart down a road, this would not be unusual. The question is, why should a local man kill Cooper?"

"Many resent Denis taking over Easton's house and are not afraid to say so. I do not believe Denis understands how country people can close ranks. He is very much of the city. But why hurt Cooper and then keep it secret? If villagers wanted to drive Denis away, they would do so much more openly, I'd think."

"Possibly, unless it is a direct resentment neither of us can guess." Grenville looked up at the windows of my house, which were framed with heavy stone pediments. "I understand why you want Lady Breckenridge gone. A dangerous atmosphere. But you will have to persuade her. She will never listen to me."

"I believe you overestimate my influence," I said, smiling a little.

"Not at all. She respects you. She respects very few, not that I blame her. Treasure that."

I did. The fact that Donata Breckenridge was fond of me surprised me every day.

Behind us, Lady Breckenridge emerged from the house. "Are you finished with your secret discussion?" she asked. "I mentioned taking up the carpet in your mother's sitting room, if you remember. If you had done so, you'd have found this in a little niche under the floorboards."

She handed me a notebook. The curtain of rain I'd seen approaching took that moment to strike, and we hastened inside, my bundle again under my arm. Grenville propped the door closed against the wind, and I opened the notebook.

The light in the hall was too dim to show me much, but I saw enough. "This is my mother's," I said.

"I suspected so," Donata said. "I thought I should bring it to you before I pried into your family secrets."