Rhys Bowen - The Twelve Clues of Christmas

“Darcy and I will keep watch,” I said. “We’ll pretend to be having our own private tryst and not necessarily keep up with the rest of you.”

The inspector looked at me sharply. “I don’t want you exposing yourself to any danger either. By this time he might well be feeling desperate, especially if he senses that we’re on to him. And he might be armed.”

“Darcy will look after me,” I said. “He’s been in worse situations than this.”

“Has he?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked interested. “We always wondered what he did with himself. What does he do, exactly?”

“He won’t tell me,” I replied with a smile.

The sound of voices could be heard in the hallway outside. Lady Hawse-Gorzley looked around. “My husband,” she said in a hiss to us. “He is not to know anything about this. I absolutely forbid it.”

At that second Sir Oswald strode into the room. “So that damned twittery woman was really an actress all along, was she? Well, I never. Had us all fooled. And harboring an escaped convict too. Hope they catch the pair of them. Coming here and eating my food!” He stomped across the room, scattering mud from his boots. “I know what I’d like to do with them—feed ’em to my pigs. That’s what I’d do.”

“Now, don’t upset yourself, Oswald,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “And we have the inspector here.”

“What?” He stared at Inspector Newcombe as if he’d just seen him for the first time. “How do you do,” he said brusquely. “Damned funny business.”

I took my cue and led Darcy away down the hall to tell him what had been proposed. He wasn’t at all happy about it. “I don’t know if I want you exposed out there. If either of them suspects you had something to do with their being discovered, he might take a potshot at you too. Or she might. Who knows whether she’s the mastermind behind this.”

“But if Lady Hawse-Gorzley is willing to risk her own life, I can hardly not do my part, can I?” I said. “After all, Geordie Lachan Rannoch followed Bonnie Prince Charlie into battle. I can’t let the side down.”

“What happened to Geordie Lachan Rannoch?” he asked with an expression of amused tenderness.

“He was hacked to pieces, unfortunately, but that’s not the point.”

“The point is that the Rannochs should have learned a little sense since then.”

“You’ll be there to keep an eye on me.”

“I’m tempted to make you wear a saucepan lid inside your coat, in case someone shoots at you.”

“Well, everyone is going to be carrying pots and pans, so I don’t see why not.” And we both laughed, a trifle nervously.

But the day seemed to stretch on endlessly. The other guests felt it too, although they were not apprised of what might happen that evening. We dined well. Lady Hawse-Gorzley served leg of pork, with the most wonderful crackling, sage and onion stuffing, baked onions, roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, and apple pie to follow. We lingered over coffee and liqueurs and afterward let off the last few indoor fireworks. Then around eleven we put on coats, hats, scarves and gloves and we all trooped down the driveway, each of us armed with a saucepan or lid and a wooden spoon to beat on it. Others were already assembling on the village green. The first thing I noticed was how hard it was to recognize anybody under all that outerwear. They might all be policemen or one of them might be Robbins. He was a big chap. That’s all I knew. And I took heart in the fact that those assembled seemed to know each other.

More and more people came to join us and I spotted Inspector Newcombe, wearing a red balaclava and matching red scarf. Then the publican came out of the Hag and Hounds.

“People of Tiddleton-under-Lovey, the time has come,” he announced. “I charge you all to rid this place of ghosts and ghouls, of witches and warlocks, of all manner of enchanted folk who would do us harm.” He gave a mighty beat on a big gong. In reply came a barrage of sound from the crowd. Saucepan lids were crashed together. Spoons beat on pots and a great cry rose from the crowd. It was an eerie sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A sound that belonged to another age and time. If I’d been an evil spirit, I’d have vanished then and there. I hoped Robbins would take the hint if he was anywhere around. I searched the crowd but saw nothing unusual.

Then the crowd launched into a chant of sorts. I couldn’t make out the words and decided that it must be in an old, long-forgotten tongue—Old Cornish, maybe. We were close to the Cornish border. In its way it was as unsettling as the cry had been. We set off, chanting, dancing, banging our noisemakers, first through one house and then another. Darcy and I deliberately hung back and watched Lady Hawse-Gorzley and Inspector Newcombe go ahead of us. We moved across to the cottages on the other side of the green. My mother and grandfather were standing at the door, smiling as everyone trooped inside and then out again. I noticed that Miss Prendergast’s cottage was avoided. Perhaps everybody sensed that true evil still lurked in there.

Through the vicarage and then on to the cottages on the other side of the village. Nothing strange happened and I began to believe Robbins had really fled. Then up the driveway to Gorzley Hall. In through the front door, around the foyer and out again, while the servants stood on the stairs, laughing and clapping along. We waited by the front door as the first revelers came out again and began their long trek back down the drive.

I noticed Willum’s startling red hat as he lumbered down the side of the column, nodding and dancing in his clumsy way, like a giant in a child’s fairy tale. Then suddenly it hit me. I ran and grabbed the inspector.

“That’s not Willum, it’s Robbins,” I shouted. “Willum’s in bed with a cold.”

The inspector didn’t waste a second. “That’s him, men. Get him.”

At those words the fake Willum drew out a gun and fired directly at Lady Hawse-Gorzley. She stumbled and fell as he took off into the darkness. The noise of the crowd turned to howls as they pursued him.

“Go and get help from the hall,” I shouted amid the chaos. I dropped to my knees beside Lady Hawse-Gorzley. “And summon a doctor.”

Darcy took off back to the hall.

Lady Hawse-Gorzley grabbed my hand. “I’m all right. Help me up.” She attempted to stand but couldn’t quite manage it. “The impudence. Thank God I’m wearing my old sheepskin coat. The hide’s thick enough to stop any bullet.”

I opened the top buttons on the coat and saw that the white fleece around the shoulder was black with blood. “You’re bleeding badly. Just lie still until help comes from the hall.”

“Funny,” she said, “I don’t feel a thing.” And then she fainted.

Chapter 40

AROUND LOVEY TOR

NEW YEAR’S EVE

I looked up nervously as feet ran across the gravel toward us. But they had come to help Lady Hawse-Gorzley. Then she was being picked up and carried back up the drive. I followed behind, feeling sick and scared. In spite of everything, we hadn’t managed to protect her. Surely she wasn’t going to die, was she? I’d grown rather fond of her during these twelve days at her house. I just hoped they’d caught Robbins by now and that he would hang.

Suddenly I felt alone and exposed in the darkness and quickened my pace to catch up. I gasped and spun around as someone grabbed my arm. Wild Sal was standing beside me. “Come on, miss, quick,” she said. “That woman—the bad one. She’s getting away. She’s heading for the moor.”