Scandalous. Part 10

"Mr. Wolfe, really...I think you overestimate your importance to these men, as well as their vigilance. Do you honestly think they are out there right now, hiding behind some bush or other, spying on our house?"

He shrugged. "It's possible."

"I think you are starting at shadows, Mr. Wolfe. If they were watching the front of the house, they could not see us leave by the back, which is the way we go to get to that path. Besides, I don't think they even come out by day. It is my guess that they are night creatures. That was when they came yesterday, and it seems much more suited to their way. Secretive and dark. Someone walking down the road or going into the garden might see them in the day. Besides, they have to rest sometime, if they're running about the countryside at night, chasing people and breaking into houses."

"I am not starting at shadows, as you say," he replied grimly. "You may be right that they are not out there watching the house. I don't know where they are or what they are doing. But I can hardly risk your safety on what I don't know."

"Then how do you propose to find this shack that you think will jog your memory? Sitting here wis.h.i.+ng will hardly make it appear."

He flushed a little. "I am well aware of that, Miss Hamilton. I had no intention of staying here. I am merely saying that I will find the shack on my own. You will stay here."

Priscilla rolled her eyes. "Of course. That makes perfect sense. You, who are a foreigner and know nothing of this place, will go roaming about, trying to find something, whilst I, who was born and reared right here at Evermere Cottage, will sit at home and twiddle my thumbs."

He grimaced, recognizing the validity of her remarks, much as he disliked the thought of exposing her to danger.

Priscilla, seeing his indecision, pressed on. "Besides, you will be along for protection, will you not?" She cast a mock-innocent glance up at his face. "Or do you think you could not protect me?"

"You minx," he retorted, without heat. "Yes, in the normal course of things, I can protect you. But I'd feel a h.e.l.l of a lot more confident if I had my gun."

"Your gun?"

He looked at her, his eyebrows rising as he caught her meaning. "I did say that, didn't I? My gun." He considered the thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. But I do feel as if I own one. Now, what it looks like, I have no idea-no picture comes to mind at the words."

"You sound as if you are indeed from the West. Perhaps you are a gunslinger."

"A gunslinger traveling through England? Sounds a bit unlikely."

"So does being hit over the head and imprisoned in a hut."

"You have me there." He grinned at her.

Priscilla gazed coolly back at him. "Well, shall we go, or do you plan to stay?

"All right, my dear Miss Hamilton, I concede. We shall find this thicket together."

She got her bonnet from the hall tree, where John was pleased to find a stout blackthorn walking stick. He weighed it consideringly in his hand and decided that it would do well enough for a weapon. Whistling cheerfully, stick in hand, he followed her through the house and out the kitchen door.

They wound their way through the garden and pa.s.sed the small building where Florian conducted his experiments. It still smelled disconcertingly of sulfur. In only a few more yards, they came upon a barely discernible path. Priscilla turned confidently to the right and set out with a brisk stride. Her companion walked along just behind her, his eyes continually scanning the landscape around them.

Before long, they reached the thicket. John glanced around, saying, "It seemed to take much longer the other night."

"I am sure so. You were exhausted and sick."

They walked along beside the thicket for a while, and even when the path turned toward the left, they continued to follow the line of the thicket. "I wish I was more sure of the time it took." He slowed, looking all around him. "I think it was about here somewhere. I came out of the trees, and there was a small clearing, with these bushes on the far side. "This looks like it might be the place."

He headed across the small clearing to the trees beyond, walking uncertainly back and forth. Finally he let out a low cry. "I think I came out here. Look."

Priscilla hurried toward him and looked at the trunk of the birch tree, where he was pointing. A brownish smear decorated its white trunk.

"I remember leaning against a tree, listening for their pursuit. This is blood. Remember the scratches on my arms and shoulders? I must have gotten blood on the bark when I leaned against it."

"Good. Then...straight ahead?"

"Let's try it."

They moved through the trees, looking for other signs of John's precipitate dash through the area the other night, but they found nothing else. After an hour's fruitless search, they moved northward for a while, then angled back toward where they had entered, hoping to find another mark, or something that looked familiar to John. They continued in this way, tracking out from the marked tree like spokes in a wheel, but finally gave up when it became too dark, as it did early in the woods. They headed home in the twilight, agreeing to start again the next morning.

THERE WAS NO INTERRUPTION from their midnight visitors that night, though Priscilla lay awake for a long time, worrying about them. Despite the short sleep, she woke up early the following morning, excited by the continuing search and the possibility of solving John Wolfe's mystery-or at least part of it. She hurried through her dressing routine and breakfast, and skipped the morning's writing. The lure of a real adventure was far too strong to allow her to spend her day at a desk writing about an imaginary one.

They tramped along the path they had taken the day before, John cheerfully whistling and twirling the walking stick he held in one hand. Priscilla smiled, glancing at him, and said, "You seem well on your way to recovery."

"What? Oh. Yes, I am. Except for an occasional headache, I feel up to full strength." He grinned sideways at her. "Between your doctoring and Mrs. Smithson's food, I have recovered nicely." He nodded toward the picnic basket he carried. "Though I do think I could do with a little less of Mrs. Smithson's cooking today. It feels like she packed a roast in here."

Priscilla chuckled. "Mrs. Smithson believes in eating heartily. She's been thrilled to have you here. 'Someone who eats like a man, not like a bird,'" she said imitating the cook's low, accented voice.

"Is that what makes her like me-my appet.i.te? Here I thought it was my charm."

"That, too," Priscilla a.s.sured him gravely. "She likes to be flirted with."

They reached the marked tree, and John set the food basket on a rock in the shade to wait while they explored farther. They struck out again, altering their course a little each time, as they had the day before. But this time, as they walked along, off to one side Priscilla noticed a small tree branch, broken and dangling, at about the height of Wolfe's chest.

"Look at this," she cried softly, going over to it, and Wolfe followed.

He lifted the branch and considered it. "It certainly looks as if something-or someone-barged through here." He glanced around. "It doesn't seem familiar. But these woods look so much the same. The only thing I remember that was unusual was a downward slope that led to a stream. I splashed through that. Well, let's veer off in this direction, then."

Priscilla marked the tree with a piece of yarn she had brought, taken from Miss Pennybaker's knitting bag. They had decided this morning that it would be wise for them to mark their trail today, in order to keep from getting lost or retracing their own steps. They continued to walk, going deeper and deeper into the woods.

"I wish we had Gid or Alec with us," Priscilla remarked, sighing, as they stopped once again and surveyed their surroundings. "They know these woods better than anyone. They always used to play in them. Maybe we should tell Alec the truth and get his help."

John shook his head. He was strangely reluctant to seek Alec's aid. It was related, he thought, to that unaccustomed spurt of jealousy he had experienced upon watching Alec's easy interaction with Priscilla, but he did not like to think about that. "We will find it eventually."

Priscilla shrugged and sat down on a large, moss-cus.h.i.+oned rock. "It wasn't far from here, you know, where they found Rose."

"Who?" He looked at her, puzzled, then his face cleared. "Oh, you mean the girl in your story? The one who was murdered by the heir?"

Priscilla nodded. "It was over in that direction. I'll show you."

She stood and began walking through the trees, curving around a rise in the ground. The ground sloped downward to a small clearing. Light filtered through the leaves, and vines surrounding the clearing, making it dim even in broad daylight and tinted faintly with green. A rock, half covered with lichen, formed a barrier on one side of the little glade, and the trees spreading over the clearing reminded one of a ceiling. But instead of seeming snug, the enclosed area, utterly silent, had an eerie quality to it.

Wolfe's eyebrow rose and he turned toward Priscilla. "This is it?"

Priscilla nodded, unable to suppress a s.h.i.+ver. "Yes. It seems a perfect spot for a murder, doesn't it?"

"But hardly what one would choose for a trysting place since it would be black as the pits of h.e.l.l in here at night."

Involuntarily Priscilla looked behind her.

He grinned. "That is what I mean."

"Well, it is not what I would choose, certainly," Priscilla agreed. "But then, I don't suppose either of them was terribly sensitive to atmosphere. And it was far away from prying eyes. The sort of place where they would not be discovered."

"It's a wonder they ever discovered her body."

"He probably hoped for that. But she had told one of her girlfriends, apparently, that they met in Lady's Woods, which narrowed it down to this area."

He looked around him again, shaking his head. "It's a lonely place, that's for sure." He started to turn away, holding out his hand to her. "Come. Let's get out of here."

Priscilla slipped her hand in his, as naturally as if it belonged there, and they left the clearing. He turned to the left, holding up a branch for them to pa.s.s under. Priscilla started to point out that they were heading in the wrong direction, but something about the intent expression on his face stopped her.

"I hear water," he said, stopping and listening.

"Yes. There is a small brook over there." She pointed ahead of him and to the left.

He looked down at her. "I crossed a stream when I escaped."

"There's more than one. You remember, we came upon another this morning."

"Yes, but it wasn't right. It was too sunny, too open."

He strode in the direction of the water, and a few moments later they emerged at the edge of a brook. It ran clearly over mossy stones, and beyond it the land sloped upward slightly, thick with trees.

"This is more like the one I remember." He looked up and down the stream, frowning.

"The woods thin out in that direction," Priscilla noted. "Why don't we walk down this way?"

They did so, crossing the stream when they came to a natural bridge of stepping-stones. They continued to walk in the same direction the brook flowed, stopping to rest in a larger, more open clearing, where they sat upon a fallen tree trunk. They walked for a few more minutes after that, then Wolfe stopped suddenly.

"I think this is it. This looks familiar-that big rock there, with all the moss. I think I crossed right below it."

They hurried forward, and there, beside the mossy rock at the edge of the stream, was a footprint in the mud.

"Barefoot," Priscilla said excitedly, looking at him. "And large."

"The size of my foot," he agreed, and his eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Come on."

He hurried up the incline, towing her along as he followed the footprints until they disappeared in the leaves. They crested the rise, where the trees grew less thickly.

"There!" His voice was quick with excitement. "I went around that thick stand of trees. I wanted speed more than secrecy."

Priscilla squeezed his hand, excitement pounding through her, as well, and they hurried forward. They skirted the trees, and there, off to the right, ahead of them, stood a small brown hut. Priscilla started toward it, but Wolfe stopped, holding her back.

"Wait," he said in a low voice. "It's possible they might be here."

They stepped back into the cover of a low-hanging tree, and Wolfe scanned the area carefully. They waited, hearing and seeing nothing but the twittering of birds and the occasion rustle of an animal among the trees. Wolfe started forward quietly, pus.h.i.+ng Priscilla behind him protectively. She gave him a poke in the back hard enough to make him grunt and moved around to his side again.

He gave her a sideways glance of irritation but did not try to make her follow safely behind him again. The hut and the land around it showed no signs of habitation as they approached, and they sped up as they came closer. With a final look around at the woods surrounding them, John reached out and pulled open the door. They peered inside.

The hut was quite small, barely long enough for a man of John's height to lie down in, and not tall enough for him to stand unless he was a little stooped over. It was dim inside, the only light provided by cracks between the boards and an occasional knothole; there was no window. The floor was hard-packed earth, and there was absolutely nothing inside the shack. But, despite the weathered look of the boards, it was solid and well put together. With the door barred from the outside, it would have been impossible for even a strong man to pound his way out of it.

"Oh, John!" Priscilla exclaimed feelingly. "You must have gone crazy in here."

"Just about," he agreed, eyeing the place with disfavor. "It is not a place I would want to visit again." He walked in, stooping over, and moved carefully around the small room, checking out the walls and floor. "There's nothing here," he said in disgust. "Not even a b.u.t.ton or a piece of paper." He sighed and left the shack. "Not a clue as to who I am."

"Perhaps there is something out there," Priscilla suggested, making a wide gesture that encompa.s.sed all the trees around them.

"Perhaps," he agreed, though without much enthusiasm.

They began to circle the shack, moving in ever-larger orbits as they searched for anything unusual. There were a few scuffed footprints, this time obviously shod, but that told them little except the size of the men's feet.

Priscilla glanced to the side and stopped abruptly. "John! Look."

She pointed to a spot beneath a tree several feet away, where a small mound of freshly turned earth lay, darker than the land around it and rising in a hump.

"Something is buried there."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THEY HURRIED TO THE SMALL MOUND and dropped down on their knees beside it. The mound looked very much like a grave, except that it was far too short to be that of a person, only three feet in length and less in width.

"This has been dug recently," John said positively.

"I suppose someone could have buried an animal here."

"Why would anyone come all the way out here to bury an animal? Or who, walking through the woods and finding a dead creature, would have stopped to bury it? No, I don't think it's an animal."

He began to shove the earth away with his hands, then stopped and looked around for a better tool. He picked up a flattish rock to use, but paused and turned it from side to side.

"Look at this. I think someone's used it for the exact same thing. There's earth clinging to it on this end. I would say that means burying this was a hasty thing."

He began to dig. The earth was soft and moist, and the flat, wide surface of the rock made it a good tool. It was not long before the rock struck something besides earth.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," John said as he scooped dirt away in a wider area. "It isn't hard."

Priscilla joined him in scooping away the dirt, careless of her nails and hands. She was almost as caught up in the excitement of the moment as he was. Quickly the surface of the buried object emerged.

"It-it's leather," Priscilla said, puzzlement tinging her voice.

John plunged his hands into the hole, pulling and tugging, and the thing s.h.i.+fted and pulled free. It was a large brown leather bag.

"It's a traveling bag!" she exclaimed, and looked wide-eyed at John. "Is it yours, do you think?"