Noah tossed the ledger inside, slammed the safe shut, and pushed the painting in place. He pulled off his spectacles and tossed them on the desk before hurrying to the door. “Julius, what the devil?” He closed the door and locked it.
His younger brother’s hands squeezed into fists then flexed out his fingers. Over and over, he did this. He couldn’t seem to speak.
Noah shook him by the upper arms. “Damn it,Julius.”
“Is it true?” he croaked out.
“Iswhattrue?” But that was all Noah could get out of him before a scream threatened the stone walls with the same force as his failed experiment. “Dear God, now what?”
Both he and Julius dashed for the door, but Noah had locked it. He grappled with the key before getting it turned and yanked the door back. In the entry hall, numerous guests spilled from every direction. All witness to Miss Wimbley’s slight, violently trembling body. The dark gown she’d worn the night before and to today’s service for his father was covered in dirt and bits of grass and leaves. Most striking was her pasty-white face. Her black gloves were saturated and her lily-white chest…
Covered in blood.
Her horrified gaze met his.
Noah strode forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He surveyed the crowd and found the source of the scream based on Lady Westbridge being lifted from the floor by Baron Ruskin. The older woman’s eyes fluttered open. “You,” she hissed, pointing a finger at Miss Wimbley, “are a menace.” She turned to her husband. “We are departing, Westbridge.Right this instant. Come along, Abra.” The woman marched up the stairs like a general. The surrounding spectators stirred, as if troops preparing for battle, and fell into line.
Lord Westbridge, to his credit, sent Miss Wimbley a telling glance perhaps touched with sympathy. But with too many curious bystanders, he offered nothing more and followed his wife. Notably, Noah was mollified to see, the marquess growled something at his wife, who stiffened with obvious outrage.
Halfway up, Westbridge turned back. “Abra.” The stern control was unmistakable and marked with a dark undertone. Miss Wimbley made a concerted effort to brace her spine, but Noah refused to release her. The only thing holding her up seemed to be her pride. And his support.
Abra had dashed over. She kissed her friend on her pale cheek. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll find a way to leave Pasha behind for you,” she whispered. She glanced at Noah then back to Miss Wimbley. “So you won’t be alone.”
Miss Wimbley’s lips took on a blue hue. Noah worried she would expire on the spot. “What happened?” he asked her.
“The footman. I-I can’t remember… His name escapes me.” The brittle rod of her spine threatened to crumble beneath his hold as aftershocks began overtaking her resolve. As a scientist, he knew of the earthquake phenomenon. He’d even visited the sight of the Comrie quake in Scotland that had usurped a dam near Stirling to breach. He’d been twenty-one at the time.
“Come.” He led her to the study. “You, too, Julius,” he called over his shoulder.
Sander followed as well.
Noah led her to the settee and Sander brought her a glass with two fingers of brandy.
Miss Wimbley shook her head. “No.”
“Drink it.” Sander spoke gently but quite firmly. “I’m afraid you have a long day ahead of you, Miss Wimbley.”
She raised her hand to take the glass, but it shook too violently.
Noah wrapped his fingers around hers and set the glass to her lips.
She sputtered and coughed, but the color slowly returned to her face.
“Now, tell us why you’re covered in blood.” Again, it was Sander who kept things matter-of-fact and on point.
The door opened quietly and Verda entered. She took one look at the situation and barked at Uncle Sander to quit hovering over Miss Wimbley.
Miss Wimbley glanced at Julius, who met her gaze with his chin raised. “I was in the forest alone and something frightened me. I ran and t-tripped.” Once more, the color drained from her face. “I fell on the footman. He was already… already… gone.”
Verda gasped and, Noah knew, all but Julius were taken back to that moment nineteen years ago when the wandering lunatic, Cracked Calvin, had been found dead. Bashed on the head with a rock.
“What are you saying, Miss Wimbley?” Sander spoke softly but sharp as a knife’s point that slid silently into its unsuspecting quarry.
Her head moved back and forth. Clearly stunned. Her lips moved, but nothing emerged.
“Where?” Sander bit out.
“In the forest. Near where I w-was s-sitting.” The words burst out on a sob.
