Julian and Melissa rose.
Before they could move, Felix, white-faced, disheveled, and with his right hand clamped to his left shoulder, came staggering into view on the terrace.
Ulysses yelped encouragingly, and Felix stumbled to the open doors and all but fell through.
Already striding down the room, Julian leapt to catch his brother and steady him. “What the devil happened?”
As he steered Felix to the nearest armchair, through gritted teeth, Felix gasped, “Get me a drink—something strong.” He fell into the chair.
Julian straightened, took in Felix’s white face, and his own expression turning grim, headed for the tantalus.
Melissa bent over Felix and reached for his right hand. “Let me see.” Felix allowed her to lift his hand enough to peek beneath, then she set his hand back and gently pressed it down. “The ball’s ripped a long furrow through your coat, but luckily, the wound is shallow. That said, it’s bleeding rather profusely, so keep your hand there for the moment.” She glanced at his coat. “Are you carrying a handkerchief?”
“Right breeches pocket.”
Julian returned. “Here, drink this.” As Felix grasped the glass in his left hand, Julian passed a clean handkerchief to Melissa. “Use this. I’ll get his.”
He retrieved Felix’s handkerchief and handed it to her as well.
Melissa folded both into a thick pad, then lifted Felix’s hand, positioned the pad over the wound, then set his hand back in place. “Hold that there for now. You’ll need to get out of your coat and shirt soon.”
Felix swallowed a second mouthful of brandy. “I liked this coat, and now, the bastard’s ruined it.”
Deducing from that plaint that his brother was regaining his composure, Julian drew up an armchair for Melissa and another for himself. As he sat, he repeated, “So, what happened?”
Felix’s color was returning. He lowered the glass and sighed. “I was on my way to the old fish pond. After we talked about it this morning, I thought to go and check what state it’s in. If we’re going to restock it, we’ll want to be sure it’s still in sound condition. I took the usual path off the lake—well, there really is only one direct path to the pond, I suppose, which probably explains why our attacker had thought to set up a spring gun along the way.”
“A spring gun?” Julian stared.
Melissa looked back and forth. “What’s a spring gun?”
His face setting, Julian replied, “It’s another, rather more deadly form of mantrap.”
Felix waved his glass. “Blows your head off instead of cutting off your leg.”
“Good Lord!” Melissa turned wide eyes on Felix. “Thank God it only winged you.”
“Yes, well, that wasn’t through any mistake on our would-be murderer’s part. I saw an odd mushroom and turned back to look at it just as the gun went off. The trip wire was hidden beneath fallen fern fronds, and I’d stepped right on it.”
Melissa paled. “You”—she looked from Felix to Julian—“or you were supposed to have been killed.”
“Exactly.” Felix took another sip of his brandy. “Not much doubt of that, not with a spring gun.” He looked at Julian.
Julian was accustomed to maintaining an impassive expression, but now his features felt set in stone. “I believe we can take it as read that someone wants me”—he met Felix’s gaze—“and possibly you as well, dead, and they’re not fussy over how they achieve that.”
Melissa was frowning. She met his eyes. “But if I understood what you and Felix said this morning at breakfast, neither of you had been down to the fish pond for years.”
Felix nodded. “That’s why I went to take a look.”
Julian caught the point she was making. “But given we don’t usually visit the fish pond, why put a spring gun on the path that leads to the fish pond and nowhere else?”
Melissa nodded. “Exactly. The only reason to do that—”
“Is if,” Felix grimly stated, “the blighter heard us discussing the fish pond this morning and knew that, eventually, one or other of us would go down to check on it.”
“Not necessarily heard,” Melissa cautioned, “but heard of. Any of the staff who passed in and out of the breakfast room while we were talking of it—and there were at least four because Veronica and Frederick had just come in and Phelps was replenishing the sideboard—could have heard and innocently mentioned it in passing to others.”
“Or even not so innocently.” Julian thought, then grimaced. “But I take your point. We can’t leap to any conclusions and, sadly, once again, we can’t even produce a limited list of suspects. Nor can we haul the staff in and attempt to find whoever set up the spring gun. Just as with the mantrap”—he waved, indicating the land around the castle—“it could easily have been someone from outside the estate.”
