Melissa, it transpired, was thinking along much the same lines as Julian was. “What do we do once we reach the stable?” she asked.
“I want to be there when Mitchell rides in, but I don’t want him to see either of us until he’s off his horse.”
“And,” she concluded, “he has no chance of escape.” She nodded. “I approve of that plan, but don’t think I’m going to retreat to the house until we have him in chains.”
He heard the determination in her voice—the ruthless focus—and smiled and didn’t try to argue.
When Mitchell was spotted riding in, Julian and Melissa hid behind a stall wall, out of sight of anyone in the stable yard, but near enough to hear whatever words were exchanged.
Hockey and the other stablemen had been livid when they’d heard the tale of what had happened that morning. Apparently, Mitchell was one of the grooms delegated to exercise the various hunters the four male Delameres housed at the castle. Consequently, when Mitchell approached Hockey that morning, saying one of the horses he tended needed a run, Hockey hadn’t hesitated to send Mitchell out on the horse.
When Mitchell rode in, Hockey, outwardly his usual relaxed self, was waiting close to the main stable doors.
Six of the other stablemen were engaged with routine chores nearby, two inside the stable and four not far from where Hockey stood.
As Mitchell reined in and walked the horse forward, Hockey reached out and caught the horse’s bridle. “Has he settled, then?”
Mitchell smiled and dismounted. “I rode out his skittishness. He’s right as rain now.”
Hockey took the reins and handed them off to the stable lad who ran up—Walter, as it happened. “Anything else to report?” Hockey asked. As Walter led the horse away, not into the stable but to the side, Hockey turned an innocently inquiring look on Mitchell.
Mitchell appeared nonplussed by the question. He arched his brows, pretended to think, then shook his head. “No. Nothing untoward.”
Hockey smashed a fist into Mitchell’s face—so fast Mitchell had no time to counter the punch. The blow was so ferocious, the impact flung Mitchell back to sprawl on the cobbles of the yard.
Instantly, the other stablemen—who happened to be carrying pitchforks and shovels—closed around him.
One hand cradling his jaw, Mitchell blinked groggily, saw the circle of angry faces, and with a blank expression, focused on Hockey. “What was that for?” His flat tone made it clear he’d already guessed.
His meaty fists on his hips, Hockey almost spat, “For being a lying traitor, that’s what.”
“Come on.” Julian grasped Melissa’s hand and, with her, walked out of the stable and into the yard.
Mitchell didn’t try to get up. Propped on one elbow, with a mix of wary apprehension and defeated resignation in his eyes, he watched Julian and Melissa approach.
Julian halted beside Hockey. He studied Mitchell, then in an even tone, said, “The countess and I saw you ride up to the wreckage of the gig. We saw you pause, check your pistol and also your hunting knife before approaching the wreck. When you realized there were no dead or injured bodies to be found, you swore, then—and this is the most telling part—you dismounted, walked back along the track, hunting through the debris for the pieces of the axle that showed where you had sawn the axle almost through. You found the two pieces and put them into your saddlebag.”
Without shifting his gaze from Mitchell, Julian pointed at the horse Walter still held in full view of all in the stable yard. “That saddlebag.”
He’d ordered the horse to be kept in full view, hoping that in searching for him and Melissa, Mitchell would forget about the pieces of the axle and ride back to the castle carrying the damning evidence, and indeed, the saddlebag in question was still bulging as it had after Mitchell had thrust the wooden sections into it.
Mitchell glanced at the horse and paled.
Julian caught Hockey’s eye and tipped his head toward the saddlebag. “Why don’t we see what’s in there?”
Hockey grunted and walked to the horse, and Mitchell hung his head and deflated.
The sight of the pieces of axle that Hockey drew forth and showed to everyone, displaying the clean, sawed cut that went two-thirds of the way across the shaft, had the other men muttering, shifting restlessly, and glowering darkly at Mitchell.
He didn’t look up again, and after waiting for a moment, Julian went on, “Hockey and the other stablemen have confirmed that no one saw you in the stablemen’s quarters after Hockey locked the stable and barn last night. You were first seen this morning by Hockey and Walter after Hockey unlocked the barn. Everyone else is accounted for from the time the stable and barn were locked to the time they were opened again. The evidence against you is conclusive—you were the person who engineered today’s accident. We’re left to infer that you are also responsible for the spate of accidents that have recently occurred.”
Mitchell had kept his head down, staring at Julian’s boots, but Julian thought he frowned at that.
When no further reaction eventuated, Julian coldly went on, “For all we know, you might be responsible for the death of my father and also the death of Campbell, his groom.”
At that, Mitchell looked up, a protest obviously on his lips, but at the last second, he froze. Then he bit the words back and dropped his gaze once more.
Puzzled, Julian stared at the man. Around him, deep-seated anger and transparent thoughts of vigilante justice swelled in the air, an almost palpable force. A quick glance at the expressions of the men gathered around confirmed that if Julian wanted Mitchell dead, all he had to do was say the word, and the deed would be done, the body disposed of, and no one else the wiser.
