Page 26 of Death at Fournier Downs
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Audrey called.
“Of course!” Cassie called back, a touch too loudly. “It’s not far. It’s been years, but I could never forget!”
Her voice carried, and Audrey wondered at her enthusiasm. Perhaps she was simply trying to outpace herself from the awkward topic of babies.
The humid air still felt cool along the forest path, but her mount was working up a lather. Through the canopy, a gray sky threatened more rain. It wasn’t until the trees thinned into a small, overgrown clearing, and Cassie slowed, that Audrey noticed the lack of birds trilling and crickets humming. Rain was imminent.
Practically consumed by shrub brush, weeds, and vines, the stone cottage sat in the middle of the clearing. It looked forlorn, forgotten by the rest of the world, and left to crumble. Hunks of stone were missing from the exterior in places, and the thatched roof had moldered and all but disintegrated.
Cassie slowed her mount to a halt. “Here it is,” she said, still overly eager. “It looks like its aged a hundred years since I last saw it!”
She dismounted, and Audrey quickly did the same. They looped their reins over an old hitching post.
“Is this Fournier Downs land?” Audrey asked, eyeing the cottage’s gaping arched entrance and the window embrasures, all open to the elements.
“I’m not sure,” Cassie said, walking through the tall grass. Meadowsweet and clover had crept in, and purple harebells flowered. Some of the vines wrapping the cottage were lush with ivy and others were brittle and long dead. “It could be, or it might belong to Haverfield. Michael would know.”
Audrey had certainly never come this way from Haverfield before. She would not have forgotten such a fine playhouse for children. It must have been abandoned long ago to have decayed to its current state. She approached the entrance, wanting to touch the stones. A glance over her shoulder showed Cassie searching the clearing. With her companion occupied, Audrey quickly removed her riding glove and laid her palm on the rough stone. She closed her eyes, and immediately, the image of the weed- and flower-strewn clearing billowed into her vision. The same overcast afternoon; the tree limbs and leaves hanging heavy and torpid with no breeze, just the promise of a storm.
Audrey gave a push, backward through the stone’s energy, but before anything could consolidate into a vision, a scream rent the air.
She dropped her hand and whipped around. “Cassie!”
She was gone.
Another scream sent her heart lurching up into her throat.
Audrey dropped her glove and ran around the corner of the cottage, terrified at what she’d find. Her sister-in-law, being set upon by an attacker or a wild animal? With relief, she found Cassie standing in another patch of overgrown grass and shrub brush. But her relief was short-lived. For Cassie, with her hands clasped over her mouth, was staring down at something in the grass.
On trembling legs, Audrey approached. In shock, her mind pieced together what she was seeing: a woman, splayed on the ground, face down. She wore a light green jacket, a plain gray cotton dress, and serviceable boots. The yellow ribbons attached to a straw chip hat were still tied around her chin, but a blood stain flowered over the pale straw weave. That hat…it was the same one from Audrey’s vision. The woman passing by the cottage’s window. This was she.
“My God!” Cassie gasped. Audrey took her arm and pulled her away from the body. For the woman was certainly dead.
“You must fetch help, immediately,” Audrey said, and when Cassie refused to look away from the woman’s prone figure, gave her a little shake. “Cassandra. This woman has been killed. We need to fetch Philip and Officer Marsden, and whoever else you can find. Ride back to Fournier Downs—”
“And leave you here?” she shrieked, at last coming to her senses.
“Someone should stay with the body, and you know your way through these woods far better than I.”
“But what if the killer is still about?” Cassie’s question was not unwarranted. It was, in fact, quite reasonable. However, as shaken as Audrey was, she wanted the opportunity to find some item on the poor woman’s person. She wanted to hold it and search it for memories. Before, when finding Charlotte, she’d been too affected to do so.
“The blood on her hat is dark, not bright crimson, indicating it has been some time since the attack,” she said, leading Cassie toward their horses. The color of the blood stain, however, did not assure her as much as the horses did; neither appeared spooked in any way. Horses tended to sense dangers that human could not yet see.
“If you ride quickly, you’ll be back within a quarter hour, at the most,” she told her. “I will be fine, but the sooner Philip and Mr. Marsden arrive, the better. Please, Cassie, ride swiftly!”
The encouragement seemed to be all Cassie needed, for paired with her own shock and fear, she mounted her horse and tore away, back into the woods. As soon as she disappeared, Audrey turned toward the place the body lay. Just as it had been with Charlotte, she did not want to approach; did not want to look upon the lifeless corpse of yet another woman. This, however, was a stranger. Perhaps it would not be as difficult. And this time, she would not allow cowardice or fear to rule her.
Her stomach turned as she came upon the woman again. This time, Audrey noticed more. A basket, not far from where she’d fallen. A few bundles of herbs, the stems tied with twine, had scattered. Crouching next to the woman slowly, pushing back her own discomfort and trepidation, Audrey reached for the hat and tipped up the brim a little. With a start, she pulled back her hand and stumbled as she tried to stand. This woman was not a stranger as she had at first thought. Audrey recognized her and not just by the straw chip hat and yellow ribbons from her previous vision. She was a maid at Haverfield. Her name escaped her at the moment, but she was certain. This woman worked in Lord Edgerton’s kitchen.
Two dead women in the woods within one week was too much to be coincidence. This maid’s death had to be related to Charlotte’s. The cottage connected them. Charlotte had been here shortly before her death. Now this.
Bracing herself, Audrey crouched again next to the body. The victim wore no jewelry, though that was not surprising for a servant. The basket on the ground had been the last thing the woman carried. Audrey stooped and with her one ungloved hand—she would have to find the one she’d dropped later—grasped the handle. She opened her mind to the energy, though with her racing heart, it was difficult to control the images that barreled forward. They were as quick as her lashing heartbeats—the woman, coming upon the cottage, then pitching forward, toward the ground; earlier, coming through the woods; pushing back further, Audrey saw the familiar sight of the kitchen at Haverfield.
Something cold struck her on the forehead, and Audrey gasped as she released the basket. The clearing, as it was now, came into view as she stumbled back again. A few more cold splashes against her cheeks and nose convinced her it was only the dark clouds, finally opening. Rain came down quickly. Her pulse hammered. She would be soaked through if she stayed outdoors. The only option was the stone cottage and its patchy, dilapidated roof.
As Audrey ran toward the entrance, her horse nickered and bucked. Perhaps it was the sudden rain that spooked him, but the animal’s agitation made the small hairs upon her arms prickle and stand on end. Audrey started toward her horse, intending to calm him—but stopped at a dash of motion in her peripheral vision. Something had moved in the trees beyond the clearing.
Turning again, Audrey bounded into the cottage. The single room held an old hearth, a shabby loft, and creeping vines along the floor and inner walls. Rain puddled in spots on the stone floor. As she pressed up against a wall, away from the doorway, she cursed under her breath. How could she have been so stupid? She should have left with Cassie, not taken the opportunity to peer into the woman’s memories. Trapped in the damp and dim old ruin, all she’d done was back herself into a corner.
