Page 48 of Fatal By Design
“Very well. But tuck away your weapon. Appearing unarmed may help our approach,” Hugh said, coming up with a plan.
A few minutes later, the Duke of Fournier walked into the clearing, approaching the lodge directly while calling out, “Hello? Is anyone in?”
Hugh moved through the trees, to the left of the lodge. Thornton was hidden within the green foliage to the right, on a path toward the stables.
The duke had removed his hat and jacket, mussed his hair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves to give the appearance of a thoroughly befuddled traveler. “I say, is anyone in? I’m afraid my horse has thrown a shoe and injured its leg. I’m looking for assistance.”
His voice carried in the quiet clearing. For several moments more, Hugh’s heart pounded. But then, the front door opened. A man emerged. He wore a threadbare hat, workaday clothes, and an unkempt beard. He did not look to be a servant, but a disheveled footpad. Fournier, however, reacted just as planned.
“Oh, jolly good! Hallo, there. I do apologize for the intrusion—”
“Nobody’s here what can help you,” the man said, his voice gruff and bothered. Hugh crossed from the trees and pressed close to the side of the lodge, out of the man’s line of sight.
“That is a pity,” Fournier said. “A true pity. My horse is quite lame. Are you sure you could not round someone up?”
“I said, ain’t nobody here. You’ve got to go back the way you’ve come and find someplace else.”
Hugh came around the corner, his pistol drawn and aimed at the man’s back. “Do not move.” As expected, the man didn’t obey. He spun around, his hand reaching under his coat.
“I wouldn’t,” Thornton said as he emerged from the opposite corner of the lodge. The man stilled.
“How many more are inside?” Hugh asked.
The man grimaced. “Just me.”
“On your belly,” Hugh commanded, not believing him for an instant. The man obeyed this time, and with the portions of rein he’d cut free a few minutes before, Fournier hurried forward to bind the man’s hands and ankles.
“The truth this time,” Hugh said. “Who else is posted guard here?”
With his cheek to the gravel, the man gritted out, “Told you. Just me. Me and the lord in there.”
The lord.Cartwright?Hugh met Thornton’s skeptical look and nodded toward the back of the lodge. Thornton moved off, to go around and inspect for others. Hugh and Fournier left the man bound on the gravel and entered through the front door. The place was dark and musty, the stone walls covered with trophies of hunts past. Elk and deer stared down at them with glassy eyes from their mounted backings and a hare was perched mid-leap on a nearby table. A bear stood on its hind legs in the corner, its paws raised into the air, claws extended.
Most of the furniture had been covered with sheets, aligning with the butler’s claim that the place had fallen into disuse. But scuffing noises came from an adjacent room. Hugh held his pistol at the ready and followed the sounds.
When he entered the room—a great hall with a massive hearth at one end—he lowered his flintlock. “Cartwright.”
The man sat in a cane-backed chair, arms tied behind him and ankles bound to the chair’s front legs. A strip of fabric had been wrapped around his mouth and knotted behind his head. He began to thrash and rattle the chair, his grunts and muffled words incoherent.
Hugh crossed the room and ripped the gag from his mouth. He heaved a gulp of air and began speaking at once.
“It’s Robert. My cousin,” he said, his voice rough and raspy. A mottled bruise colored his eye, and his nose appeared broken with crusted blood over the bridge. His lower lip had also been split. He hadn’t turned over his own room at the Hare and Crown after all.
“Henley?”
Cartwright nodded wildly. “He’s lost his mind. The silver mine. It’s a scam. He’s been swindled. He has Millie,” he said, his sentences short and urgent. “Untie me, we have to go after them!”
Fournier swore under his breath as he joined them. “The silver mine? My god, several men have sunk small fortunes into that venture.”
“And he’s lost it all,” Hugh said, circling the chair to untie Cartwright’s wrists. As soon as he was free, Cartwright leaned forward and began loosening the knots at his ankles.
“That is why he’s fleeing England,” Fournier said.
Thornton entered the great hall then. “There is no one else here.”
“When did Henley leave?” Hugh asked, his pulse again increasing as a prediction formed. “And why did he take Lady Redding?”
“This morning.” Cartwright threw off the binding ropes and stood, though he winced and braced his ribs. He’d been beaten badly.
