Page 46 of The Cursed Writer
He nodded. ‘Strong as an ox,’ he said, wincing as he clambered to his feet and glanced at Donaldson. ‘Stronger than him, anyway.’
Hiding a smile, Harry decided not to mention her role in the fight. She tugged on the makeshift handcuffs, earning her a glare from the groundsman. ‘You’ve got a nasty head wound and probably a concussion,’ she told him severely. ‘I doubt you’d last ten minutes out here on your own, so don’t even consider trying to run.’
Scowling, he evidently saw the wisdom of her words because he allowed her to help him to his feet. She handed the end of the belt to Archer, who took it with steely determination and turned to Eliza. ‘You. In front of me. Don’t try anything or I’ll set the hound on you.’
With an apprehensive look, Eliza nodded. Satisfied the fight seemed to have gone out of her, Harry squared her shoulders. ‘Let’s go,’ she said to Archer. ‘Barrymore, take us home.’
With a final baleful growl at Eliza, the dog turned and trotted into the reeds. Archer followed, keeping Donaldson close. Eliza went next, leaving Harry to bring up the rear. Progress was slow – it seemed to take an age to reach the edge of the fen and Harry’s shoulders ached with the tension of watching their captives – but no sooner had the ground firmed up beneath their feet than Eliza let out a scream. ‘What’s that? Out there, I can see a light!’
Warily, Harry looked around, certain it was a trick meant to distract her. But Eliza was right – there was a light bobbing among the sedge behind them. It appeared to be coming their way. For one startled moment, Harry stared at it in disbelief. There couldn’t be more smugglers on the fen, could there? But the terrified expression on Eliza’s face told her it was not someone she was expecting and Harry knew without a doubt what the other woman feared. ‘Move,’ she commanded, nudging the girl in the back. ‘Towards the house. Now.’
Eliza did not argue. She stumbled forward, almost losing her footing, and Harry was obliged to steady her. She did not dare look back. Before they were more than halfway, more lights appeared, this time in front of them. Harry cursed, fearing Donaldson had somehow alerted the other smugglers. They could not go back into the fen – she had no desire to meet whoever – or whatever – bore the lamp floating there. But frantic shouts soon made it clear the lanterns in front of themwere held by Agnes and Oliver. As the bedraggled party cleared the reeds, Harry saw them both. Oliver’s head was wrapped in a clean white bandage but he seemed otherwise unhurt. The housekeeper’s face sagged when she saw Donaldson’s bonds. Her gaze slid to Eliza and her obvious confusion deepened. ‘I don’t understand. What is this?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ Harry said tersely. ‘Has anyone called the police?’
Oliver nodded. ‘They’re on their way. The local constabulary should arrive first but I took the liberty of suggesting they call in Scotland Yard, to sweep up the rest of the gang.’
The news brought Harry a much-needed surge of relief, although she might have known he would have matters well in hand. ‘Well done,’ she said, further relieved to see the house looming into view. ‘How’s your head? Are you badly hurt?’
He grimaced. ‘It’s sore but I’ll survive. How are you?’
‘Wet,’ she sighed. ‘Again. But otherwise fine. I’ll feel better once we get these two under lock and key. I seem to recall there’s a cellar we might use.’ She let out a long shaky breath as the magnitude of the night’s events began to catch up with her. In the space of a few hours, she had unmasked Philip St John’s poisoners, saved John Archer’s life and exposed an international drug smuggling ring. No wonder she felt exhausted. ‘I did say it would be an interesting night, didn’t I?’
‘You did,’ he agreed, with an amused nod. ‘And it’s not over yet.’
He meant the arrival of the police, she supposed, but Harry found her gaze straying in the direction of the fen. There was no light there now, the darkness was unbroken. She and Eliza had been mistaken, she told herself with firm resolution – the ferryman was nothing more than a myth. With a determined effort of will, Harry turned her back on Morden Fen. Oliver was right; the night was not over and there were other dangers toface. Forcing her stiff muscles to move, she hurried forward to catch up with John Archer. ‘Forgive my urgency but I must ask – has the mystery of your uncle’s illness been solved to your satisfaction?’
‘Eh?’ he said, staring at her for a moment. ‘Oh. Yes, I suppose it has, although I must admit it’s turned out to be rather more extraordinary than I expected. One might even say an adventure worthy of Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Quite.’ Harry knew her smile lacked its usual vibrancy but she offered it nonetheless. ‘Which brings me onto the favour I must ask. As you know, my employer prefers not to draw attention to himself these days.’ She met his gaze, hoping he understood her. ‘Do you think you might be able to keep his involvement in the case to yourself when you talk to the police?’
Archer frowned slightly. ‘I’m not sure I…’ He trailed off, then gazed at her with dawning comprehension. ‘Ah. Yes, I don’t think that will be a problem. To be honest, the gentleman concerned doesn’t appear to have had much involvement at all. You and Mr Fortescue have done all the hard work.’
The observation drew another smile from Harry, but this one felt rueful. ‘Thank you. Might I suggest you pass me off as a cousin, visiting for the weekend?’
He considered the idea. ‘If I’m going to do that, I might need to know your first name.’
Harry thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t we go with Irene?’
Archer nodded and she knew he’d caught her reference to one of the earliest of Sherlock Holmes’ cases,A Scandal in Bohemia. ‘Excellent. Come along, then, Cousin Irene. Let’s see if Mary has had the presence of mind to slice up some seed cake.’
16
By agreement, Harry and Oliver kept to their rooms while the police spoke to John Archer. As promised, he had glossed over their roles in the drama, describing them as family members who had most unfortunately been caught up in a murderous conspiracy. Mindful of their master’s instructions, Agnes and Mary had maintained the deception during their interviews. The police had finally left around dawn, with Donaldson and Eliza as their prisoners, and the package of poisoned tobacco as evidence. Hollow-eyed and exhausted, the remaining members of the household had stumbled to bed. None of them had risen much before midday.
‘I gave Agnes and Mary a few days off,’ Archer said, when Harry came downstairs to find him sitting at the dining table. ‘I believe Agnes intends to go to her mother’s and Mary has taken to her bed. I’m not sure what there is to eat in the kitchen but I daresay we’ll manage.’
Oliver had appeared soon after and they had pulled together a lunch of cheese and cold meats, with some of the excellent bread Mary had baked the previous day. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find Philip St John’s condition had continued toimprove, despite the events of the night before. After lunch, he had asked Harry to join him on a gentle stroll around the grounds. ‘I want to feel the sun on my face. I’ve been stuck inside for too long.’
They took things slowly, for which Harry was glad as she had several aches of her own. She had insisted Philip St John wrap up warmly against the cold, and had layered him in several scarves. Very little of his face was visible but Harry felt his eyes upon her as they walked. ‘It appears you are not quite what you seem, Miss Moss. You are certainly not my nephew’s cousin, as he told the police.’
She kept her own gaze straight ahead. ‘Oh? In what way am I not what I seem?’
He smiled. ‘Let’s not play games. I know you ask questions and find answers. I know you make observations and set traps. And I know you saved my life, and perhaps that of my nephew. You are a detective, Miss Moss.’
Harry did not reply. How could she when everything he said was true? But St John had not finished speaking. ‘My nephew tells me you have read several of my books.’
The change of conversational flow wrong-footed Harry. ‘Um – yes.’
