Chapter Twenty-Eight

He was hiding something. But what? And how much did it mean to her?

Kate stood for a moment alone in the tower. When she turned off the light, Isra followed her down the stairs, close on her heels. Kate stooped to pick up the umbrella. As soon as she opened the door, the cat leapt outside with coiled muscles, bounding far ahead into the distance.

Mist hovered above the grass. There was the scent of burning wood. Kate looked up. Smoke was rising from the chimney. She could see a glimmer of light in Great-aunt Roselyn’s window.

Then Kate froze. The French doors were ajar, leading into the dark kitchen. They swung slightly on the hinges.

Keep the doors locked. A shiver crawled across her skin, accompanied by a growing sense of dread. Had Great-aunt Roselyn gone out into the orchard again, and left the door open behind her? The kitchen tiles would be like ice by now. Why was the ground floor so dark? She listened, but heard nothing.

Kate crossed the terrace, walked past the wrought-iron table, beaded with rain. That same struggle with the umbrella as she fought with the strap that closed the folds. She had her hand on the glass, was about to push the door open, when a blow struck the back of her head. A flash of red exploded across her vision.

Then everything went black.

****

Pain was the first thing she became aware of. It felt like her head was going to split in two. Kate knew she had to open her eyes. A vague sense of danger nagged at her. There was some reason she should move.

There were stones beneath her. Cold stones. And her clothes were damp.

With an effort, Kate opened her eyes. It was dark and there were stars. Why was she outside? Kate placed her hands on the ground, clamped her teeth against a flare of pain, and levered herself up to a sitting position. She put a hand to the back of her head and winced. There was a good-sized lump, tender to the touch.

Kate concentrated, took in her surroundings. The umbrella was beside her, lying at an angle. There were shards on the ground, too. Ceramic. One of the flower pots Great-aunt Roselyn had emptied and left on the terrace table. She hoped it broke on impact with the stones, and not her head.

Someone hit her with the flower pot. The realization broke through the daze clouding her thoughts.

A wail pierced the air, sending a fresh stab of agony through her skull. A siren? The noise was close. A car being driven up to the house. Police, or ambulance. Kate stood, steadying herself with a hand against the wall. How long was she out?

The pain was beginning to settle into a throbbing rhythm. Staying near the wall, taking one step at a time, Kate rounded the house. Each step made her head ache. Ignore it. Keep moving.

There was a police car in the driveway. The drizzle formed a haze around the flashing light on the hood. What was going on? Fear clutched at her heart. Please, let nothing have happened to Great-aunt Roselyn.

A murmur of voices at the side of the house. Kate followed the sound. Fine rain pricked her skin.

Relief made Kate light-headed. At the door to the basement, Great-aunt Roselyn was standing next to a police officer. She was holding a Liberty print umbrella above her head. The foliage of the Strawberry Thief design dark with moisture. Her posture was perfect, the lift to her head imperious as ever.

“Coscientia mille testes,” the officer was saying. “Conscience is as good as a thousand witnesses. We’ll get the culprit one way or another.” Tim’s father. Kate was glad to see it was him. Henry’s shoulders were hunched against the rain, a spiral notebook in his hand. Blue biro spreading thickly across the damp paper. He looked up and caught sight of Kate.

“What happened?” Kate asked, joining them. Great-aunt Roselyn angled the umbrella so that it covered Kate as well, shielding them both from the worst of the rain. She could see now the window of Mr. Wendell’s room. Glass glinted, shards lying between the broken stems of roses. Wind whistled through the opening, whirling petals into the room below. They were scattered across the floor within. Sweet smell of crushed blossoms rising from the flower bed.

“Burglary.” Henry had never been one to mince his words.

Great-aunt Roselyn shivered and gathered her raincoat closer around her. Her face was pinched and drawn with worry. “Nothing like this has happened before, Henry,” she said firmly. “This is a quiet neighborhood. At least, I thought it was.”

Kate leaned against the wall. “Someone broke into our house?” Why? There were no jewels kept hidden in a safe in the study. Heirlooms had been sold over time, to cover property taxes, pay for repairs. The size of the house, though, could have someone thinking there was more, that there were riches within, ripe for the taking.

Great-aunt Roselyn turned to her. “They broke the window of Mr. Wendell’s room.”

“Used it as an entry point,” Henry said.

“There’s glass everywhere.” Roselyn glanced at the door behind them. Her lips thinned. “My chrysanthemums have been trampled. The roses are looking the worse for wear. My poor beautiful flowers.”

“Was anything taken?” Kate asked.

“There was nothing left in his room,” Roselyn said. “The burglar seems to have conducted a thorough search. There was so much damage. The mattress cut open, the…” She stopped and pressed a trembling hand to her lips. “They went through Elaina’s room. There are things everywhere. Kate, they were in the house. In your room, too. I’m sorry. I feel as though it’s my fault. I was upstairs.” She closed her eyes as though to steady herself, to regain her composure.

The cold Kate felt had nothing to do with the rain now. “My God.”

“Did you hear anything?” Henry asked.

Great-aunt Roselyn shook her head. “I had music playing. The windows were closed.”

Henry turned to Kate. “They must have seen the light, and stayed well away from your great-aunt’s room. It takes a lot of guts, breaking and entering when the owner is home.”

She suddenly took a closer look at Kate. “Are you all right?”

“I think I ran into the burglar.” Henry straightened. Like a hound on the scent, Kate thought, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. Was this shock? “I saw the French doors were open. Next thing I knew, something hit my head, knocked me out. I don’t know for how long.”

“What?” Great-aunt Roselyn put an arm around Kate’s shoulders, hugged her close.

Henry studied his notebook. “Mrs. Marsh, when exactly did you notice something was amiss?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. There was a plate on the floor, broken into pieces. That was when I began to look, and I discovered—” She broke off. “I noticed someone was in the house.”

“Around ten-thirty.” Henry jotted down the time.

“I took the phone, returned to my room, locked the bedroom door and phoned 999.”

“Was the front door unlocked?”

“No.”

“It’s normally kept locked?”

“Yes,” Roselyn said. “All the doors are.”

“The tower too?”

“Elaina often forgets to, but the only way to enter the house is through the door into my rooms and that’s always kept secured.”

“And you, Kate?” Henry asked. “When did you get back? It may help to narrow the time frame.”

Kate shifted uncomfortably. She could feel the blush heat her skin. “I got back about an hour or so ago.”

Surprised, Great-aunt Roselyn said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I went to the tower. The light was still on.”

“You don’t normally spend time in the tower, Kate, and certainly not alone.”

“I had a fight with Marcus. I was upset.”

“You argued with Marcus?” Roselyn’s elegantly arched brows rose. “That is unusual. You’re always such kindred spirits.”

“Not tonight.”

Henry asked, “Did you see anyone on your way home?”

Kate thought back, but the drive home was a blur. Her head ached. “Barely a car went past. I did see someone, Henry, last night.”

Fear entered Great-aunt Roselyn’s voice. “Where?”

“There was a man in the orchard, watching the house, smoking.”

Great-aunt Roselyn exclaimed, turned away from them, her hand clasped over her mouth, her back rigid.

“Do you know anything about this, Mrs. Marsh?”

Roselyn shook her head wordlessly.

“Someone you recognized, Kate?” Henry asked. “Could you identify him if you saw him again? Any defining characteristics?”

“I could identify him.” She was sure of it. Kate ran through the same description she’d given to Gary, pausing to let Henry take down the information, adding details when he asked. “I just hope he is connected to the crime and it wasn’t a figment of my imagination or a ghost.”

Roselyn’s face was pale, her eyes wide and wild with terror. “A ghost?”

Henry put a steadying hand on her arm. “You’ve had a shock.”

“I don’t see how I’m going to make this house appealing to potential tenants. Not after this. No one wants to move into an old building that’s been burgled and is…” Roselyn’s voice faltered, “tinged with death.”

“Why don’t you pour yourself a glass of brandy, put your feet up? I’m almost done here.”

“No brandy. I’ll be taking Kate to the hospital.” Kate opened her mouth to protest, but Roselyn cut her off with a glance. “A head injury is not to be taken lightly, Kate. We are going to have a doctor examine you, and that is final.”

“I could call an ambulance,” Henry offered.

“No, really—”

“Yes, thank you,” Roselyn said firmly.

Kate watched, resigned, as Henry put in the call.

When he finished, Great-aunt Roselyn asked, “Can I make you a cup of tea, Henry?” Always the hostess.

“That’s a kind offer, but this is my last stop. Then I’m off to have a nightcap at home.” He ran over his notes. “You’d go around the side of the house,” he muttered to himself thoughtfully, scanning the area, “and spot the basement window first. It’s appealing as it’s out of sight of the road and on ground level. Exit was by way of the French doors. The burglar must have felt secure, been a few steps away from the terrace, almost at the trees, when he heard you come up to the doors, Kate. Startled, he’d turn and—” He raised his arm and brought it down, miming a violent blow. “Well, there you have it.”

Kate flinched.

“What did he use as a weapon?”

“It was a flower pot. There were a few on the table, within easy reach.”

“I’ll collect the shards, have them dusted for dabs. Mind, I doubt there’ll be any. Most burglars know enough to wear their gloves.”

“Why go through the basement?” Kate wondered. “Wouldn’t the ground floor, entering through the French doors, be easier?”

“Easy access, but far riskier. By all appearances, this was unplanned, unpremeditated. A basement is the safer bet.” Henry moved forward to take another look at the point of entry.

“Other than these flowers, the rain has washed away any evidence there might have been.” Henry hitched up his trousers at the knees and squatted to take a closer look. “Seems as though it was only one person, tops maybe two. One chap’s trekked mud across the rooms inside, but he was wearing smooth-soled shoes. Nothing that can be matched with a specific brand. Can’t get much from that. Someone else could have been playing look-out but that’s conjecture.” He stood up, yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose violently. He continued, “It could have been a dare. Young lads getting into the liquor. Things escalate. It happens.”

Kate thought the damage didn’t suit a prank. The level of destruction spoke of violence and anger.

Henry flipped his notebook shut. “I’ve taken note of the missing valuables. Once you have a chance to go through your own room, Kate, or if you notice anything else that’s been taken, let me know.” Another siren. “That’ll be the ambulance now.”

“We’ll have to sweep up the glass, hammer boards over the broken window,” Kate said. There was plywood in the garden shed, old by now but it would do the trick.

“We’ll have Ian and Elaina do that. I’ll phone them on the way.” Great-aunt Roselyn seemed suddenly overcome with exhaustion. “All anyone will be talking about tomorrow is this story.” A fierce glint appeared in her eyes. “Somebody was in my home. I want you to find who it was, Henry. I want you to find them.”

There was the strength Kate remembered. She only hoped it would last.