Wednesday, 11 August
T he next morning dawned cool and blustery, with thick clouds that hung low enough to obscure the mountains to the west. With Archie at his side, Sebastian rode out to the old stone bridge where Leopold, Lord Seaton had died.
“I was still a small boy when it happened,” said Archie, reining in at the edge of the weathered fieldstone bridge that spanned a small rivulet some hundred yards from Northcott Abbey’s gatehouse. “But I still remember listening to my father talk about how Lord Seaton’s brains were splattered all over the bridge. It made quite an impression on me.”
“I would imagine it did,” said Sebastian, his mount moving restlessly beneath him as he studied an ancient stand of oak thickly undergrown with witch hazel that encroached close to the road here.
Archie’s eyes crinkled with a faint smile of remembrance. “For years, I couldn’t pass the bridge without looking to see if I could spot some trace of all those splattered brains. Somehow I always managed to convince myself that I did.” Archie’s smile faded as he squinted up at the roiling clouds overhead. “You really think Seaton’s death could somehow be connected to what’s happening now?”
“The timing is interesting,” said Sebastian. “Sybil Moss died on Midsummer’s Eve in 1797. Less than seven months later, Hannah Grant was found floating in the millpond. And just two weeks after that, Lord Seaton falls off his horse at one of the few places between the Blue Boar and home where he’s guaranteed to do himself some serious damage. You don’t find that suspicious?”
“When you put it that way, yes. It’s damnably suspicious.”
Sebastian said, “Do you know if there was an autopsy?”
“I doubt it. M’father was always ranting and raving about the parish rates. He wouldn’t have paid to hold an inquest if it hadn’t been required.”
“I gather the inquest’s verdict was death by misadventure?”
Archie nodded. “Seaton’s horse—a sweet-tempered white mare named Cleo—was declared a deodand. Liv Irving bought her. Rode her for years.”
Under English common law, chattel found to have been involved in a death was known as a deodand and had to be forfeited, whether it was a horse, a cart, a boat, or tree. All deodands passed to the Crown and were usually sold, although owners could pay a fine equal to their value to keep their property. It was less common now than it had once been. But Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if Archie had had to pay to keep his father’s hunter, Black Jack. For some reason, Lady Seaton had evidently not chosen to do so.
Archie’s face had taken on a flat, empty look, as if his thoughts were suddenly far, far away.
“What is it?” asked Sebastian, watching him.
Archie swallowed. “If you’re right—and I’m afraid you may very well be—then that’s three murders my father missed: Sybil, Hannah, and Lord Seaton. Three!”
Sebastian was tempted to say, There may have been more. But he kept that possibility to himself.
“My God,” said Archie, his voice rough. “Poor Hannah Grant was buried at the crossroads with a stake through her heart!”
“Whoever is doing this is clever—clever, and devious enough to make most of his murders look like suicides or accidents. Under the circumstances, your father’s mistake was easy to make.”
Archie shook his head, his eyes narrowed and hard. “I want to find him. Whoever’s doing this, I want to find him, and hang him.”
Sebastian remained silent. He’d told Archie his suspicion that Leopold Seaton’s death might be linked to the other murders. But he’d yet to divulge the rest of his thinking. It was all still speculation, too unproven.
He shifted his gaze to the crenelated sandstone gatehouse that guarded the entrance to Northcott Abbey’s long, stately drive. The big house itself was out of sight, hidden by the heavy late-summer canopy of the plantings that dotted the estate’s rolling, expansive park. And he found himself thinking about the family that had lived here, carefully hiding their religious faith generation after generation, on down through the centuries. What did that sort of pervasive, inescapable fear do to people? he wondered. What would it be like, living endlessly with that level of distrust and suspicion and duplicity? All while gazing down on the crumbling ruins of the priory from which your wealth had been seized?
He said, “Was Lady Seaton a Catholic before she married?”
Archie looked puzzled but answered readily enough. “She was, yes. I understand she’s related to the Nevilles and Howards.” Both were famous Catholic families who had managed to maintain their wealth and power despite their religion. “Why?”
Sebastian shook his head. “Just wondering.”
Archie gathered his reins, then hesitated. “Have you ever not caught a killer?”
“Not one I wanted to catch.”
“But . . . what if we never figure out who’s doing this?”
“Then I suspect he’ll eventually kill again,” said Sebastian, and saw the color drain from the young Squire’s face.