So Fletcher Taunt was suspected of being a smuggler! A thrill of dismay rattled through Miranda. She couldn’t believe it – wouldn’t believe it!
She was disappointed when he didn’t put in an appearance at the church for the service.
She wondered how many members of the congregation were involved in such a pursuit, and gazed around her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but some of the men were villainous-looking and others had sly faces. Most of them had weathered skin, for they spent most of their days working on the sea or in the fields. Many appeared to be ordinary men and women going about their business. But even in their Sunday clothes, the whole bunch of them began to appear sinister to her.
Obviously, Sir James wasn’t one of the villains, though Fletcher had warned her that his uncle wasn’t what he appeared. He was an honest, upright gentleman, his head bowed in prayer. His voice was deep and a little husky when he sang the hymns. His forehead knitted in a frown when the rector launched into a rambling sermon and he heaved a huge sigh.
When a small chuckle escaped from her, his glance came her way and he raised an eyebrow. She gazed back at her hands. She couldn’t imagine being married to him. He was older than her father had been when he’d died from his fall.
Like most accidents, her father’s had been unexpected – his neck broken across a fallen log. At least he hadn’t suffered, she thought. Death had been instantaneous and the course of their lives had been changed by it. It seemed so long ago now, and her memory of him was not quite so painful and acute.
The rector’s voice droned on for what seemed like forever. Someone at the back of the congregation began to snore loudly.
There were shouts and hoots of laughter, and several faked snoring noises in various tones, so it sounded as though there was a sty full of pigs at the back of the church.
Miranda felt sorry for the rector when his voice tailed off. Looking tired, grey and beaten down by life, he shrugged, mumbled a blessing over them all and walked up the aisle to wait in the porch as his congregation filed out.
His wife followed after, her lips pursed into nag lines. It was as if she was sorry to be married to such a poor creature of a man and was intent on improving him.
The congregation fell quiet when Sir James’s party stood and proceeded to leave. Miranda knew that all the glances were directed towards her and Lucy. Her face heated as she wondered what they were thinking. Nothing good, she imagined.
‘Thank you, reverend.’ Sir James placed his hat on his head.
A pair of weary blue eyes fell on her. ‘God bless you.’
‘I enjoyed your sermon, reverend,’ Miranda lied, because she felt sorry for him; she couldn’t actually remember one droning sentence of it.
The eyes sprang open in surprise and he stuttered, ‘Why, thank you, young lady. Which part did you like best?’
Moses came into her mind, but before she could recall it clearly, Lucy stepped into the sudden silence. ‘I expect it was the bit in the story where the waters parted and the Israelites walked across. I liked that bit, too. It was exciting because I imagined the water closing over to drown them all. I expect the fish got rather a surprise too when they tried to swim across the gap. Did it really happen?’
A smile lit the rector’s face at Lucy’s enthusiasm, abandoned when his wife snapped, ‘It’s not your place to question the reverend over the miracles contained in the Bible, young woman.’
Sir James surprised Miranda by saying, ‘Do be quiet, Mrs Swift. The question was not addressed to you and it’s not your place to criticize my guests. Miss Lucy, Miss Jarvis, the carriage is waiting. Reverend Swift, do visit us for afternoon tea one day next week. Wednesday or Thursday will suit. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.’
‘Those are my days to be charitable and visit the poor in the parish,’ Mrs Swift said. ‘May I suggest another day?’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that. Never fear. I shall send one of my stable hands to help you. He can carry your things and accompany you.’
Miranda looked at him in surprise, for she hadn’t thought him the type of man to be churlish to a woman in public.
Lucy stuck her nose in the air and swished off towards the carriage. Miranda resolved to have words with her sister about her attitude. They were, after all, reliant on the good graces of another, and their position in life was not ideal when the mentor was a relative stranger to them.
‘Good-day, reverend.’ Sir James ushered her before him, and once they were settled in the carriage, he said. ‘It’s best not to linger after the service. Too much gossip circulates.’
‘I felt sorry for Reverend Swift,’ Miranda said.
‘Having a shrew for a wife would be wearing for any man. He should grow a backbone and stand up to her. Perhaps you should learn a lesson from it for when you become wives. Always be obedient and agreeable to your husbands, and then you will both live happier lives together.’
The words left her mouth before she could stop them. ‘And if I’m not inclined to be either?’
‘Bear in mind that he may take a strap to you.’ His eyes met hers, dark and unfathomable, and he smiled. ‘There are ways to bring someone to heel, especially a woman. They’re emotional and self-sacrificial. They love too deeply, and that can be used against them.’
Her skin crawled.
When they arrived home, she was about to go upstairs when Sir James said, ‘I understand you ran into Simon Bailey a day or so ago.’
‘Lucy and I were on our way home and he came up behind us on the road. He said there was talk of a trespasser, didn’t he, Lucy?’
‘Yes.’ Her sister laughed. ‘He talked about horrid things such as hanging and shooting felons. He said it wasn’t up to him but to the magistrate. You wouldn’t sentence anyone to hang, would you?’
‘Such sentences are for learned men to ponder on and decide on, Miss Lucy. The punishment for various crimes is decided upon by parliament. By law, a magistrate has to use them for their proper purpose, without fear or favour.’
‘Miranda was cross with Mr Bailey,’ Lucy said. ‘She told him I wasn’t old enough to hear such things.’
‘Your sister is right … but you should have told me, Miranda. I would have had a word with him.’
‘There was no need.’
‘What do you make of the man?’
‘He seems to be an upright and honest man, though a little awkward in manner. I feel sorry for him.’
‘Miranda feels sorry for everyone,’ Lucy threw in. ‘I’m sure Mr Bailey could improve himself if he tried to be pleasant. I would love to hear his stories of smugglers and piracy on the high seas. How exciting it must be to be a man.’
Sir James smiled. ‘When men puff themselves up with pride at their own honesty they seem to lose sight of the fact they’re not perfect. Honest men cannot be trusted.’
‘Can you be trusted, Sir James?’ Lucy asked him.
‘Not at all.’
Miranda believed him, even though it was said in a jocular manner. It seemed to her that nobody could be trusted in these parts, not even Fletcher Taunt. ‘What are you suggesting Simon Bailey do – commit a crime to feel less about himself?’
‘At least it would make him human. None of us is perfect. Tell me. How many lies have you told today?’
Did lying include avoiding giving him a straight answer? ‘None that I can think of.’
Lucy scoffed, ‘What about the fib you told the reverend about liking his sermon. You couldn’t even remember it was about Moses parting the water.’
‘I admit, my mind was far away, but that was just to make him feel happy, because he looked so sad. Was the intruder caught, Sir James?’
‘No, so I’d rather you stayed within sight of the house for a while. I’m sure there are enough wildflowers in the garden to keep your sketching pencil busy.’
She nodded, and then her blood ran cold as she remembered her sketching block. She’d left it at the cemetery. She hoped he wouldn’t ask to see it.
‘By the way, the couple who robbed your mother were apprehended. They were caught stealing food in the market place.’
‘What will happen to them?’
‘They will be tried and will receive the appropriate sentence within the law, no doubt.’
She felt her face drain of colour. ‘You won’t …’
‘Their case will be heard by another magistrate. You’ll be expected to identify them and make a witness statement.’ He guided her to the chair. ‘Sit down. Miss Lucy, see if there are any smelling salts in Miranda’s bag.’
The sharp assault of the whiff of salts into her nostrils cleared her head in an instant.
‘Come, come, Miranda. There is nothing to worry about.’
‘They were hungry, that’s all. When Lucy and I were hungry, you allowed me to steal from you without punishment. You fed us and looked after us. I would like to see the same charity afforded to this couple.’
‘Your rescue was a moment of weakness on my part, and at times like this I think it would have been wiser to have allowed my dogs to eat you for dinner. I cannot feed and house every waif and stray who crosses my path, though I do help fund a school for orphaned boys that furnishes them with useful disciplines for the future, so I hope that will redeem me in your eyes.’ He chuckled at the thought, and then sighed. ‘Very well – for the sake of your conscience, I suppose we can drop the charges relating to their crime against you. No doubt the people they stole from in the market place will be less charitable. Your evidence wouldn’t have made any difference to the outcome, anyway.’
‘Thank you, Sir James.’
He kissed her forehead. ‘Go and rest now, Miranda. You too, Miss Lucy. I’ll see you both at dinner.’
A few days later, Sir James informed her, ‘You might be interested to learn that the couple who robbed your mother’s body tried to escape. The man was shot dead, and the woman sentenced to transportation with hard labour. None of your goods were recovered. I expect they sold them. So justice has been served, and you needn’t worry about them any more.’
So matter-of-fact, and without any pity for them at all. What kind of man was he?
Sir James usually had guests for dinner at the weekends. Tonight was no exception. There was a local corn merchant called Harold George, and his rather dull wife, and Sir James’s legal representative, Andrew Patterson and his wife, Mary, whom they’d met before.
They were assembled in the drawing room when a servant entered and whispered something to Sir James. He smiled. ‘Tell him to come in.’
Nothing could have surprised Miranda more than Fletcher’s entrance.
He wore a black evening suit over a burgundy-hued waistcoat threaded through with gold thread. A high-fastening shirt with bow completed his outfit and his dark, crisp curls sprang about his head. He was a handsome, strong-looking man.
Her body became aware of him, of the caress of his glance, the unruly curl of darkness against his ear lobe, the long sweep of his lashes on his lean and hungry-looking face. Desire tore through her like a flood, sending pulses of moisture to lap like an incoming tide at the secretive centre of her. She wanted to run to his side, throw herself into his arms, and kiss him over and over again. She nearly called out his name.
His glance ran over the assembly and then lingered on her for the moment it took for him to smile. He turned to Sir James and inclined his head slightly. ‘Uncle … you are well?’
‘As you see. To what do I owe this honour, Fletcher?’
‘I wanted to discuss business, but I see you are about to eat.’
‘You’ve always known the time we dine. In fact, I’d swear you were dressed for the occasion.’
‘I was hoping to be invited, since I haven’t tasted cooking as good as Nancy’s for quite some time.’
Sir James nodded to the servant. ‘Set another place for my nephew. You know almost everyone here, don’t you, Fletcher?’
‘He doesn’t know me,’ Lucy said and smiled at him. ‘How do you do, Mr Taunt. We have your portrait hanging on our bedroom wall, so I feel as though I know you. I’m Lucy Jarvis, and this is my sister, Miranda Jarvis.’
He took Lucy’s hand in his and kissed it.
Sir James said, ‘You’re supposed to wait to be introduced, Miss Lucy.’
Lucy giggled. ‘I know, but you were taking such a long time about it that I thought I’d help things along. That’s the first time anyone has kissed my hand, Mr Taunt. I shall write it into my story.’
‘Miss Jarvis.’ Fletcher’s mouth brushed lightly across Miranda’s knuckles and his eyes engaged hers. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I’d heard my uncle had house guests, so I found an excuse to come and see for myself.’
‘What excuse is that, Fletcher? Let me hear it.’
The air was suddenly charged with tension.
‘Can it not wait until we’re alone?’
‘I think not, since it seems to me that we’ve waited long enough. If we are to reconcile, we must make things clear on where we stand. I’m sure my guests won’t mind.’
Miranda wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she’d picked up that Sir James was out to humiliate Fletcher. ‘I think I’d rather not be a witness to this.’
‘I’d prefer you to stay, my dear, since it won’t take long.’
Fletcher drew in a deep breath. ‘Two years ago, we had an argument over the Midnight Star, which got out of hand. You accused me of cheating at cards, I recall. I was drunk at the time. If I did cheat, it was unintentional, and I’ve regretted the barrier between us ever since. For that I offer an apology.’
A man of pride and position who was able to offer a public apology with so much grace and aplomb was admirable. At that moment, Fletcher won both Miranda’s admiration and her heart.
Sir James patted his nephew on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps I was a little hasty at the time. We will sort this out privately between us a little later on and see what can be done to remove this barrier. Let’s go in for dinner now, lest the food spoil. Fletcher, you may escort Miss Lucy in.’
Miranda felt a moment of disappointment when she found herself seated as far away from Fletcher as she could be, though he was well in her line of sight. But perhaps it was just as well, she thought; otherwise she might give herself away. Just knowing he was near would make dinner an agony.
After a delicately flavoured leek soup, a saddle of lamb was served with roast turnips, potatoes, and peas with a delicious aroma of wild mint. There was a pudding of custard tart, served with strawberries and cream, and garnished with chocolate flakes.
The ladies were eager to gossip about Fletcher when they returned to the drawing room.
‘I’d forgotten how handsome Fletcher Taunt is,’ Mary Patterson said, claiming the earliest acquaintance. ‘He was such a flirt, and that hasn’t changed.’
‘And charming,’ Mrs George murmured. ‘What do you think, Miss Jarvis?’
‘Yes, I imagine he is, but we hardly spoke during dinner.’
‘Nevertheless, he couldn’t take his eyes from you.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite true; if so, I didn’t notice.’
Lucy offered, ‘He was charming to me. He told me my eyes were pretty, just like Miranda’s, and that made my face go all red. Then he said I needn’t worry about blushing because it happened to every young lady of my age, and when I’d grown up properly and was used to receiving compliments from men, it would stop. Of course, he was teasing, and that made me blush even more. But he was such fun.’
Mrs George engaged her eyes. ‘Do you really have his portrait on your bedroom wall, Miss Jarvis?’
‘Yes … but the room was used by Sir James’s sister, Elizabeth Taunt, and Mr Taunt is a child in it, though he seems to have changed very little.’
‘Ah … I see. Mr Taunt is very much like Sir James—’
The door opened and the men came in. Into the sudden silence, Sir James said, ‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’
‘I was just saying how alike you and Mr Taunt are. You look more like father and son than uncle and nephew,’ Mrs George twittered.
‘Which is a comparison made on previous occasions, Mrs George. There is more than a passing family resemblance, I admit. That would have come through my sister, unless you have another theory to explain it. Goodness knows, many have been bandied about. Isn’t that right, Fletcher?’
Mrs George lowered her glance to her hands and, sounding distressed, she murmured, ‘I meant no offence.’
Stepping forward, Fletcher relieved the tension by taking her hands in his. ‘No offence was taken, Mrs George. My father was the ne’er-do-well Adrian Taunt, who was killed abroad, I’m given to understand.’ Lowering his voice, he looked around and whispered loudly. ‘The family is littered with villains and my father is just one of them.’
Miranda stepped into the lighter mood he’d created. ‘Who are the others you mentioned? Yourself and Sir James excepting, of course, since it wouldn’t do to incriminate yourselves.’
That brought laughter from everyone, and it was Sir James who answered, ‘I think we’ll let sleeping dogs lie on that. Miss Jarvis, I hear you’ve been sketching flowers. Please fetch your sketching block so we can see them.’
Her heart sank. ‘I seem to have mislaid it … Besides, my sketches are not very accurate.’
Sir James beckoned to a servant. ‘Tell Mrs Pridie to go to Miss Jarvis’s room and look for her sketching block.’
Fletcher stopped the progress of the servant. ‘You might want to look on the hallstand first. I recall placing my hat on top of a sketching block.’
Within a short time, the servant came back with the block and handed it to Sir James.
Miranda sent Fletcher a smile that thanked him for getting her out of that particular hole. ‘You have sharp eyes, Mr Taunt. I seem to be getting absent-minded, and I’m certainly too embarrassed to show anyone my poor sketches.’
‘Nonsense,’ Sir James said, riffling through the pages. ‘This sketch of a briar rose is excellent. And, see, it has a message underneath on a ribbon … “Love never dies”. For whom was this sentimental message intended?’
It was intended for her, because Miranda hadn’t sketched the rose; Fletcher must have.
Now Fletcher gazed over his uncle’s shoulder and rescued her again. ‘That rose rambles over one of the graves, I believe. The message is inscribed on the headstone, so it must be intended for the person who occupies the grave, which isn’t named. It’s probably a woman buried there.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The fact that there’s a rose planted on the grave. It’s a woman’s flower with a female name. And up to fairly recently, it’s been pruned regularly. Perhaps it was someone of Silas Asher’s acquaintance.’
Sir James threw a frown his way. ‘I must take a look at this grave and go through the family records. It’s more likely someone who disgraced the family and was punished in death by being buried unnamed.’
Lucy’s eyes were as round as saucers. ‘How wonderfully mysterious! You will tell me when you find out, won’t you, Sir James?’
‘You’re as curious as a cat sometimes, missy. One day that nose might get you into trouble.’
Lucy blushed at the mild reprimand and retreated to her chair.
‘There’s just one small mistake as far as I can see, Miss Jarvis; it’s the wrong time of year for roses to bloom.’
Fletcher took up her defence. ‘Miss Jarvis did say her sketches weren’t accurate. Obviously, she preferred the plant to look as though it were blooming. It’s a pretty little picture, Miss Jarvis.’
‘I appreciate your comments, Mr Taunt. Next time I draw, I’ll try to please others instead of myself, and be more accurate in my application of pencil to paper. Goodness, what a fuss about a small drawing. What will you make of my poppies, I wonder?’
His eyes engaged hers. Mischief danced in their depths like glimmers of sunshine on the surface of a mossy pool. ‘I imagine your poppies will be a delight, Miss Jarvis.’
Sir James smothered his laughter with his handkerchief.
Miranda only just managed to keep hers under control, but she wasn’t quite as successful with her blush.
The others crowded round to admire her work, and someone tickled the palm of her hand. She didn’t look to see who it was; she didn’t need to.
Sir James drew Lucy back into the fold by saying, ‘What are you going to entertain us with tonight, Miss Lucy?’
‘Some Mozart, I think.’
After the entertainment, the guests drifted off to their allotted rooms. They were staying the night and knew better than to linger when Sir James had already indicated he had business to attend to. Reconciliation seemed to be on the agenda.
Fletcher didn’t feel easy about it, as though his absence had created a divide between them that couldn’t be breached without a large dollop of hypocrisy to oil it.
Sir James poured them a brandy apiece, and they took a chair on either side of the fireplace and contemplated each other – just like they used to, for old habits died hard, Fletcher thought.
The clock ticked steadily, the leaping flames crackled in the fireplace and the shadows danced on the wall. The brandy was one to be appreciated, smooth when savoured against his tongue.
His uncle broke the silence. ‘Now, then, Fletcher, how shall we go about resolving our differences? Do you have anything to redeem yourself in my eyes after cheating me out of my half of the Midnight Star?’
‘I believe you agreed you may have been hasty over that.’
‘I’m willing to be convinced.’
‘I destroyed the note you signed that gave me your half of the ship in settlement of your gambling debt.’
‘I had no idea you’d done that. Why didn’t you tell me then?’
‘Because, in your usual bloody-minded way, you locked me out and sent me packing before I could tell you. The ship is still a company asset, and that company is in both our names. Moreover, the money your half of the ship has earned in the past two years is in a separate account in your name. You could have examined the books any time you wished by contacting Sir Oswald. What stopped you?’
‘The same issue that stopped you from contacting me; you call it bloody-mindedness and I call it pride. You made it perfectly clear the shipping business would be managed by you alone. I had no intention of going cap-in-hand to consult with Oswald, a man I dislike.’
‘But you said you didn’t want any part of managing it. The shipping company is doing well, and will do even better in the future. I’m proud of it.’
‘Very well, I’ll allow you that. Now about the Monksfoot Estate. You stole that from under my nose.’
‘I didn’t steal it. Silas said he’d never sell it to you. He was fond of the place, and he knew you’d pull it down. He seemed to have some sort of grudge against you, and suggested that he and I might be related.’
‘Did he, by God!’ James spluttered. ‘The arrogance of the man! You look nothing like him. You’re a Fenmore through and through.’
‘Didn’t the Taunt family have some hand in it?’
‘We’ve been through all this before. Let’s change the subject. What are your plans for Monksfoot?’
‘As well as the seaweed trade, I intend to run the estate as a farm.’
‘It’s good soil, I admit.’
‘Eventually, I’m going to put a stop to the illicit trading in smuggled goods. The authorities are strong now, and are backed up by the navy on occasion. It’s too close to home and only a matter of time before they catch up with us.’
‘Silas was always a bit flagrant about his business. He liked to flaunt it under the noses of the authorities.’
‘There have been running battles. I’ve got no desire to get a bullet in my back or dance a jig at the end of a rope. That tame customs man of yours has caused me some annoyance, boarding the Midnight Star. He’s already damaged some sails and the company’s reputation.’
‘It was not at my urging. Simon Bailey is a law unto himself. He’s a hard man to fathom. One day he’ll get a bullet in his back.’
‘Not from me. The shipping company is a legitimate business that fills both our coffers, and that ship is the only asset.’ Fletcher hesitated about mentioning the Lady Miranda, and decided not to – not until she was ready for sea and had a cargo lined up. ‘I’m worried Bailey will do something stupid that will jeopardize the lives of the crew. The last time he boarded, he held a gun to my head.’
‘You should be grateful he didn’t pull the trigger.’
‘I’ve told Tom Pepper he’s to make sure to keep his activities at a low-key level. I don’t want to spend the remainder of my life watching my back.’
‘Tom Pepper and his crew will do as he’s always done, with or without you. They’re all sewer rats and you can’t trust any one of them. The trouble with you, Fletcher, is that you’ve got a conscience.’
‘So have you! You know, uncle, we should forget the smuggling and work the land together – in the same way we run the shipping company. You’re a much better farmer than I could ever be.’
‘It’s a thought, and I’ll consider it.’
‘Tell me about those young women.’
His uncle stared into his glass and smiled. ‘I wondered when you’d get round to asking. Miranda is a fetching little thing, isn’t she? They have nobody to care for them – except me. I thought I might wed the older one and breed from her. She didn’t seem very keen on the idea, so I’m giving her a little time.’
It was dropped into the conversation casually, as though Miranda was a brood mare. Fletcher felt sick. ‘What if she decides against it?’
His uncle shrugged. ‘If I cannot persuade her, there are other options to explore. I’ve spent a considerable amount of money on that pair. I look on them as an investment and they owe me.’
Fletcher could only imagine what those options were. ‘And the younger girl?’
He shrugged. ‘In a year or so, she’ll be old enough to wed. Simon Bailey needs a young wife to keep him busy. I’m sure I could supply Lucy with a dowry – not a big one, of course, but enough for Simon to feel grateful towards me. You know … that idea of combining the estates is a good one. I’ll expect my name to be on the deeds, of course.’
His uncle was still as devious as they came, Fletcher thought, trying not to grin. ‘I bought Monksfoot fair and square. I had no idea that Silas intended to leave his estate to me. One day, I’ll marry and produce a child or two of my own. I’m not such a fool that I’d jeopardize their futures for your present.’
The brandy in the glass on the table began to ripple, and there was a low rumble followed by an explosion. The boards trembled under their feet. The dogs set up a clamour of barks and the glass in the cabinet tinkled.
‘What the hell!’
The first explosion was almost immediately followed by a second.
The two gazed at each other, then shot to their feet.
Voices were heard in the hall and then the door was thrust open and Jack Pridie came in. ‘I think the new gatehouse and walls have been destroyed, Sir James.’
‘The devil they have! Where was the watchman – asleep? Arm the men and get over there. If he survived the explosion, dismiss him.’
Sir James moved to the side table. Taking out a pistol, he cocked it, turned and aimed it at Fletcher’s head.
Fletcher’s scalp seemed to shrink when his uncle said, ‘I’m of a mind to kill you. I was a fool to allow you to advance over the doorstep.’
Andrew Patterson called out, ‘You have no reason to believe this was done on Fletcher’s orders, Sir James.’
But his uncle wasn’t listening to reason and Fletcher had cause to be worried. Sir James was a crack shot, and from this distance he’d probably blow half his head off.
‘You have to the count of five to get out of my house. If you set foot on my property again, I’ll leave instructions for you to be shot out of hand. One …’
‘This is not my doing, uncle.’
‘Two …’
There came a babble of voices from the landing, and Fletcher caught a glimpse of Miranda in the shadows. Her arm was around her sister, her hair a shining cascade about her shoulders, though they were still in their clothes. Both pairs of eyes were as wide as saucers.
‘Three …’
She did what he prayed she wouldn’t: left her sister’s side and advanced down the stairs, trying to distract his uncle. ‘What’s happened? Why are you pointing that gun at Fletcher?’
‘Four … Get back upstairs, girl,’ his uncle said sharply.
‘Do as you’re told, Miranda,’ Fletcher shouted in alarm, but on the count of five she moved between them and threw herself against him. Arm sliding round her, he swung her aside.
‘Five!’
Surely his uncle wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill him in cold blood, and in front of witnesses? Fletcher cursed, but he knew he was right. At the last moment, Sir James sloped the weapon away from them, his finger still taut against the trigger.
It discharged, and there was a chorus of screams from the small group of ladies assembled on the landing.
‘Miranda,’ Fletcher whispered and caught her up in his arms as Lucy half tumbled down the stairs to Miranda.