Elena and Allenby, along with Griselda and Geoffrey, packed away the hampers, making them ready for the stableboy to collect. It was suggested that they explore the hillside on foot, a suitable exercise after what had turned out to be quite a large meal. David and Margot were still at the crown of the hill.
Geoffrey and Griselda were in the clearing, deep in conversation, which left Elena alone with Allenby. He seemed relieved about this. “I need to speak with you,” he said quietly, taking her arm in a way that would have required her to pull away from him in order to refuse.
“What’s happened?” she asked, turning to face him as soon as they were out of sight of the picnic area and so, in a sense, alone.
“I got news this morning,” he told her. “A messenger brought it. It was ostensibly a telegram, and he insisted on handing it directly to me, and it would be easy enough to say it was a harmless message—an illness in the family—but it wasn’t.”
“What did it say?”
“Enough to make me think I know what Repton found out.”
“What? What is it?”
“Money. David Wyndham is giving the British Union of Fascists hundreds of thousands of pounds. Sorry, I know you like him, but he’s as double-faced as anyone I’ve ever met. If he goes on at this rate, he’ll wind up with Wyndham Hall in debt. It’s crazy. It makes me wonder if something very big is going to happen soon. Maybe they aren’t going to get Miller as the next MP after all. Maybe Wyndham himself will try for Hastings’s seat. He’d be perfect. If they work it cleverly, he could possibly become foreign secretary. Or”—his voice dropped lower—“after some time, prime minister.”
Elena wanted to deny this as a possibility, but that was childish and completely pointless. David Wyndham had told her he did not agree with Adolf Hitler. Was that a lie, too? “Then does that mean he is the most extraordinarily lucky opportunist, or—”
“No,” he cut across her. “It means he is a brilliant and ruthless player in a long game he intends to win. And he damn well will do if we don’t stop him. I didn’t think he had any part of it. And I’m sorry, Elena, but this could also mean that he is likely to know who we are and possibly who Lucas is as well.”
Standing in the late sun, Elena turned cold. A whole rush of scenes and ideas crowded her mind, casting a dark shadow over everything. “You mean we stepped right into a trap? How could he have—I suppose that was always a possibility, whoever it was. But Margot—” She could hardly think the words, never mind say them. “Geoffrey marrying Margot would be a stroke of genius.”
“It’s possible.” He nodded reluctantly. “If they didn’t know, then Margot may have been a startlingly lucky coincidence. But we can’t afford to assume anything. And…” His voice trailed off.
“What?” she demanded. “Are you wondering whether Margot knows anything? You think she’s part of this on purpose? Or that she’s so out of her mind in love with Geoffrey that she would go along with it? Or possibly that she would allow it? What do you think she is?”
“In love,” he said simply. “In love with love, the need to belong, to take the chance now, when she is still able to have children.”
She stared at him, fighting to form the words to deny it, but they slipped away, as if she had lost the ones she was going to use. She saw a gentleness in Allenby’s eyes that made any argument seem misplaced. And, in the end, irrelevant. “Are you sure?” she asked miserably.
“About the money going out of Wyndham’s bank account and into that of the British Union of Fascists? Yes, I’m afraid so. I didn’t want to believe it, but looking the other way is part of our trouble. As long as we can fool ourselves, we are inclined to deny the truth. Then it’s too late.”
It was still difficult. Elena had tried to persuade Margot to be careful and to think hard about Geoffrey. Elena had not felt the same doubt about David Wyndham. And she admitted that she had also liked him and felt comfortable with him. It hurt her that he was such a smooth and accomplished liar. “You’ll have to tell Lucas. Do you know who actually killed Repton?”
“I’m not certain, but it matters less than why he was killed. David Wyndham can do what he wants with his money. If it’s used to support Algernon Miller, then they’ll have a member of Parliament they can manipulate. I’d like to know why Wyndham isn’t intending to run for the seat himself. He’d be as sure as anybody to win. What has he in mind to do that he’ll use a cat’s paw instead?”
Elena thought hard for several moments, and one idea would not be banished. “Either Miller is expendable, or they have something more important in mind for Wyndham. I dread to think what that is.”
He looked at her steadily, his eyes gentle. “Disillusion is one of the sharpest pains I can think of. It tears down the foundation of so many other things as well, starting with your belief in your own judgment. If you can be wrong in this, what else are you mistaken in? It’s like a small stone hitting your car windscreen and splintering the whole thing. It may be only a tiny hole, but the cracks are everywhere.” He did not make a wide gesture that anyone could see. He used only his hand on her arm, but she felt the strength of it.
Racing through her mind was the question of how on earth she was going to tell Margot. If Elena was feeling the bitterness of disillusion, then Margot’s whole world was about to be smashed to pieces.
They spoke in low voices, agreeing that one could believe any religion, any political ideology, as long as those beliefs were not used as a justification to overthrow the government.
“We shouldn’t fear these differences,” she said. “And who wants to bury everyone else in a sea of carbon copies of themselves?” She paused for a moment. “But my beliefs, or even Margot’s, are not the issue. The real issue here is still the murder of John Repton and the plans to ruin Hastings and take over his position. Then the Fascists can move to replace others with their own men, I suppose, until they take over the whole government.”
In that moment, Elena knew that she would not say anything to Margot. There was no proof yet, and speaking before it was certain—and especially if it was later disproven—would damage their fragile relationship, perhaps beyond repair.
They stood for a long moment in silence until Allenby’s voice cut across her thoughts. “Come on, we’re going to ride back.”
They walked to where the horses were tethered. Geoffrey and Margot’s animals were already gone. Wyndham and Griselda were waiting for them.
“Sorry,” Allenby said. “Just taking a last look at that view. It really is…”
“It is, isn’t it?” Wyndham smiled. “I’m still looking for the word myself.”
They mounted their animals and set out along the path.
They had gone half a mile when Elena realized that Wyndham and Griselda were no longer with them. “Are we lost?” She looked around the area.
“No, the path is clear enough.” Allenby pointed. “But there must be another route.” He turned in the saddle to see what was around them. He smiled. “You mean they’re not lost, and we are? I thought this was the way we came.”
“It is,” she agreed. “I remember those three silver birches. We just passed them, and if you look back, they appear exactly the same as when we came from the other direction.”
He looked a little skeptical.
“They are!” she insisted.
“Really?”
“Yes! I’m a photographer, remember? I notice shapes and colors. But the path divided there, so I’ll go back and see if the other one was the way we came.” And without waiting, she turned her horse and went back toward the division in the bridle path to inspect the black and silver trunks of the birches.
She was studying the branches when a shot rang out, sharp and sudden, like a flying stone striking a rock wall. Her horse jerked its head up, startled. “It’s all right,” she shushed, stroking its neck. “Nobody is shooting at us.”
The horse was unsettled now, moving nervously, afraid.
“It’s all right,” she said again, keeping her voice steady. “Let’s go back home.” She pulled gently on the reins to turn the horse. They were at a break in the path, and one way was better trodden than the other. They were on the one showing lesser use.
Another shot rang out. This time, the horse reared up and then charged forward along the wider track. Elena could barely hang on, gripping the reins with all her strength and praying not to fall. She had no time to guide the animal, nor to look and see if it had been hit. But from its panic and then its uneven gait as it galloped frantically, she thought that it had.
They raced forward with Elena having lost all control. One branch caught her across the face, and then another slammed into her chest. She ducked lower to avoid being struck again. It took all her strength to keep from falling as the horse galloped wildly, weaving and stumbling, all but falling, terrified and slipping often, as if the wound hurt more and more.
Finally, Elena lost her grip on the reins and felt herself sliding off the saddle. She hit the ground with such force that it knocked the wind out of her. Her body, driven by the impetus of the fall, rolled off the path.
She lay there, bruised, struggling to breathe, and too stunned to do more than roll onto one side. She heard Allenby commanding his horse to stop, but it galloped by her, swerving dangerously to miss trampling her, and then veered to one side until it finally slowed down and stopped.
She was only dimly aware of another horse pulling up somewhere near her, and the next moment she felt a touch and heard Allenby’s voice calling her name. She tried to sit up, but he held her down where she was. His hands moved everywhere, testing for broken bones. She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, calling her name.
“Is my horse all right?” she asked weakly. “I think she was shot. She didn’t mean to throw me. Please—” She could hear that there was something wrong with her voice, and she could hardly breathe. She tried to rise and fell into a fit of coughs.
“Slowly!” he ordered. “You knocked the wind out of yourself.”
She tried to take a deep breath, experimentally. She couldn’t fill her lungs. For a moment, she panicked.
“Slowly,” he repeated, clearly controlling himself with difficulty.
“My horse?” she tried again.
“Yes, she’s fine,” Allenby said. “But she was shot. It’s only a flesh wound. Needs a stitch or two. That’s why she bolted off like that. Now stop asking about the horse and try moving your legs, one at a time.”
As Elena was testing her limbs, Griselda rode up to her and leaped off her horse. “My dear girl,” she cried, her face twisted with embarrassment and concern. “I’m so sorry. That mare has never let us down! What on earth happened? Did you fall?”
Elena was getting her breath back. At first, she struggled, and she only stopped panicking when Allenby kept telling her to try more slowly. She sat up, drawing in breath shakily, and became aware of Geoffrey standing a few feet away.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Arms? Legs?”
“Bruised, I expect, that’s all,” she answered, wincing, with an unspoken prayer that, please God, that was true.
Others were arriving. A moment later, Margot was kneeling beside her. Her face was white with fear.
“I’m fine,” Elena exclaimed as steadily as she could.
Griselda leaned closer. “Perhaps we need to do something about the mare.”
“No!” Elena said, still gasping for breath. Allenby was holding her in a sitting position on the ground. “Not the horse’s fault at all,” she added. “Please, go and see if she’s all right. She’s been shot. In the flank, I think.” She turned to Allenby. “It’s not her fault!” she cried out again. “Don’t let them blame her! Please!”
He stared at her evenly for a second, then he and Margot helped her to stand.
Margot was quiet as she gripped Elena, not speaking until her sister was upright. “Who on earth would shoot the horse?” she demanded, as if refusing to believe that someone had aimed at Elena herself.
“Poachers!” Griselda exclaimed bitterly. “They’re getting so bold. They come here even in broad daylight. No one’s looking for them now, but they’ve probably fled. I dare say they won’t be so keen to come back on Wyndham land again in a hurry. Are you sure you’re all right, Elena?”
“Yes, thank you. Please don’t be concerned. I can’t be the only person to have fallen off a horse, or even the ten millionth. It will do me good to walk back, to keep myself moving.”
“I’ll help you,” Griselda offered.
Wyndham moved ahead of his wife and took Elena’s arm. “Lean on me,” he insisted. “And stop immediately if it hurts.”
“No bones broken,” she assured him, quite sure she was right. She had broken a bone once, and it was a pain she could never forget.
Griselda moved out of the way, and Wyndham took hold of Elena, keeping her steady. He maneuvered so that he took a good deal of her weight, not easing his grip when he saw that she had to balance. “Are you sure?”
Elena gritted her teeth. “I think a few bruises, but that’s all.”
Before she could elaborate on that, Allenby took Elena’s horse by its bridle, talking to it gently. He turned to Wyndham with a penetrating look. “I’m afraid she has been shot in the flank. If you can get the bullet out—it’s not very deep—you might not need the vet. Unless a couple of stitches are required. But what kind of a bastard shoots a horse?” He released a sigh of exasperation. “I would report it to the police. If nothing else, it will tell other landowners around here that there is at least one very dangerous person trespassing on your land.”
Elena studied Wyndham, who seemed the more shaken of the two. Could he have been the one who actually fired the shot? Why? Were they closing in on him, and he knew it?
“I will,” Wyndham promised. “What the hell are things coming to when the poachers start firing at people?” He glanced at Elena again with sympathy. “I can’t say how sorry I am. I…It’s never happened before, and I’ll see that it damn well never happens again. Would you like to ride my horse back?”
Elena found herself smiling in spite of what she now knew of him. “No, thank you. I think walking would be good for me. And please get my horse back before the bullet wound gets any worse. James can accompany me back to the house, if you’ll lead his horse back to the stable as well.”
Wyndham nodded, understanding her concern for the mare.
The others mounted again, Wyndham leading the injured horse with Margot following close behind, leaving Allenby and Elena alone among the trees.
“Do you want to stay here while I—” he began.
“No,” she cut him off. “I can work out where the shot came from as well as you can. Damn it! What kind of a person shoots a horse?”
“The same kind of a person that shoots a man,” he replied dryly. “Or causes a branch to fall.” He shook his head in disgust. “We need to find the rifle. Are you sure you’re—”
“Yes!” Exasperation rose in her voice.
“It can’t have been from far away,” Allenby said, scanning the perimeter. “It’s such heavily wooded land. And if he had a clear shot at you, or more likely the horse, it had to have been from somewhere that we can see from here. And…” He paused, squinting off into the distance. “I think in that direction.” He pointed behind them and to the left of the path along which they had come.
“Where were you when you were shot?” he asked. “Your horse came some distance from there before you fell off.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. I suppose we’d better go back. I don’t know if I can remember.” She looked around, trying to get her bearings.
“You must try. Did she stumble? If we can find your tracks, they may show a change in the horse’s gait.” His eyes searched the trails. “Do you remember anything at all? A tree that was different? Or a changing color? Two trees together in a particular way? Thank heaven your horse wasn’t shot badly enough to shed more than the odd spot of blood, but more bleeding might have helped us find the place.”
“No one had a rifle when the others arrived at where I fell,” she pointed out. “It was hidden again. And well enough that no one else noticed. Unless, of course, they are part of this, too?”
“The only one we can trust is Margot,” Allenby said seriously. “It could be any of the others, Wyndham, Griselda, or Geoffrey.”
“Or somebody hired by one of them.”
“I suppose so,” he agreed. He turned and started walking slowly along the path.
Elena moved awkwardly at first, trying to match his pace. She would have dramatic bruises tomorrow, but for now she thought they were not too bad.
She and Allenby covered much of the path and found two or three different places where one could hide, almost entirely concealed, and have a view of anyone coming along. They fixated on one location and explored around it.
“It is enough to do,” Allenby observed, standing in the spot and inspecting the area. “Anyone who knows these woods would know this place. And they’d also know the different ways to reach the hill where we had lunch. Let’s keep looking, in case there’s another location that’s even more likely.”
Allenby was the first to spot the tree that provided both a trunk to lean against, branches to conceal most of anyone standing still, and a low branch that could hide anyone who sat in wait.
It was Elena who saw the heel mark in the fresh earth between the tree’s surfaced roots. Someone had stood here and perhaps rested the long barrel of a rifle on the branch. This place would be convenient for anyone who had to wait several minutes without moving and didn’t want to risk the sunlight reflecting off the barrel of the rifle. The boot mark was in damp earth, a good impression left behind. She knew it would easily be erased by the next rainfall.
Elena felt a sudden coldness inside her when she peered closely at the heel print. There was a slight pattern in it. To touch it at all would cause the wet earth to move, and it would disappear. But for now, and perhaps a few hours more, it was there.
Allenby took a small notebook and pencil out of his pocket and drew a detailed copy of it. “It isn’t evidence,” he admitted. “Except to us. But I don’t suppose any of this will come to court anyway. Now, let’s go to the house. I want to get my hands on that bullet before it disappears.” He glanced at Elena in concern. “Are you sure you can walk back?”
“Yes, thank you.” She nodded in confirmation. “But you had better say I took it slowly, to account for the time we’ve been gone.”
He rolled his eyes a little. “I would never have thought of that,” he said, holding back a smile and taking her arm.
Elena had a hot bath immediately upon getting back to the house. Her bruises were already beginning to show. By tomorrow, she would probably look like an overripe plum, all purple and green and yellow—any shade except that of a normal human being. But there was no help for it.
Despite her reluctance, she accepted having supper brought up to her on a tray.
She had just finished eating and was looking for a place to set the tray down when there was a knock on the door. She did not want to be fussed over, but if it was Allenby with some news, she would have to listen. Was she even going to be able to move tomorrow? This was no time to be disabled. She would have to do the best she could.
“Come in,” she answered after a moment. She knew she looked a complete mess and did not feel in the least like facing Allenby. Or anyone else, for that matter. But there was no way to avoid him.
However, it was Margot who came in, looking unusually concerned. She closed the door behind her and came over to the bed, clearing the tray before she sat on the mattress and regarded Elena gravely. “How are you? Are you sure you don’t want me to call a doctor? He could come and make sure you’re all right.”
“No, thank you,” Elena replied, offering a small smile. “And it isn’t injured pride, I promise. The hot bath helped a lot. Good thing it was me and not you. At least I’m well padded against a fall!”
“Is that how you landed? On your behind?” Margot tried to hide her smile and failed. “I’ve got some arnica.” She produced a large tube of ointment. “This can only help.”
Elena took the tube gratefully. “What were you expecting, to bring this much?” She looked up curiously.
“I’m tempted to say it’s because you are so clumsy. But I ran to the chemist in the village after you fell, and this was the only size they had. Do you want me to help put some on the places you can’t reach?”
“Actually, yes, please.”
“Then turn over, and carefully.”
Margot worked at the bruises, saying nothing, and very gently rubbed in the cream. It was comforting, her sister’s touch, and reminded her of when they were young.
When Margot was finished, Elena thanked her and rolled carefully back into her original position, on her side, where there was less pressure on her wounds.
“I thought you’d like to know,” Margot said, “that the vet has been here, and the horse is going to be a bit tender for a few days, but she should be fine.”
“Thank you,” Elena said, and she meant it. Caring about animals was a characteristic she and Margot shared. They had never had as many pets as they would have liked.
Margot hesitated.
“What?” Elena asked, squinting her eyes in suspicion.
Margot was clearly uncomfortable.
“Margot?” Elena prompted.
“I haven’t been kind to you,” Margot admitted, avoiding eye contact as she secured the cap on the tube.
“With this Mosley situation,” Margot went on. “I’m certain that Geoffrey is not involved, but Griselda might be, and in a way that could bring trouble to the family.”
Elena listened closely, reminding herself to say nothing about the money David Wyndham had purportedly donated to the Nazi cause.
“And those accidents,” Margot sighed sadly. “I blamed you, but you certainly can’t be at fault if a horse is shot. And did it just happen to be your horse?”
Again, Elena remained silent, but a little burst of hope ran through her.
Margot shifted her position on the bed until she was looking directly at her sister. “Do you know about jewels? I mean, the real thing? I’ve never heard you mention them.”
“Not a lot. Except that they are out of my financial league, and probably always will be. I’ll settle for good costume stuff. Why? What on earth does—oh! Has Geoffrey brought you a ring?” The thought troubled her. “Margot?”
“Well, I do…know quite a lot, that is,” Margot answered. “Griselda has many jewels. The Wyndhams have always had land and money—” She stopped, and a look of profound unhappiness crossed her face.
“What is it?” Elena prompted again.
“I know that at least two of the pieces she’s been wearing since I’ve been here are paste. Very good copies, but—”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, and if you know what to look for, you can tell.”
Elena tried in vain to think of something appropriate to say.
“And the diamond ring she wears—”
“Also paste?” Elena said incredulously.
“Definitely not a diamond.”
“You really are sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she knows?”
“You mean that David gave her paste in the first place?” There was disbelief in Margot’s voice.
“Either that, or she changed them. I suppose it’s possible the real ones are in the bank vault or some other safe place. Or perhaps surety for a loan?” Elena saw the misery in her sister’s face. “Why would the Wyndhams need a loan?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena was on the brink of thanking Margot for confiding in her, then bit back the words. Why should Margot think she cared? Perhaps it was to relieve Margot’s burden, not to enlighten Elena. “Yes, they’ve probably put the real ones in a safe, like in a bank, to protect them from being stolen. They must be worth a fortune. All of them together, a fairly large fortune.”
Margot took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. “Yes, of course. Silly of me to even mention it. Now, see if you can find a comfortable position and get some sleep. Good night.”
“Good night,” Elena replied, her mind whirling. “And thank you.”
Margot had helped more than she knew.