There were dark mutterings.
The party broke up quickly after that.
* * *
Chapter 34
THAT NIGHT MEGGIE’S shoulder hurt, to be expected Dr. Pritchart had assured her, but still Thomas was worried. But he didn’t say anything, simply poured a tincture of laudanum in some barley water and handed it to her. He didn’t move until she’d emptied the glass.
He held her until she eased into sleep.
It was very late, dark clouds obscuring the quarter moon that cast a watery light through the window when the cloth slammed down over his mouth. It took him only an instant to realize that it wasn’t a dream. He lurched up, ready to fight, but something struck him hard on the head and he slumped back. The cloth was back, covering his nose and mouth. He was aware, on some level, that he was breathing in a sickeningly sweet odor that seemed to fill his lungs, that snaked to his belly, and that odor, even more than the blow, sent him deeper and deeper until he knew no more.
Meggie felt heavy, as if her body weighed more than one of the boulders on the Pendragon beach and someone was sitting on top of it. She didn’t think she could move. She wanted to move. She managed to lift a hand, moan, and then her eyes flew open.
She felt light-headed and dizzy, a bitter taste in her mouth. At first she thought she was simply waking up in her own bed. She quickly realized she was wrong.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, but she did, finally, and looked up into a man’s face. At first she didn’t recognize him. Then she said slowly, “The last time I saw you, you were lying on your kitchen floor, blood on your head and flour all over your apron.”
“Ye’re right smart, yer ladyship. Aye, the Grakers got me, now didn’t they?”
“You’re Bernard Leach of the Hangman’s Noose at St. Agnes.”
“Good memory in yer smart head. I remember thinking how purty ye were, and all fresh and innocent since ye’d been married jest the day before.”
“We were going to stay at your inn. But it was deserted, just one lit candle in a front room. Thomas and I discovered your wife murdered, hanged. There was no one else there, just you, lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. It was the Grakers who did it, you said, then and you said it again. Then the next day you disappeared and so did the stable lad. Thomas and I remained with Squire Billings, but we couldn’t find out anything more. Why are you here? Where are we?”
“Aye, it was the Grakers what brought ye here,” Bernard said, and laughed, deep in his throat, and that laugh led quickly to a cough, a nasty watery cough that made Maggie’s insides crawl.
“Them Grakers—bothersome little pixies, the lot of them. Don’t they travel a lot, eh?” And he laughed some more. He started to cough again, stopped his laughter fast.
He looked even skinnier than he had before, his gray hair even more tufted and grizzled, so dirty and lank with oil it was matted to his head. He wasn’t wearing a huge white apron now, but rough homespun that bagged on him. He wiped his hand over his mouth, trying to catch his breath, and Meggie saw a streak of blood on his palm. She said, “You’re sick, Mr. Leach.”
“Aye, that’s as may be, but at least I’m not dead, not like ye will be, my little lady. It shouldn’t o’ been high tide, but it was. Then ye should o’ broke yer back when ye hit the water. Bloody hell, that bullet should have laid ye out, but it didn’t, now did it? Yer too lucky by far, ye are. Funny how I never considered high tide. A mistake, sure enough. Aye, I should have shot ye right through yer heart, but I didn’t manage it. Nothing went right. Nothing seems to be going right for me these days. It’s a right puzzle.”
“My husband has known you all his life. Why would you wish to harm him by killing me?”