“That I can tell you later. Meet me tonight in the main courtyard, and we’ll go together to find them. Midnight.”
“Why not go now?”
“Because they like to hide,” Tombstone said offhandedly. “They move about, but I know where they sleep at night. There is, however, one impediment.”
“What is that?”
“The daughter, Gwynnie Wightham. She claims to have found Jerome Woodville’s body.”
“What? His body? But she can’t have… He left. Everyone knows he walked out one night.”
“Well, it seems Mistress Gwynnie’s claims might dispute that.” Tombstone hurried on. “She intends to use her knowledge of where the body is to bargain for her freedom. So, I give you this warning. You and I will bring her and her mother in, but we must accept the fact that they might not stay behind bars, if the exchange of information is made.”
“I see. You are putting me on my guard.”
“I am. Do we have an understanding, Renard? We help one another, and we both please our masters.”
There was a long pause.
A lawyer walked down the corridor and Gwynnie shifted, standing with the tray in her grasp as if she was waiting to be called into the room, rather than eavesdropping on the conversation inside. The lawyer didn’t even look her way but hurried on.
“Midnight? Very well,” Renard said coolly on the other side of the door. A chair creaked, as if he stood, and Gwynnie darted down the corridor in the shadow of the lawyer, hiding as quickly as she could.
“What if Renard does not come?” Emlyn asked, peering over the stall in the stable. She was dressed in her maid’s gown once again, though Gwynnie was still dressed as a footman. Struggling to peer over the side of the stall, she kicked an empty pail over, placed it on its open end, then stood on top, so she was at her mother’s height.
Ahead of them, through the shadows of the dark stable, they could just about see the haystacks. They had reburied Jerome Woodville in the early hours of the morning, then returned the haystacks to their place on top of the grave.
“He will come,” Gwynnie whispered. “He will not take the chance of the body being discovered, fearing it will link Fitzroy to the death. After all, it is known that Fitzroy was seen in Woodville’s company on the night he went missing. There will be questions to answer.”
Footsteps echoed through the stable and they both ducked down, hiding behind the stall once more.
“It is us!” Tombstone called, and they both popped their heads above the stall again.
Tombstone walked alongside Pascal, who seemed to be struggling with his cane, his cheeks puffing out as he breathed heavily.
“Take your position,” Tombstone urged Pascal and pointed to the stall where Emlyn and Gwynnie were hiding.
He didn’t move but glared at the pair of them.
“I am no monster, sir,” Emlyn said calmly. “I am still the woman you comforted so kindly.”
“We do not have time for this.” Tombstone kicked open the stall door and as good as pushed Pascal inside.
Gwynnie glanced at Pascal. There was some alarm in his expression, but no anger. Whatever the relationship between the pair of them, he had to be used to Tombstone by now.
In the end, Pascal took up his place in the far corner of the stall, as far from Emlyn and Gwynnie as he could get. Gwynnie closed the stall door as Tombstone moved to the other side of the stable and passed under an arched beam, where he had retrieved the spade and fork the night before. Once inside, he must have blown out the candle in the lantern, as all turned dark.
Gwynnie latched her hands over the stall ledge, her fingers gripping so tightly, she was in danger of getting splinters. Beside her, Emlyn was tense, seemingly ready to leap out and run at any minute.
They stood there for what felt like an hour, staring into the darkness and waiting for something to happen.
“He will not come,” Pascal muttered behind Gwynnie. “This is all some terrible misunderstanding, a mistake, yes. Renard will not come, for he does not know the body is here.”
“Shh,” Gwynnie ordered him.
“How dare you —”
“Shh!” Emlyn seconded. This time, he obeyed, though Gwynnie rather thought he could have been stunned into silence.
In the distance, a horse neighed. Then another whinnied, as if objecting to something. There was a scuffed footstep on the stone floor. Someone was coming this way.
Gwynnie sank down a little, as did Emlyn, both peering over the edge of the stall. A single shaft of moonlight through one of the stable windows fell on the hay.
A stocky figure appeared before them with a shovel resting on his shoulder. As he moved into the moonlight, his wiry hair became noticeable and Gwynnie elbowed her mother in confirmation. It was Renard.
He stared at the hay for a full minute, as if debating with himself what to do next, then he acted suddenly. He grabbed the haystacks and tossed them to the side as quickly as he could. Once the earth was revealed beneath, he started digging. Gwynnie winced with each thrust he made, fearing that he might strike Woodville’s body.
They let Renard dig a short way into the hole, before Tombstone made the first move.
“Put the shovel down, Renard.”
Renard halted, the shovel frozen in mid-air. Tombstone appeared under the timber arch, a spade in his hand. It was a makeshift weapon, if needed.
Gwynnie stepped down off the pail and took a lantern up from the floor, lighting it using a tinderbox. She followed Emlyn out of the stall, with Pascal behind them.
Renard’s eyes widened when he saw Pascal, and he realised just how trapped he was.
“I…” He tried to talk. “I…” Then he gave up, dropping the shovel to the stone floor with a heavy clunk.
