Author: Sara Bennett
Category: Historical
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A sound from the vestry was a welcome distraction, and this time Valentine led the way, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was still tucked safely into the crook of his arm.
The vicar was busy stacking some heavy, leather-bound books into shelves. He straightened at Valentine’s greeting, and turned with a friendly smile. He was a tall, thin man with untidy hair and a lined, comfortably-lived-in face.
“I say, more visitors. I’m afraid you’ve missed the service…”
Valentine was impatient for answers but Marissa was more polite. “We were just admiring your church,” she said with her smile.
The vicar turned to her, Valentine thought wryly, as a blind man to the warmth of the sun.
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“It is Norman, you know,” he said with enthusiasm. “Well, most of it. The spire was struck by lightning and had to be rebuilt last century. At the time it was hoped it was only a temporary replacement, and that a taller spire would be constructed when the funds were available, but so far no benefactor has stepped forward.”
“Oh dear.”
Valentine interrupted their head shaking. “There are two brass memorials let into the pavement to the right of the front door. A knight and his lady. Can you tell us who they might be?”
He answered promptly. “The knight is Sir Wilfred Montfitchet and the lady is May, his wife. I believe Sir Wilfred was a crusader. He brought home enough booty to fill the Montfitchet family coffers for a hundred years or so, but eventually it ran out and then they died out. Although not before they had paid for a handsome screen for the church, and a couple of really beautiful candlesticks. I’m afraid the candlesticks are locked away—”
“We are looking for the original Montfitchet manor house. Do you know if it is still standing?”
The vicar’s eyes widened. “Why, what a…a coincidence! It isn’t often I am asked the same question twice within half an hour. But perhaps you are acquainted with the gentleman who has just left?”
Valentine felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. “There was someone else asking about the Montfitchet
s?”
“Yes.” At his tone, the vicar’s friendly manner began to wilt about the edges and his face creased with concern. “Surely you ran into him in the churchyard? He’s only just left. Foreign gentleman with gray hair and a red…”
“Von Hautt,” Valentine growled. “Baron Von Hautt.”
“He didn’t mention his name,” the vicar ventured, wilting even further. “I did tell him where the old manor used to be—well, it was a castle, actually. It’s a ruin now. If you go to the far end of the village, beyond the inn, you’ll see one of the remaining towers standing in the field to the left.”
Valentine turned to go, taking Marissa with him.
The vicar called after them. “As I told the other gentleman, Mr. Jensen takes an interest in the history of the village. He will be able to answer your questions much better than I. He lives in the white cottage just down the hill. You can’t miss it. There’s a rather fine vegetable garden at the front and an old apple tree…”
“But how did the baron know…?” Marissa said, as they hurried down the aisle.
“I told you, he is always one step ahead of me.” Valentine paused, his head tilted, back and shoulders rigid. “What is that?”
Then Marissa heard it, too. Angry voices from outside the church. One of them sounded like Jasper. When they reached the porch Valentine set off at a sprint across the graveyard toward the lych-gate, but Marissa froze, staring in horrified amazement at the scene before her.
Lady Bethany was still seated in the carriage but Jasper was on the ground beside it, nose to nose with another man, and they were shouting. Or at least Jasper was. The stranger had steely gray hair but paradoxically his face was that of a man in his thirties. He also wore a red kerchief knotted about his throat and a caped coat covered him from shoulder to toe.
“The arrogance of the English is beyond belief!” he shouted back, his voice slightly accented. “You think you own the world and everyone in it. All is part of your empire.”
At that moment Jasper glanced up, saw Valentine coming, and grabbed at Von Hautt’s shoulder. “Here he is, Kent!” he roared. “I’ve got him. No escape for you this time, Von Hautt. See how you like the inside of one of our English prisons.”
Von Hautt struggled with him, but Jasper wouldn’t let go, and then there was a loud explosion.
Jasper stumbled back against the carriage wheel and Lady Bethany screamed. Marissa pressed her hands to her mouth in disbelief. Von Hautt had a pistol in his hand, a curl of smoke still lingering about the barrel. The next moment he was running up the lane that led from the church and over the hill, with Valentine in pursuit. A moment later Marissa heard the sound of a galloping horse.
But she was already hurrying toward Jasper, who was now lying on the ground with Lady Bethany kneeling over him, her handkerchief pressed to the spreading red stain on his shoulder. She looked up at Marissa when she reached them, but although her face was pale, her voice was calm. “I believe we require a doctor.”
Jasper groaned, his eyes rolling up, and Lady Bethany opened her reticule, reaching inside for her smelling salts, and waved the bottle expertly beneath his nose.
Just then Valentine arrived back, panting from his run, and began to shrug off his jacket. “Did he get away?” Marissa asked, although the answer was obvious.
“Yes. He had his horse tethered in the trees over the hill.”