“Then I may have made a mistake not sending more than one of them to shoot her as she and Sir Big Feller rode here. He somehow found the man I sent and shot him right out of the tree.” Augusta walked to the window to stare out into the courtyard of the inn. “He cannot be allowed to ruin my plans. I have been planning this since I realized I not only got the younger son but the useless one. Years, Jenson. I have slowly and carefully worked on this for years and I can see the goal I set myself all those years ago finally in reach. Some yeoman who got himself a minor honor or two will not keep me from it.”
“No, m’lady, but if I may say so, thinking of him as merely some yeoman might be a mistake. He is a man who has been to battle and a man with a family notorious for coming to the aid of anyone in the family who needs it. A family with many people in it who have done shadowy things for king and country. I have heard it said that if you attack a Wherlocke, which is what he is, you attack them all and if you hurt one of them they will descend upon you like a swarm of wasps.”
“Wasps can be swatted, Jenson.”
“As you wish, m’lady.”
She frowned, thought more on his warning, and then decided she was protecting herself as best as she could. The man would be silenced as would anyone else who might point a finger at her. That would be the end of it.
“When you finish with that, Jenson, go out and see if you can find any sign that Simeon has passed this way. And do not try to hide anything from me. If you find out something about him, you best tell me.”
“Of course, m’lady.”
A moment later he set aside his brushes and left the room. Augusta went to look over the work he had done, carefully inspecting each of her gowns he had hung up to air. The man knew well how to care for clothing. It was going to be a shame to have to replace him at Willow Hill. But culling would have to be done for she had no intention of leaving one single person who could speak of her guilt in the matter of ending all the Woottens save for Rufford. The only irritating part of it all was she would have to do the final culling of witnesses herself.
Primrose woke up to hear a soft growl near her head. She looked to see her new puppy curled up on the pillow next to her head staring at the window and baring her teeth in a soft, continuous growl. She groped for her spectacles on the small chest next to the bed, put them on, and stared at the window. She was on the third floor of the inn so she could not understand what could be out there to disturb her dog. Slipping out of bed, she put on her robe and tried to think of what to do next.
Then the window slid open and her heart leapt up into her throat. She cursed when she realized her pistol was on that side of the room tucked in her bags and so she was effectively unarmed. When a man’s leg was swung inside the room, she hastily donned her spectacles, dashed to the fireplace, and grabbed the ash shovel. Standing in front of the fire, she watched the man finish his stealthy entrance into the room. He looked at her bed and frowned when he saw that it was empty, then swung his pistol around until he was aiming it at her.
It was an uneven standoff. Primrose knew she had no chance if he decided to shoot her. Considering all else that had happened to her of late, she suspected that was what he had come to do but hesitated now because he knew the sound of the shot would bring people running. Not that that would do her any good, she thought, as she would be dead.
“Shame, really. You be a pretty little thing.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because not doing as she says gets your throat cut.” Before she could respond to that, a small bundle of white and red fur leapt from the bed straight at the man sent to kill her. Primrose gasped as the puppy bit the man on the ear. He screamed and yanked the dog away, tossing her aside. The puppy landed near the hearth with a yelp and he stood cursing mightily while blood flowed down the side of his face.
Primrose took quick advantage of the man’s distraction and rushed forward, swinging the ash shovel at his head. The first blow staggered him and the second sent him to his knees. When he actually tried to stand up she put all of her strength into the third blow and he went down. She stood over him, ash shovel raised high, and watched to see if he was going to move again, frantically trying to think of what her next step should be if he did.
Bened sat up straight in bed and then tried to figure out what had dragged him out of a sound sleep. He had that irritating tingle on the back of his neck and immediately looked toward the window. It was silently opening and he got out of bed, crept over to it, and stared down at the man clinging to the side of the inn and trying to open his window. Bened smiled, opened the window, and punched the man in the face. He then watched as the man tumbled down to the ground.