“Rory,” the old man corrected. “And what do they call you when you’re at home, sonny?”
“My name is Christopher Anscombe-Smith,” Kit said. “Smith was added to our name when my father remarried. My father was Sir Miles Anscombe, and his first wife—my mother—was a girl named Amy Sutherland. Leo Sutherland is my uncle.”
Rory’s rasping breaths seemed to stop. He stretched his neck out like a tortoise, to study Kit’s features at close range, then closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his pillow. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its fl ippant edge.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” he said, sounding old and infinitely tired. “I didn’t want the truth to die with me.”
“What truth is that, Rory?” Kit asked gently.
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Rory opened his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling. “Maurice never did know one end of a gun from the other. Oh, he paid a fortune for a pair of Purdeys, but he never took the trouble to learn how to use them properly. Trembled in my boots every time I took him out for a shoot. Safest place to be was right next to the bird he was aiming at.”
A snicker escaped me before I could stop it. Kit gave me a quelling look, but Rory rolled his head toward me and smiled.
“I wanted to laugh at him sometimes,” he admitted. “But the man paid me an honest wage and let me manage the grounds as I saw fit, so I treated him with respect. Besides, I felt sorry for the poor sod. He was neither fish nor fowl, you see. He couldn’t go back where he came from and didn’t belong where he was. He reckoned his kids would figure it out, though. He pinned all his hopes on his kids.”
“It must have been hard for him when he realized that his daughter had fallen in love with someone like Leo,” said Kit.
“It damn near killed him,” Rory acknowledged. “His princess, in love with a scumbag like Leo?” The rheumy eyes swiveled toward Kit. “Sorry, son, but your uncle was a real piece of work in those days.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” said Kit. “Just keep telling me the truth. How did Maurice fi nd out about the elopement?”
“Miss Charlotte’s maid grassed on her,” said Rory. “Miss Charlotte had already sneaked out of the house, so Maurice grabbed a shotgun and went charging off to find her and stop the whole thing.
I went after him, to make sure he didn’t blow his own daughter to pieces.”
Rory paused to catch his breath, and Kit helped him to take another sip of tea. I looked out the open window and noticed that a pair of rabbits had returned to the bowl with the raw vegetables, and small birds were once again clustering around the feeders.
“Maurice couldn’t find his way through a forest if all the trees
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in it were chopped down,” Rory said, “so he blundered around in circles half the night. I caught up with him around dawn, near the mouth of the High Point trail. I’d almost convinced him to hand the gun over to me when Leo showed up, staggering down the hill, drunk as a lord.”
I could feel tension radiating from Kit. He sat as if he were carved from stone, gripping the arms of his chair as though his uncle’s life depended on what the old gamekeeper said next.
“The two of them got into a slanging match,” Rory went on, “and Maurice started waving the damned shotgun around. When Leo passed out, on account of the drink, Maurice aimed the gun right at the boy’s head.” Rory frowned disapprovingly. “Not sporting. Not the sort of thing a gentleman would do. Be a good lad and hand me the blue whiffer, will you, Kit?”
Kit passed the inhaler to him. Rory took another hit off it, then passed it back and tucked his hands under the blankets.
“I tried to keep Maurice from killing the lad in cold blood,” he said, “and in the tussle he managed to shoot himself in the foot.
There was blood everywhere, and Maurice never could stand the sight of blood, so he passed out, and I was left with with a right old mess on my hands.”
Kit’s grip relaxed, and he released a long-pent breath. “That was when Madeline DuCaral came along and straightened out the mess.”
“She did.” Rory closed his eyes again, and his thin chest seemed to wilt. “I’m ashamed to say it, son, but I helped her.”
“I’ll take it from here,” said Kit, patting the old man’s arm.
“You stop me when I go wrong.”
Rory nodded weakly.
“Madeline staged Maurice’s death in order to get rid of Leo once and for all,” said Kit. “First she planted the shotgun on Leo and sprinkled her husband’s blood on him. When Leo came round, she convinced him that he’d killed Maurice and scared him into leaving England for good. Then she whisked Maurice off to hospital, where Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
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they patched him up and sent him home. There was no need to involve the police, because the shooting had been a mishap, not a crime.”