Twenty-Six
A short time later they started down the ancient steps. Beatrice held the lantern. The light splashed on old stone as they made their way downward into the depths of the old house.
“I can see the killer’s footsteps in the dust,” Joshua said. “He entered the mansion using this passage and he left the same way.”
Beatrice heightened her talent and studied the hot prints. “Yes, it’s the same man who was waiting for me last night, the assassin who murdered Roland. I’m sure of it.”
“It’s an obvious enough conclusion.”
“It’s a good thing I have long been accustomed to having people question my abilities,” she said. “Otherwise I might take offense at your constant skepticism.”
“I do not mean to offend you.” There was genuine apology in his voice. “It is just that I think you have a rather vivid imagination.”
“Do you ever allow your imagination to get carried away by fanciful thoughts, Mr. Gage?”
“I do my best to guard against those sorts of distractions. They rarely yield any useful results.”
“But on occasion?” she prompted.
“I’m only human.”
“You say that as if it were a serious character flaw.”
They descended a few more steps and rounded a corner into another dank passageway. Beatrice’s heart sank. The corridor that stretched before them was narrow and filled with unrelenting darkness. She felt the old, familiar edginess spike higher. She held the lantern aloft, hoping to cast the light farther into the shadows.
“Last night,” Joshua said.
The words came out of nowhere. Beatrice wondered if, in her struggle to control her nerves, she had missed something in the conversation.
“Sorry,” she said. “What about last night?”
She forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly. She could do this. She had a lantern. Joshua was with her.
“Last night when we kissed in that alcove,” Joshua said. “That was the last time I got distracted by fanciful thoughts.”
“Oh, I see.” She was not sure what to say to that. She knew she was blushing again and for a few seconds she was grateful for the flood tide of darkness that surrounded her.
She was trying to come up with an appropriate response when Joshua stopped abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, shivering a little.
“The air has changed. You can smell the sea.”
She breathed in cautiously, paying close attention to the atmosphere. Then she caught it, the unmistakable whisper of salt-tinged air. There was a muffled roar in the distance. The pounding of waves on a rocky shore, she thought.
“This passage must lead to the sea.” She looked down at the traces of energy on the stone floor. “By the time he got this far he was calmer, more controlled. But he was still frustrated and angry. No, it’s more than just anger. It’s a kind of obsessive rage.”
“A logical assumption based on our knowledge of him,” Joshua said. “He is a professional in a bloody business. But like any professional, he prides himself on his expertise. Naturally he would have been in a fury because he was unsuccessful tonight.”
“You can’t bring yourself to admit that I might be able to see some traces of paranormal energy that he left behind, can you?”
“You arrived at your conclusion with logic and intuition, whether you know it or not.”
“Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh were certainly right when they said that clients were always the most difficult part of the business.”
“Are you implying that I’m your client?” he asked.
“That is exactly what you are, sir. You are paying Flint and Marsh for my services. That makes you a client.”
“The hell it does. We will sort that out some other time.”
He went forward more quickly now, his stick creating a steady drumbeat on the stone. Beatrice picked up her skirts, relieved to be moving faster. Physical motion helped suppress the oppressive sensation that gnawed at her.
The sound of the crashing waves grew louder. So did the dampness around them. The stone walls of the tunnel ended suddenly, giving way to the interior of a large cave. Restless seawater filled the lower portion of the cavern, churning and sloshing around a small wooden dock that was designed to rise and fall with the tide. The outside entrance was not visible from where Beatrice stood but she could feel the currents of fresh air that flowed into the space.
“This is an old smuggler’s cave,” Joshua said. He took the lantern and held it aloft to examine the dock. “The bastard had a boat waiting here. The question is, did he come alone or did he bring someone else along to handle the oars? It is not impossible that a skilled assassin from London would also be a competent oarsman who happens to be familiar with this coastline, but it seems unlikely.”
“If we go down to the dock, I might be able to answer the question,” Beatrice said.
She felt a little steadier now that they were no longer within the close confines of the passage. The salt air and the movement of the water helped dispel some of the oppressive atmosphere.
Joshua looked at her with a considering expression. For a short time she thought he would refuse her offer. But after a second or two he simply nodded once and started down the short flight of steps to the dock.
When he reached the bottom he stopped, turned and held his hand out to assist her. “Careful,” he said. “The steps are wet and slippery.”
In spite of the situation the small act of gallantry charmed her. Their relationship thus far seemed to lurch back and forth from a state of prickly suspicion to a wary partnership. She knew that the heated kiss last night had been an aberration, a brief interlude that had surprised both of them. She wondered if Joshua would allow himself to be distracted by fanciful thoughts again.
For a second she hesitated to take his hand, afraid that if she slipped on the wet steps she might pull him down, too. He had, after all, only his cane to help him maintain his own balance. Then she remembered how he had come to her through the noxious incense last night and carried her to safety.
She gave him her hand. His fingers closed like a manacle around hers. She knew then that he had sensed her slight hesitation.
“I won’t let you fall,” he said grimly.
She stifled a sigh. They were back to the prickly phase of their association.
“I know,” she said.
At the bottom of the steps, she tugged her hand free and tried to affect a brisk, businesslike air. She heightened her senses and looked at the hot tendrils of energy that writhed in the prints. In addition to the killer’s footsteps she saw another set.
“Two people were here,” she said.
“Yes.”
Joshua’s swift agreement made her turn to look at him. He had walked partway out along the old dock and was leaning down to examine a small, narrow object.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A cigarette.” Joshua straightened. “The oarsman smoked while he waited for the assassin to return.”
“The oarsman must have been a local. No one else would be likely to know the location of this old smuggler’s lair.”
“It would not be difficult to hire an able-bodied man with knowledge of the shoreline,” Joshua said. “We are on the coast. I’m sure every man and boy in the area can handle a boat and knows the local terrain. The problem lies in ensuring that the oarsman keeps his mouth shut. News of the murder at Alverstoke Hall will be all over the village by now. Sooner or later it will come out that someone from the village was hired to row a stranger to the old smuggler’s cave near the hall on the night of the murder.”
She caught her breath. “We must find the oarsman.”
“I doubt that will be much of a problem,” Joshua said. “Dead bodies have a way of washing ashore.”