Now what?

A quick glance showed that James still hung half out of the phaeton. His right glove was shredded, revealing a b.l.o.o.d.y hand. But she could not attend him just yet.

She stroked Acorn's neck. Her voice might calm the team, but it would take time. They were rolling their eyes and twitching. The wheeler stamped one foot in agitation.

"Easy, there," she crooned softly, adding words of praise and even a song or two. Forcing gentleness into her tone calmed her own nerves. Gradually, their ears began flicking in her direction. Less white showed around their eyes. Tails swished more naturally.

It took several minutes before she dared dismount. Several more minutes of stroking the horses' heads and necks finally settled them enough that she could attend James.

He remained unconscious, but he did not smell of wine. Had he suffered a seizure? New fears made her hands shake.

She was trying to push him back onto the seat when something landed on her boot.

Blood. And not from his hand.

"Dear Lord," she murmured as another drop fell. A good-sized patch had already soaked into the road.

His head had grazed the wheel, but the resulting sc.r.a.pe was not responsible for the blood. A deep cut lacerated a large knot just behind his left temple. Swallowing nausea, she pushed his hair aside. It was a fresh injury, but positioned where it could not have been inflicted by the wheel or railing. Yet there was no trace of blood on his coat, so he had not incurred it before beginning his drive.

She had to stop the bleeding before the smell spooked the horses. They were still nervous. Ripping the bottom flounce from her petticoat, she fashioned a bandage that pressed a thick pad into the wound. Now all she had to do was move him back onto the seat.

Easier said than done. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and well over six feet tall-intimidating even in unconsciousness. Pushing did no good. The side rail was so far above the ground that she could get little leverage. If only he would wake up, he could help, but nothing roused even a flicker of awareness. Giving up, she tied Acorn to the back, retrieved the offside ribbon, then climbed into the phaeton.

A rock was wedged under his boot.

Shivers stood her hair on end despite the heat of the day. The rock was roughly four inches across, with jagged edges. And one of those edges was smudged with blood that had trapped a dark hair.

Someone had tried to kill him.

She glanced at the forest a quarter mile away, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable. The quarry yawned its sinister mouth only a few feet beyond James's head. The phaeton sat at the base of a cliff, open to attack from above. She had to get him away before his enemy could strike again.

Tugging moved him only an inch before his coat caught on the rail. Pulling harder had no effect and left her panting from exertion. The attacker had arranged a very clever accident. The rock might have killed James outright, but its main purpose had been to knock him across the right side of the phaeton, where he would eventually fall. Even if he did not immediately roll into the quarry, a helpful push would have ensured his death. The landing would erase any sign of the initial attack.

Just like Frederick.

Dear G.o.d. Frederick had been riding along this same road in the same direction, headed for Ridgeway after an evening in the l.u.s.ty Maiden's taproom. Everyone had a.s.sumed that he'd pa.s.sed out from drink and fallen. Now she had to wonder.

Later! This is no time to panic. James has no connection to Frederick.

Invisible eyes bored into her back. Was the killer still watching?

James needed help. She could not drive with him draped over the side, but she dared not leave him alone while she fetched a.s.sistance. Fear and desperation gave her a new burst of energy, Tugging finally tore a b.u.t.ton loose and pulled him onto the seat, but tears were streaming down her face by the time she was finished. His sprawl filled the s.p.a.ce. He remained unconscious, with new blood trickling down his cheek.

She frowned as she retied the bandage. His breathing was fast and shallow-not a good sign. At the very least, he had a concussion, but his injuries might be worse than that. He needed a bed and care.

Perching precariously on the edge of the seat, she set the horses to a walk, fighting the urge to spring the team. Jarring could only make things worse.

Was the culprit still watching? A fast horse could have circled the hill to get ahead of her. She had no idea how much time had elapsed since she had first spotted James. Would the man waylay her at the park gates or the stone bridge? Who was he? And why had he attacked?

The trip to Ridgeway seemed endless, though the Court was barely two miles from the quarry. Her fear increased with every step. As did her uncertainty.

James had claimed only yesterday that the servants were hiding information. John had hired every member of the staff, so she could not trust them, despite knowing that they had not liked him. She had no reason to believe they liked James, either. A disgruntled servant might have planned this attack. Or an angry tenant. Or any number of other people. Had one of his changes threatened someone? Was there a man who hated all Underwoods?

But that made no sense. James had not been near Ridgeway in years.

Think logically.

The only real threat James posed was to John's killer. So either his investigation was making progress, or the culprit had decided to prevent it from doing so. Thus she had to help him search for justice. If the culprit was willing to strike at anyone who threatened to expose him, then they were all in danger. They had to catch him before anyone else died.

But the man was smart. Knowing that a second murder would force Squire Church to reopen his inquiry, he had chosen to stage an accident, taking Frederick's as his pattern. Everyone knew the quarry road was dangerous. Every few years the pit claimed a new victim. Who would question another fall?

It fit all too well. But she still had no idea who was behind it. And an unconscious James could not protect himself against a second attack.

She could not remain in a bachelor establishment to nurse him, so the only protection she could provide was to keep the nature of his accident a secret. The killer must believe that no one suspected the truth. As long as James remained in bed, he was vulnerable.

"What happened?" demanded Harry, bursting outside in response to a footman's summons. Edwin followed more slowly.

She shrugged. "It looks like he fell. I found him out by the quarry. Can you carry him inside?"

"Of course," said Edwin.

They made lifting him look easy. Harry sent a footman to fetch the doctor.

"He will need constant watching. Head injuries can be quite unpredictable," she suggested as she held open the door to James's room-which was not the master suite, she noted in pa.s.sing. Did he dislike the idea of occupying a bed John had slept in? But this was not the time to think of such things. - Especially when the sight of his dark head against the white pillow sent heat sizzling through her veins. She had to leave before she offered to nurse him.

James had been right about the staff. They were sullen and antagonistic. Would they turn on him? But she had hardly formed the question when Edwin proved that his thoughts matched hers.

"We will watch him," he promised, exchanging a thoughtful look with Harry. "We can take turns. The servants are not overly friendly."

They were hiding something, but she did not question them. Perhaps they were helping him investigate John's death. Or they might know of some other threat on his life. It didn't matter. They would protect him until he recovered, and that was the important thing. Taking leave of them, she headed for home, the rock wrapped in his handkerchief and tucked inside her reticule.

By the time she reached Northfield, reaction was shaking her in long waves. New fears tormented her. Had the killer watched her stop the phaeton? Had he seen her bandage James's head or pick up the rock? Did he know that she recognized an attempt at murder?

She played out the scene in her mind again and again, but she had no answers. He must have remained. If James had not tumbled into the quarry on his own, the killer had to be ready to help him. So he had seen her. Which accounted for her edginess. It had been eyes peering out from the forest that had made her so nervous, not the yawning quarry.

How obvious had she been when she'd found the rock? She frowned. Had she glanced at the cliffs? Someone who had not seen the phaeton emerge from the woods might believe the rock had fallen. If she was lucky, he would expect her to accept the incident as an accident, but she could not count on that. A rock from above would not have struck the side of his head.

Thus she had yet another reason to help James find the killer. If the man had attacked because James had learned something, then he would have to eliminate her as well. So she had to protect herself. And the only sure way was to identify him.

Perhaps she should approach the problem from a different direction. She could hardly ask questions about John without drawing attention. But James had found no evidence of an argument or even a meeting on the day John had died, so his death probably had its seeds in his last trip home with Frederick. By investigating Frederick's final days, she might learn something useful. John and Frederick had always acted together. She had turned a blind eye to most of their escapades, knowing that she had no power to stop them. But perhaps she could use a desire to make amends as her excuse for peering beneath this particular rock.

That last trip home had been unusually eventful-the inn fire, the damage to Wilson's farm, a week-long orgy at Ridgeway, and finally Frederick's accident. What else might they have done?

She could eliminate one possibility immediately. As soon as she brought her nerves under control, she would pay a call on the Wilsons. She had thought that her intervention had defused his fury, but she may have been wrong. Had he struck out at John for instigating that ride? Was he afraid James would learn about it? If he had been away from the farm this afternoon, she must suspect him.

Evil had stalked the district for too many years, but it had not died with its princ.i.p.al perpetrator. It had taken new root in the man who had killed John. Until he was exposed, none of them were safe.

John's killer slouched in the corner of the taproom, nursing a pint of ale while he listened to the voices rising from a nearby table. "Doctor was called to the Court today. Seems 'is lordship 'ad a little accident."

" 'Tweren't no accident," muttered his companion. "He had a fit. Foaming, he was."

"Says who?"

"Dunning."

"You'll never want for moonshine if you listen to 'im. 'Iswits is addled."

"I heard the earl got into a fight."

"With who?"

"Don't know. Some says the groom, others claim 'twas a tenant."

"I heard he was poisoned," put in a man from the next table, "The cook didn't like his complaints."

"It were an accident," insisted the first speaker. " 'E were climbing around by the quarry and slipped. But the doctor says he'll recover."

Everyone grumbled.

He ceased listening. None of the rumors hinted at the truth. So Lady Northrup had seen nothing incriminating.

Again he cursed the interfering widow, as he had been doing since he'd arrived at the edge of the forest to see her standing beside the earl's phaeton. He should have made the horses bolt-would have if he had expected anyone else to be on the road. The team must have stopped when the rider approached.

A perfect plan ruined.

But justice would win in the end, he swore, downing his draft of ale. G.o.d would provide another opportunity, and he would make sure that the next encounter was conclusive.

Only then would he find peace.

Chapter Seven.

Mary was helping the housekeeper inventory the linens. Now that Justin had authorized the expenditure, they had to decide how many pieces needed replacing. "Hopeless," she agreed, adding yet another sheet to the rag pile.

Footsteps raced along the hall.

"Cm- sb-kil-rg!" Caro babbled as she stumbled into the linen room.

"Calm down," urged Mary, grasping her arms to look into her face. Caro was more agitated than ever before. Every muscle was quivering.

"Cm- Cm-Cm-sty-boy-bpt!"

This wasn't working. "Can you show me the problem?"

Caro tore free and raced out. Mary followed, though it wasn't easy. Caro always moved like the wind when she was excited, but she had never been this bad, even as a child.

Once they emerged from the house, Mary had little doubt where they were heading. Shouts arose from the stable, and several footmen were running in that direction. Various disasters flitted through her mind, from mad horses to fire, but they faded when she rounded a corner.

Men crowded close together, forming a ring.

A fight.

"I'll take care of it, Caro," she promised, sending the girl back to the house. "Thank you for fetching me."

Caro was trembling with reaction, but she managed to nod.

Too bad Justin and the steward were out, she thought grimly as she pushed through a cl.u.s.ter of gardeners. Where was Brown? The head groom was supposed to maintain order in the stables.

He was watching and cheering, she realized when she reached the inside of the ring. One of the stable boys was attacking James with a pitchfork, goaded on by everyone a.s.sembled. Though no more than fourteen, the lad was tall and muscular.

"Stop this!" she ordered, glaring at Brown.

The female voice distracted everyone, allowing James to catch the pitchfork and tackle his opponent.

"M- my lady," stammered Brown.

"I am appalled that anyone on my staff would treat a visitor so rudely," she said scathingly, staring at each servant in turn. "Brown, you will remain here. The rest of you will return to your duties if you wish to stay in Northfield's employ. Lord Northrup will speak with each of you when he returns."

Having the fight replaced by a furious mistress sobered most of them. She took note of which ones were still muttering as they shuffled away.

"What happened, my lord?" she demanded, turning to James. His wound had broken open, staining his bandage with fresh blood.

"I rode over by way of the shortcut, then made the mistake of dismounting in the stable yard. This lad jumped me."

"Brown?"

"I arrived just afore you, my lady."

She doubted it. He had been too enthusiastic in his cheering. But that was for Justin to address. "Yet you made no attempt to break up an attack by one of your staff on a lord of the realm who was paying a call on your employer."

He shifted his feet. "n.o.body likes Ridgeway."

"Unacceptable, Brown. It is not your place to judge any visitor to this estate. You might remind your staff that we will not tolerate anyone doing so again. Nor will we tolerate avenging grievances against the old earl by attacking the new one."

"Yes'm."

The boy was squirming to escape James's grasp. "What's his name?"

"Will."

"Why did you attack Lord Ridgeway, Will?"