"I am certain you wish to be off to examine the scene, so I will not keep you long. Richard and I were riding back along the public path from Selby, when someone shot at him from the hedgerows. I fired back immediately and John tells me I hit the man and killed him." Frances summarised succinctly.

"Did you see anything suspicious beforehand?" he enquired, taking this in his stride.

"No, nothing ... but Richard may have. I remember he called out a warning to me just before he was shot."

"And the assailant? Do you have any idea who he was?"

"I never saw him," she replied honestly. "I stayed with Richard. It was John, my manservant, who went to investigate when he arrived to help us; but I can tell you one more thing," she paused briefly, "I am certain it was no accident! Well, you will see for yourself, Squire. If you do not mind, I will stay here. John will take you to the body if that is agreeable to you?"

Squire Herbert acquiesced, and Hopgood was sent for to accompany him back to the scene of the crime. They rode the couple of miles, John slowing as they neared the scene. "It was about here," said John dismounting. "Look there is some blood on the road, that must be where Lord Carleton was lying." He turned back the way they had come, "The body ought to be over there. Would you like me to show you, sir?"

"No I'd better look for myself, if you wouldn't mind waiting here, Hopgood?"

The Squire spent a few moments looking up and down the path first, then walked slowly to the hedgerow and soon saw the body of a man, lying where he had fallen on the ground. He bent down to examine the body. The cause of death was obvious, a bullet to the chest. Gingerly he reached into the man's coat pockets and drew out about ten shillings, a couple of French coins, a linen handkerchief and the stub of a coach ticket to Guildford.

Interesting. It was clear the man was not a local, in fact the indications were he was not even English. Squire Herbert stood up and looked around in the immediate vicinity of the body and soon spotted a pistol in the grass to his right. He picked it up and sniffed it, yes, it had definitely been fired recently. He judged where the assailant would have been standing when he was shot and peered through the hedgerow to ascertain what he would have seen. He found himself in agreement with Lady Carleton, it had undoubtedly been a deliberate ambush.

"I doubt that there is anymore to learn here. Would you wait here to guard the corpse and I shall send some of my men to collect it and take it to the church," Squire Herbert requested. John nodded in resignation and sat down to wait.

The squire was already thinking ahead, he would need to send a man to Guildford to canvas the inns for a missing guest. Once they knew the identity of the assailant, it might give them a lead to the motive. When Lord Carleton regained his senses he would ask him to have a look at the corpse and see if he recognised him, but the more he considered it, the more he fancied the man was a foreigner. French possibly, if the coins in his pocket were an indication.

At least, from what he had seen so far, there was no doubt the man had been killed in self-defence. He could not quite believe Lady Carleton had shot him herself, and suspected it had actually been her husband who had fired the gun, although how he had managed it with a wounded shoulder was something to mull on.

Carleton came to his senses gradually and discovered that his shoulder hurt like the devil and he was lying on the couch in the front parlour. What on earth had happened? Frances saw that he was awake and hastened to his side. Gently she kissed his forehead, "How do you feel? You saved my life, you realise?"

"What?" he asked, still half in a daze.

"You were shot, do you remember?"

She saw he was struggling to recollect what had occurred and filled him in. "I fired back, in the direction of where I thought the shot had come from, and I hit him. To be more precise, John says I killed him. It was the Comte Duverne. Richard, I am so sorry, it is all my fault you were shot!"

"Nonsense!" was the firm reply. "What ailed the man to think he could get away with murder? He must have had windmills in his head! Did you send for Squire Herbert?"

She nodded, "John has taken him to the scene just now."

"I suggest you keep mum about your previous encounter with Duverne, though," Carleton recommended, holding her gaze.

"Yes, John advised the same, but I have been able to tell the truth so far about the shooting because it is quite true that I did not see a thing!" agreed Frances. She glanced down at her shirt, still spattered with Richard's blood. "I need to go upstairs and change my clothes. I'll just ask Fanshaw to stay with you until I return, in case you need anything. You must not try and do anything for yourself for a day or so the doctor ordered."

The next day, Squire Herbert found Lord Carleton had been removed upstairs to his bed, but he was awake and waiting to talk to him, and after a brief exchange of greetings, he was ready to answer the Squire's questions. "The only thing I saw, Will, was the gun muzzle pointing towards us. I shouted a warning to Frances, then I was hit and I don't remember anything else until I came to my senses in the front parlour. Have you found out anything about the man yet? Was he a footpad?"

"Unlikely I think, for one thing he was too well dressed to be a footpad, his coat was made by Weston and his hands were those of a gentleman, white and well cared for. He may even be someone known to you. I suspect he may have been French, or recently come from France, for he had French coins in his pockets."

"A spy?" interjected Carleton.

Squire Herbert frowned. "I had not thought of that, but what would a spy be doing here? And why lay in ambush for you? No, I do not think it. I will do my best to describe him to you, betwixt thirty and forty years, medium height I would say, black hair, olive complexion but no distinguishing features apart from that. Does that sound familiar at all?"

Carleton shook his head, "Certainly not anyone I know closely. A passing acquaintance? Possibly."

"I wish you were able to take a look at him! He will have to be buried soon, we can't keep him much longer, even in the crypt," the Squire fretted.

"Perhaps, if I were well bandaged, I could manage the journey in my carriage," Carleton pondered aloud. He had to tread carefully here, if he had not already known the identity of his assailant he would certainly have been anxious to find out everything that he could about him. He could not afford to appear too complacent.

The Squire brightened at that. "That would be excellent, if you could manage it without re-opening your wound," he felt obliged to add. "I sent a man to Guildford this morning to check if our man was staying at one of the inns, but apart from that, there is not much else I can do at present. I shall take my leave of you now and hope to see you this afternoon at the church. If you can get there, my men can carry the body out to the carriage for you to cast your eyes over."

"I shall do my best," promised Carleton.

"Oh, just one thing," remembered the Squire. "Lady Carleton told me it was she who shot the man?" he said enquiringly.

"Yes indeed, if she said so," confirmed Carleton. "Frances is an excellent shot, I have seen her at target practice myself! Just ask her to show you if you would like proof."

~~~

In spite of Frances' misgivings and indeed his own weariness, Carleton insisted on making the trip to the village church, protected with cushions as well as he could be against the jolting of the carriage.

Frances reluctantly stayed behind so that she would not risk being asked to view the body, she was trying hard to avoid lying outright to the Squire. Squire Herbert was waiting at the church, having been informed by Toby of Carleton's imminent arrival, and he quickly ordered two of the village men to bring the body out from the crypt to the carriage on a litter as he had promised.

One of the men lifted the sheet covering the body so Carleton could see the face and he looked carefully at it before shaking his head. "I don't know him, though he does have rather the look of a Frenchman I have seen around town, but he is a count, the Comte Duverne, I think he is called. This fellow is unlikely to be him!"

"Astonishing as it may seem, I have reason to believe this is in fact the Comte Duverne. There was certainly a man of that name staying at the King and Crown in Guildford who is now missing. You weren't acquainted with him at all?" the Squire looked puzzled.

"No, I've never spoken a word to him!" said Carleton honestly. "I cannot imagine what I have done to warrant such a deed. Surely if I had offended him in some way, he would have confronted me openly, as one gentleman to another, not hidden in ambush like a common footpad!"

"It's beyond belief!" agreed the magistrate. "Perhaps he mistook you for someone else?"

"It's a mystery. Either he was queer in the attic or else I deeply offended him in some way without even being aware of it! Do you think to contact the French embassy about the matter?"

"I suppose I must," the Squire agreed reluctantly. "I had best ride up to London myself and see what I can discover, he may have family there who would wish to make arrangements about the burial. At least there is no doubt about what took place. Thank you again for coming here." The Squire bowed his head and gestured to the men to return the body to the crypt. Carleton returned home slowly, grateful to get back into bed despite himself.

The Squire's trip to the French embassy, although enlightening, produced no information to explain the attack. In fact the man he spoke to was quick to distance himself from the Comte, stating emphatically several times that he was not connected to the embassy and was barely known to them. It was soon apparent to Will Herbert that the late Comte had not been a popular man.

His visit to Bow Street bore more fruit. Lord Carleton's name was familiar to the man he explained his situation to, and he sent someone in search of the Runner involved in the affair. Mr Higgins was at first reluctant to speak to anyone involved with Lord Carleton, he still felt his pulse leap unpleasantly when he remembered the feel of the sword point against his throat, but when it was explained to him that Carleton was currently laid up in the country with a gunshot wound, he was able to come forward and speak more or less sensibly to the Squire.

"I never heard anything about no Count," he shook his head dubiously. "It were a Lady wot sent me there, Lady Murray 'er name was. She was dead set to get 'er 'ands on a girl she reckoned had run away from 'er. Frances Metcalf, that was 'er name, very keen to get 'er back she was. Dunno why she thought this Lord Carleton had 'er, but I went there to ask 'im and ended up in the suds over it. Girl weren't there o'course. Just this this young'un, looked like 'e 'ad 'is mother's milk on 'is lips, but 'e had his sword at my throat quick as a flash. Right bumble-broth it was. I reckoned it was the old Lady wot was dicked in the nob, not any missin' girl."

Squire Herbert, readily identifying the presence of Peter Francis in this story, clarified a few details then thanked the Runner for his help and set out on the return journey. So far the only person who appeared to have a grudge against Lord or Lady Carleton was this Lady Murray, who, he remembered, was Frances' grandmother.

He wondered whether it was possible that, having failed with the Runners, Lady Murray had somehow engaged the Comte Duverne to take care of her problem for her in a more permanent manner. However, it seemed unlikely he would find sufficient evidence of this to warrant approaching her about it. Hopefully the Comte's violent end would put paid to any further schemes.