Tom waited grudgingly for my lady's mysterious visitor to leave by the kitchen door. The man was wrapped in a black cloak, the hood pulled low over his face to conceal his features. Mr Hanson himself had let the man in, Tom not being considered responsible enough for that task, but Mr Hanson had decided it was acceptable for Tom to be the one to stay up late so that he could let the visitor out.

The man hurried down the lane, almost running. Tom looked after him and frowned, queer goings on and no mistake. He shut the door and made certain it was locked securely for the night. He had just turned away, ready to seek his bed again, when a piercing shriek split the air. For a moment he froze, his head swivelling, trying to decide if the sound had come from inside the house or outside in the street. A second scream convinced him it was coming from the first floor. Pausing only to grasp a stout stick from the collection beside the fireplace, Tom raced upstairs.

A scene of mayhem met his eyes. Annie, the maid, was backing out of the doorway into Lady Murray's sitting room, her apron over her face, her screams now reduced to whimpers. "My lady, oh, my lady!"

Tom pushed past her to find Lady Murray crumpled on the floor, her head covered with blood!

"Quickly," he told Annie, "Run and get Mr Hanson." He looked around, "Where is Miss Pettigrew? Her companion?"

They stared at each other in horror for a moment, each wondering if she had been struck down as well. Luckily for their jangled nerves, Miss Pettigrew appeared, tying a voluminous robe around her waist, her cap on her head. "Whatever is the matter, Annie?" she asked querulously.

Annie pointed a trembling finger into the room, "I came down to put 'er to bed and she wasn't in 'er room so I went looking for 'er, and there she is, on the floor! Murdered!"

"Nonsense!" said Miss Pettigrew automatically. However when she saw her mistress lying still, on the carpet, she was a little less certain. Very gingerly she knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder. "My Lady?" There was no answer.

By then the butler appeared, roused by all the commotion, hastily dressed in trousers and a coat which had evidently been chosen at random. "Has anyone gone for the doctor?" he asked sensibly, and then proceeded to send Tom off immediately on that errand. "Let's get her on the sofa," he decided, "It isn't seemly to leave her there on the floor." He looked to the two women for help to lift his mistress.

"Wait, let me get a cloth first, she won't want to get blood on the material, 'tis new," Miss Pettigrew objected. Then she realised Lady Murray might well be past worrying about such things. She plucked a small cushion from a nearby chair and placed it on the sofa. "That will do."

Together Annie and Hanson lifted Lady Murray off the floor onto the sofa and Miss Pettigrew sat down beside her, gently wiping the blood away with her handkerchief. "What happened?" she asked the butler fearfully, "Who has done this dreadful deed?"

For the first time, Hanson realised that he had most likely let a murderer into the house. He felt quite faint at the thought, should he call a constable? He wished Tom would return soon with the doctor, a medical man would likely know what to do, and besides, perhaps there was still some hope for his mistress.

It seemed hours before the doctor arrived, bustling in with his bag and hoping audibly that he had not been brought out on a fool's errand. As soon as he saw Lady Murray however, he cast a sharp look at Hanson, "What's been happening here?"

"I don't know, sir. Annie found her on the floor, like that. Is she ... dead, sir?" he asked anxiously.

Dr Everard was already bending down over the still figure. He looked up gravely at the hovering servants, and shook his head. "I'm afraid she's gone."

"She's been murdered! I knew it as soon as I saw 'er!" Annie exclaimed.

"I'm afraid she could be right," the doctor addressed Hanson as the senior man present. "Someone will have to fetch a constable."

Tom sighed, he knew full well who would be given that task!

~~~

It was Mr Adams who broke the news to Lord Carleton later the next day, still puffing slightly from his hurry to get there.

"Murdered!" Carleton echoed in disbelief. "Just a moment, Frances will need to hear this." He sent Rawlings off to ask her and Mrs Pearson to join them in the study as soon as possible. He waited impatiently for them to be seated, then invited Adams to continue.

"I have grave news, Lady Carleton. Your grandmother, Lady Murray, was found dead in her house last night. It troubles me to tell you this, ladies, but she was murdered, brutally murdered in her own sitting room!"

Mrs Pearson gave a small whimper of distress and buried her face in her apron. Frances stared wide-eyed from one man to the other. "Can this be true?" she asked.

Mr Adams nodded, "I am afraid so, I have already been down to Bow Street to confirm the news. I expect you will receive a visit from the magistrate in charge within a day or so, my lord, you and your wife being her next of kin."

He paused for a moment to give Carleton a meaningful look. "There is one more thing you should know, my lord. It appears that Mr Pilkington, Lady Murray's solicitor, cannot be found. It seems he has disappeared! Very suspicious, given the circumstances if I might say so!"

Carleton whistled. He found himself in full agreement.

Adams continued, "Once he heard I was your man of business, my lord, the magistrate, Mr Pringle that is, requested my assistance. He asked if I could help the constables search through the papers in Pilkington's office, to try and determine the motive for the attack. We start this afternoon, if I have your permission, my lord."

"Certainly, an excellent idea. I would appreciate it if you kept me informed of your progress."

"Of course, my lord." Mr Adams bowed and took his leave shortly afterwards.

"I never liked her, Richard, but I didn't wish this on her!" exclaimed Frances, and went into his arms.

~~~

A week later found them all once more gathered together in the study to listen to grave news from a visitor, but on this occasion the caller was none other than Squire Herbert, up from Selby for the week. After exchanging a few brief courtesies, the Squire got down to business, as eager to tell them his story as Lord and Lady Carleton were to hear it.

"You will be amazed at what news I have for you! Not only do we have the motive for your grandmother's murder, but we also know why the so-called Comte Duverne tried to kill you, my lady," he said with an air of satisfaction. His listeners stared at him with proper expressions of astonishment, although Frances was already leaping ahead in her imagination.

"So-called Comte Duverne?" queried Carleton.

The Squire nodded vigorously. "It seems there is no such person as the Comte Duverne. You will never guess who the pretender was!"

"No, tell us please!" entreated Frances.

"A French assassin! Apparently he found that masquerading as a Comte got him access into all sorts of places he would never been allowed into as plain Mr Duverne." Squire Herbert was well satisfied with the reaction this brought.

"It was as an assassin that he was hired by the solicitor," he continued. "It appears Pilkington sought him out through his underworld connections, the moment he discovered you had Lord Carleton's support, my lady."

Frances reached out to clasp Carleton's hand, but didn't interrupt.

"You will be glad to hear that Pilkington has been caught at Dover, attempting to escape over to France. He had some of Lady Murray's jewellery on his person, so there is no doubt he will hang for her murder. Once he knew there was no escape, he spoke freely, boasting of the fact that he had hired Duverne to assassinate you, Lady Carleton; Lady Murray knew nothing about it."

Frances and Carleton exchanged glances, no doubt Duverne had seen it as an extra bonus when he found the 'boy' he was seeking and his target were one and the same.

The Squire frowned uneasily at Frances. "The unfortunate truth is that both Pilkington and your grandmother have been stealing from your inheritance, my lady. When Pilkington found Bow Street was getting too close to him, he went to see Lady Murray. Apparently he had the gall to demand she provide him with the funds to escape, in return for his arranging Duverne's attack on you. However, instead of being grateful to him you will be glad to hear, she threatened to turn him in to the constable! They struggled when he tried to take her jewels and she fell and hit her head on the table. He says he didn't mean to kill her but that will make no difference, he will still hang for it."

"Serve him right!" exclaimed Frances. "I am exceedingly glad to hear that my grandmother was not part of the plot against me. I will try and think of her more kindly now, despite our differences."

The Squire took his leave a short time later, leaving the couple to mull over the news in private. He feared there would be much to do, to set Lady Carleton's affairs in order during the coming weeks. He did not think it necessary to tell Frances that Pilkington had claimed Lady Murray had been more upset about his demand for money, than the botched attempt on her granddaughter's life. Let Frances think the best she could of her grandmother, it was a harmless deceit.

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