they hadn’t locked it. Thank heavens whoever it was hadn’t just walked straight in, as was the usual practice. Why hadn’t they just walked straight in?
Danny was grinning at him. “Going to answer that? I’d open the door myself, but….” He gestured toward his broken leg, and Philip felt like an idiot.
He scrambled back off the bed quickly, straightening his clothing. “Come in,” he called irritably, hoping his face would not betray him to the intruder.
It was Standish. His face seemed paler than its wont, and there was tension about his eyes and jaw. “I regret to disturb you, sir, but there has been a most unfortunate accident.”
“Damn it all, what now?” Philip asked shakily. He wasn’t sure he could take any more surprises.
“Mr. Drayton, sir. It appears he was cleaning his gun when it went off unexpectedly.” Standish paused. “With fatal results, I regret to say.”
No need to worry about blushes now. Philip could feel the color draining from his face. “Dead?” He took a deep breath. Damn it, Drayton was nothing to him; he shouldn’t let the man’s passing affect him so. “But the gun—I can’t imagine he could be so careless.”
Standish coughed. “It appears he had imbibed a great deal of whisky prior to the incident, sir.”
“Who found him?” Danny’s voice broke in, sounding unusually harsh.
“Young Betty. The scullery maid,” Standish elaborated, presumably for Philip’s benefit as Danny was already nodding as if he knew her. “She’d been sent to inquire if he was well, as he hadn’t appeared at the staff Christmas lunch.”
“Christ! Poor lass!”
Standish nodded. “Mrs. Standish is comforting her now.” He turned back to Philip. “Shall I make the necessary arrangements, sir?”
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Philip told him, feeling dazed.
“Very good, sir,” Standish murmured and withdrew, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“I can’t believe it,” Philip said shakily. “Do you suppose he did it on purpose? I didn’t even know the man drank.”
“Reckon there’d be a lot you don’t know about what goes on ’round here,” Danny said softly, without censure. “You didn’t even know it was Drayton as killed my da, did you?”
Philip had the queerest feeling he was either going to faint or be sick. “What? I thought—I thought it was an injury that went gangrenous?”
“Aye, that it was. A shotgun injury. He went out poaching one night, and that bastard Drayton shot him. He managed to drag himself home, but then the wound went bad.”
“But the police. Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“Wouldn’t have done my da no good, now would it? Like as not it’d have been him hauled off to jail for trespass and poaching, and the rest of us turned off the estate.”
Philip stared at him, appalled. “Do you really think me so, so callous, so uncaring…?”
“Shh.” Strong fingers laced themselves in Philip’s, steadying him. “You weren’t here, remember? And even if you had been, well, I didn’t know you then, did I?”
“And now?” Philip asked, his voice unwontedly hoarse. “What do you think of me now?”
Danny’s other hand came up to stroke Philip’s hair, as one might soothe a frightened animal. “Now? I’d trust you to do what was right.”
“But it’s my fault,” Philip whispered. “I knew Drayton took his duties more seriously than he should, that he hated poachers with a vengeance. If I’d given him notice—”
“Aye, and if I’d gone with my da that night, instead of telling him I was too tired from helping Uncle Bert on the farm….”
Philip looked up. Danny’s eyes showed regret, but also acceptance. His voice was gentle. “You can’t change what’s past, and there’s only so much guilt a man can bear before it starts to eat him up from inside, like it did Drayton, I reckon.”
“You think he killed himself out of remorse?” Lord, Philip was beginning to feel sorry for the man. What a
Danny was grinning at him. “Going to answer that? I’d open the door myself, but….” He gestured toward his broken leg, and Philip felt like an idiot.
He scrambled back off the bed quickly, straightening his clothing. “Come in,” he called irritably, hoping his face would not betray him to the intruder.
It was Standish. His face seemed paler than its wont, and there was tension about his eyes and jaw. “I regret to disturb you, sir, but there has been a most unfortunate accident.”
“Damn it all, what now?” Philip asked shakily. He wasn’t sure he could take any more surprises.
“Mr. Drayton, sir. It appears he was cleaning his gun when it went off unexpectedly.” Standish paused. “With fatal results, I regret to say.”
No need to worry about blushes now. Philip could feel the color draining from his face. “Dead?” He took a deep breath. Damn it, Drayton was nothing to him; he shouldn’t let the man’s passing affect him so. “But the gun—I can’t imagine he could be so careless.”
Standish coughed. “It appears he had imbibed a great deal of whisky prior to the incident, sir.”
“Who found him?” Danny’s voice broke in, sounding unusually harsh.
“Young Betty. The scullery maid,” Standish elaborated, presumably for Philip’s benefit as Danny was already nodding as if he knew her. “She’d been sent to inquire if he was well, as he hadn’t appeared at the staff Christmas lunch.”
“Christ! Poor lass!”
Standish nodded. “Mrs. Standish is comforting her now.” He turned back to Philip. “Shall I make the necessary arrangements, sir?”
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Philip told him, feeling dazed.
“Very good, sir,” Standish murmured and withdrew, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“I can’t believe it,” Philip said shakily. “Do you suppose he did it on purpose? I didn’t even know the man drank.”
“Reckon there’d be a lot you don’t know about what goes on ’round here,” Danny said softly, without censure. “You didn’t even know it was Drayton as killed my da, did you?”
Philip had the queerest feeling he was either going to faint or be sick. “What? I thought—I thought it was an injury that went gangrenous?”
“Aye, that it was. A shotgun injury. He went out poaching one night, and that bastard Drayton shot him. He managed to drag himself home, but then the wound went bad.”
“But the police. Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“Wouldn’t have done my da no good, now would it? Like as not it’d have been him hauled off to jail for trespass and poaching, and the rest of us turned off the estate.”
Philip stared at him, appalled. “Do you really think me so, so callous, so uncaring…?”
“Shh.” Strong fingers laced themselves in Philip’s, steadying him. “You weren’t here, remember? And even if you had been, well, I didn’t know you then, did I?”
“And now?” Philip asked, his voice unwontedly hoarse. “What do you think of me now?”
Danny’s other hand came up to stroke Philip’s hair, as one might soothe a frightened animal. “Now? I’d trust you to do what was right.”
“But it’s my fault,” Philip whispered. “I knew Drayton took his duties more seriously than he should, that he hated poachers with a vengeance. If I’d given him notice—”
“Aye, and if I’d gone with my da that night, instead of telling him I was too tired from helping Uncle Bert on the farm….”
Philip looked up. Danny’s eyes showed regret, but also acceptance. His voice was gentle. “You can’t change what’s past, and there’s only so much guilt a man can bear before it starts to eat him up from inside, like it did Drayton, I reckon.”
“You think he killed himself out of remorse?” Lord, Philip was beginning to feel sorry for the man. What a
Similar Books
