Page 40 of The Rum and The Fox

“A fox, you say?” Formby muttered as he made a note of it.

“Yes, well, Todd - fox, you see, inspector.”

“I do,” the fellow agreed with a cheery nod as he tucked his wretched notebook away again. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out.” Then the man just raised a hand and turned away.

“Well, I’ll not disturb you further. Sorry to have troubled you,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.

Ash watched him go as the troubling feeling grew, and he felt Keziah squeeze his arm.

“What is it?” she whispered as he turned to look at her, finding concern shinning clear and bright in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head and telling himself if was likely nothing. “But I lost this sometime that day.” He didn’t need to explain further what specific day he was referring to, it was perfectly clear.

Keziah’s eyes grew wide. “You mean when … when …?”

He nodded, staring at the watch. “I don’t know when or where, though,” he said, feeling sick to his stomach. “I only know that I had it that morning, and I didn’t the next. It could have happened anywhere, along the road as I drove home, even.”

Keziah said nothing, quite obviously as unconvinced as he was, the fear in her eyes was quite eloquent enough, though.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her back into the house. “I need a drink.”

Keziah stopped him, her hold on his arm keeping him in place.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry, Ash,” she said, looking so forlorn that he wished more than ever to take her in his arms. “You must wish you’d never met me.”

Despite his best intentions, he reached out a hand and touched her cheek with one finger. “I could never wish that,” he said, trying to smile but discovering that it was hard to find the will when he wanted to weep at the unfairness of it.

She blushed a little and looked away from him, and he dropped his hand.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make this right, Ash. You must believe me,” she said, sounding more miserable than ever. The guilt behind the words tore at his heart, knowing that she felt worse than ever because she did not return his feelings.

“Don’t be foolish, Keziah,” he said, meaning to sound kind but finding only weariness in his voice. “There is nothing you can or should do.” He patted her hand in a reassuring manner that he was far from feeling. “Come now, I really do need that drink.”

They passed the rest of the afternoon playing a rather desultory game of spillikins, until Keziah declared herself sick to death of it and taught him how to play piquet. Ash found this so absorbing that it occupied them until dinner time, though he lost most every round.

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Both Lady Anne and his sister Hannah had taken to their beds and were being treated as invalids. Judging from the identical and permanently harassed looks both women’s abigails wore, they were not the most tolerant of patients. Ash could only be glad that he was spared their histrionics, as his grandmother’s presence at the meal was quite wearing enough.

With the exception of a couple of outwardly innocuous but clearly barbed comments sent in Keziah’s direction which caused Ash to glare at her in fury, she said nothing. Her frosty presence was enough, however, to relieve Ash of what little appetite he had left. His mind was caught up in conjecture as to what had happened to his watch, how seriously a jury of his peers would take Snyder’s accusations, and whether he would ever free himself of the dark cloud that seemed to hang over him like a shroud. Something would have to be done. If only he could decide what. Keziah seemed similarly distracted, though, and as soon as the meal was over, all parties retired to bed early in very low spirits.

***

Mr Formby looked down at the corpse and cursed. Just what he needed at this hour. He’d barely finished his breakfast, and had been casting an unfavourable eye over the skies and wondering if an umbrella was in order when constable Greenly had hammered on his front door and demanded he come at once. It was enough to give a fellow the raving hump. What’s more, he’d left without an umbrella in his hurry, and now the rain was running down the back of his neck in cold little streams.

“I’ve seen enough,” he said in disgust. “Get him out of here.”

Greenly came running up to him, holding his collar tight to his neck. “Neat shot, eh, sir?”

“Aye,” Formby nodded, pleased that his young apprentice had been so quick to notice what he had. A witness, who had seen nothing but heard the report of a gun, had come forward once the body had been discovered. The poor woman had awoken with terror at the sound in the early hours of the morning, and swore it must have been fired below her bedroom window. Sadly, she was an elderly soul and by the time she’d made her way to look out, any perpetrator had been long gone. But judging on her report and the position of the corpse, the shot had been fired from a considerable distance and - it being a moonless night - with only the uncertain light of the flickering street lamps to guide him.

It had been one hell of a shot.

Naturally, no one had seen anything, the place being in one of the oldest and most unfashionable parts of town, and the locals were of a mind to keep their noses out. The body had been stripped of anything of value; whether or not that had been the perpetrator or someone taking advantage of the situation was impossible to say.

Whatever the truth of the matter, his only witness to the fact that Lord Ashwicke had murdered Lord Todd in cold blood was now lying dead with a neat hole in the middle of his forehead.

What’s more, the sight of it had given him a nasty bout of indigestion.

“Right, then,” he said with a sigh as Martin Snyder’s body was covered with a sheet and lifted onto a hand cart. “Time to go and see Lord Ashwicke.”