Free The Bedlam Detective by Stephen Gallagher Page B

half-shouted, “Where’s the cottage that Grace Eccles lives in? Is it on this road?”
    The driver shook his head. Then said, “It’s over toward the river.”
    “Can we reach it by car?”
    “Not without making you late. Sir Owain’s waiting.”
    “Sir Owain can wait a while longer. I want to visit her first.”
    The road hit a patch of bad repair, and Sebastian did nothing to gain the driver’s favor by having distracted him so that he failed to avoid the worst of it.
    When they were done bumping, the driver said, “I can’t do that, sir. I take my instructions from my employer.”
    Watching the man’s gloved hands on the wheel, Sebastian said, “And do those instructions include rummaging through the hotel rooms of his visitors?”
    He saw the driver’s grip tighten for just a moment, which gave him his answer before the man said, “I have no idea what you can mean by that, sir.”
    “Never mind,” Sebastian said. “Today your employer answers to me. So you’ll take me first to Grace’s cottage, please.”

A S THEY FOLLOWED THE COURSE OF THE RIVER INLAND, THE estuary plain was wide and sandy. But the sand gradually turned to a mixture of sand and mud, that in turn grew a surface of moss and vegetable scum, that in turn became wide open fields where animals grazed. On a raised bank overlooking these flats, they passed a row of upturned boats and dinghies like the shells of sleeping turtles.
    After another mile or so, a bare track led to an open place by the water. At the end of the track was a collection of mismatched wooden buildings, at the heart of which stood a ramshackle stone cottage. The roofs of the buildings had all been repaired with tarpaper. There was a straw-covered yard before the cottage and beyond the yard, a gate in a rail fence led out into open paddock and grazing land. This was poor land, low-lying and liable to flood.
    As they were approaching, Sebastian thought that he saw a figure flit between two of the buildings. The track was growing rougher, and the driver stopped the car with at least a dozen or more yards still to go.
    He clearly didn’t expect to be staying here for long. He kept the engine running as he got out to open Sebastian’s door.
    As Sebastian stepped down, the driver said, “You should know this is a waste of your time.”
    “How so?” Sebastian said, noting the presence of horses far off in the paddock, right down by the water.
    “Grace Eccles can be a bit wild. I’m telling you, she’s known for it.”
    The driver closed the car door behind him. Sebastian started toward the buildings alone.
    Before he’d taken more than a few strides, a young woman came out. She wore a full skirt and a man’s jacket buttoned up tight, and her hair was so long and unkempt that it seemed so by intent rather than neglect.
    Grace Eccles, he assumed. She had a rock in her hand.
    She said, “This is my house. You come no closer.”
    Sebastian stopped.
    “How close would be acceptable?” he said.
    “I prefer you fuck off and far away, sir, and here’s the proof of it.”
    He might have been shocked by her language, had she given him the chance to react. But she did not.
    It was a good throw, overarm and with force in it. And accurate, too. It would have laid him out flat if he hadn’t turned side-on and dodged it. It missed his head by a whisker. It missed the driver by more, but went on to smash through the Daimler’s side window like a marble fist.
    Whereupon the driver emitted a loud oath that was almost as foul as her own and scrambled to get back to the wheel of his vehicle. He crashed the gears in his haste to reverse up the track to a place of greater safety; and as the wheels spun and the Daimler slid around in its retreat, Sebastian remembered to look toward Grace Eccles in case there might be another rock coming.
    But she was watching the car’s departure with visible satisfaction.
    Sebastian said, “That was uncalled for.”
    “Whatever you say,” Grace