Free A Death by Arson by Caroline Dunford Page A

uneasy, and I was not looking forward to having to deal with it daily at the Muller estate – whatever Hans had said about its safety.
    I could have pulled the bell to ask for her help in undressing, but as I was quite adept at this myself – as I was in styling my own hair, a skill my mother had forbidden me from ever mentioning – I got myself ready for bed, climbed under the covers (which the efficient Enid had heated with a warming pan), and blew out my candle.
    At once, I was overcome with a feeling of foreboding. The room seemed to expand in the darkness. I became aware of the wind howling outside my window. Even the crackle from the fire seemed filled with a venomous menace. Although my father had been a vicar, and I had strong feelings that the preternatural and supernatural should stay quite separate from my world, I had in my previous exploits succumbed more to a belief in superstition than I would have liked.
    The light of the fire ensured the room was not completely dark: instead it sent shadows dancing across the walls. I found myself checking them to be sure that they did not conceal another person. I plumped up my pillows and told myself to be rational. I had no feeling that someone was in the room with me – and as this had happened before, that in itself was reassuring – but yet my fear would not leave me. Of course, the circumstances that awaited me tomorrow – and my all-too-close involvement with the Stapleford family – would make for an uneasy time, but did I really think Richard would commit murder just before his wedding? Were my instincts warning me that death was about to enter my life yet again? I comforted myself that Richard, however evil his intentions, was not a quick thinker, though he was cunning. He had the sense to plan rather than act rashly. I consoled myself there was likely to be no immediate threat. And yet the unease lingered.
    Lucinda was a puzzle to me. That anyone should link their life willingly with Richard Stapleford’s confused me, but she had appeared to be without guile. Either she was a consummate actress, or her fainting had been the result of her seeing for the first time the true nature of her husband-to-be. Were my instincts trying to tell me she was also in danger?
    And Mary Hill – here? What if it was her? She had a fine mind, but she despised me. How could I draw her into my plans?
    The thoughts went round and round in my head, but I could make no sense of them. I was on the verge of sleep when there was a sharp knock at my door. Instinctively, I grabbed at the nearest heavy object to hand – my unlit candlestick. I sat there, my heart beating furiously, waiting for whatever would happen next. There was another loud knock. Through my sleep-addled mind I realised that a would-be assailant would be unlikely to ask for entry. With a huge sigh, I threw back my warm and cosy covers. I could not have been lying there long as the fire still burned brightly. A third knock caused me to call out, ‘A moment!’ while I struggled into my wrap and slipped shoes onto my feet. There was a very small part of me that wondered if it might be Rory; I own to both a slight disappointment as well as an unwelcome shock when I opened the door, and beheld the face flickering in the candlelight to be that of Mary Hill.
    â€˜This is not my idea,’ she said bluntly. ‘At least not wholly my idea, but it seems you are the only person who might be able to help me.’
    â€˜Could not this discussion wait for daylight? Breakfast?’ I asked wearily.
    â€˜No, it could not. I only have Lucinda’s word that she will wait for my return.’
    I looked at her blankly. ‘She is threatening to run away into the night,’ said Mary. ‘It appears something happened tonight in your presence that distressed her very much.’
    â€˜I hardly spoke to her!’ I objected.
    â€˜No, no,’ snapped Mary. ‘I am not