Page 67 of A Treacherous Treasure

Servants swarmed into the corridor, standing in the doorway gazing in.

“Go fetch some bandages, hot water, and my medical bag,” Mrs. Atwater ordered. “Be quick.”

“Rebecca, did you shoot him? Who is it?” Margaret stood next to the body, gazing down with her mouth open.

Rebecca tried to think. She should send for someone. But it was the constable she would normally send for.

A servant brought some bandages. Mrs. Atwater opened the man’s coat and began pressing the rolled-up cloth into the bleeding wound.

“Oh,” Mr. Fogg called out. “Am I dying?”

“No, you’re not,” Mrs. Atwater said, sounding as if she wished he was.

Then Rebecca saw the large knife near Mr. Fogg’s body. He must have been holding it when he fell.

“Who are you working for?” Rebecca demanded, as heat rose into her cheeks and forehead. How dare this man invade her room and threaten her with a knife?

“What?” he said, blinking up at her as if dazed.

“You heard me. Who sent you to threaten me with a knife? Tell me, because I can reload this gun and shoot you again.” She picked up the gun off the bed and pointed it at him. It wasn’t loaded, now that she’d shot at him, but she just might hit him with it.

“Strader,” Fogg said in a strained voice. “He’s gotten me killed, and I won’t let him get away with it.”

“The Justice of the Peace? Strader?” Rebecca asked.

“He knew about the treasure trove, but he sent me to do all the work.”

“And the coroner, Mr. Pursglove? Does he know?”

Fogg looked confused for a moment. “Pursglove knows nothing. Ah, you have killed me.” Tears swam in the big man’s eyes. “Won’t you even send for the surgeon?”

“No.” Mrs. Atwater was pressing hard into the man’s shoulder with the rolled-up bandages, which she kept having to change as they became saturated with dark red blood. “You don’t deserve a surgeon. And how did you get in here? Who let you in?”

“I’m coming up the stairs!” a voice called from downstairs. It sounded like Thomas Westbrook.

Her heart leapt inside her. Could Thomas have heard the gunshot all the way from Wyghtworth?

Heavy steps sounded on the stairs, as if he was taking them two or three at a time.

“We’re in here,” Rebecca called.

Just then, Mother moved in closer, carrying a large candelabra with several candles, illuminating the room.

“Thank God you are not hurt,” she said in a breathy voice.

The servants lingering in the doorway moved out of the way as Thomas came in.

“What happened?” he said, striding toward her, his eyes roving over her. “You are well?”

“Yes.”

Then he saw who was lying on the floor. “Fogg, you blackguard.”

“Westbrook. This is all a mistake. This is Strader’s doing, and now I’m shot.”

“You deserve to be shot.” Thomas’s tone was without a jot of sympathy.

While he was talking, he pulled off his coat and put it around Rebecca’s shoulders.