A ring of hooves sounded out front, and in a moment Pitney blustered into the house, rubbing his hands and savoring the aroma of the food. He tossed his hat to Jason and joined the others, dragging a chair back from the table for a seat.
He met the amused stares of father and daughter and rumbled, “The floor of me house was much too cold this morn for a man of me age to be stumbling about.” He glared about as if daring anyone to question his honesty. “Besides, I finished a table for Mister Dunbar, and he had said he was coming here to see Mister Ruark ‘bout that mule of his. Seems the man wants to buy it.”
Pitney accepted a plate from Milan and set about easing his appetite. The meal was taken by all with light banter as a side dish, and the mood was generally cheerful. But it was not to remain so for long. Milan had renewed Ruark’s coffee when a shout was heard, and a banging fist jarred the front door. Jason let in a bondsman from the village who came on bare feet directly back to the dining room. At Trahern’s side the man stood nervously turning his hat in his hands as he gave fleeting glances at Shanna as if her presence held back his flow of words.
“Mister—uh—yer lordship—Squire Trahern—” The man’s tongue stumbled in haste.
“Well, Mister Hanks,” Trahern urged impatiently. “Out with it.”
The bondsman’s face reddened as he looked again at Shanna. “Well, sir, I was out in me boat early, gettin‘ in a few good fishes for Miz Hawkins. She gives me a three pence or so for ’em. I drew the boat in to fix me lines and bait when I spies a bit o‘ color up by the bush. The tide was out, so I beached the skiff to see about it.” He paused and blushed darkly, lowering his gaze. He crushed the hat between his huge, calloused, square-fingered hands. “H’it were Miz Milly, sir.” His voice was choked. “She were dead, beaten bad and tossed in a tide pool.”
In the frozen silence he rushed on.
“Miz Hawkins ‘as to be told, sir, and I ain’t got the right words, it being her only young’un and all. Would ye tell her, sir?”
“Milan!” Trahern bellowed, and the servant almost dropped a plate at the sound. “Send Maddock to bring my carriage around immediately.” He pushed back his chair and all at the table rose with him. “Come and show us where, Mister Hanks.”
Numbly Shanna crossed the room, her mind tumbling over itself with the shock of Mister Hanks’s announcement. Milly and babe, dead! What hellish being would do such a deed? This would be a terrible tragedy for Mrs. Hawkins to bear, and Shanna felt sick at heart as she wondered why so much trouble had to come to such a good woman.
In the back of Shanna’s mind it came to her that her secret was safe once again, but that meant nothing now. She’d have gladly told her father herself if it would have made any difference in this matter of Milly’s death. She had not really disliked the girl and certainly never wished any disaster to befall her. Her worrying seemed so trifling now.
Trailing behind Shanna, Ruark was just as stunned. The attempt on his life yesterday and now this murder of Milly—were they somehow related? It was a dark blemish on the happy, serene days he had enjoyed ever since Shanna had lowered all barriers between them.
“Shanna, girl!” Trahern’s voice halted them. “ ‘Tis best you stay here.”
“Mister Hanks is right, papa,” Shanna returned quietly. “Madam Hawkins must be told. ‘Tis fitting a woman be with her. I will go to her.”
Both father and husband stared at Shanna, warmly gratified with her wisdom and understanding. Trahern nodded, and the room was emptied in a rush.
Milly lay face down in a shallow depression in the sand. At high tide it would have been a pool, but now the sun had whitened the sand until it seemed the unfortunate girl was but napping on the beach. Her clothes were torn from her until only a few meager shreds remained. Thin weals marked her body and limbs as if she had been thrashed cruelly with a narrow rod or staff. Huge purplish bruises swelled on her arms and upper body where a heavy fist or cudgel had smashed repeatedly into her. An ugly welt marked the side of her face and extended well into the matted hair. One hand still clutched tufts of salt grass, bespeaking her struggle to hold on as the tide ebbed. Her other hand was stretched out and near it was a crude “R” dug into the sand. The short leg of it trailed off and curled under, ending where her fingers had buried themselves in a last desperate convulsive effort.
Ruark stared at her, his mind filled with the sight of another girl who had died in much the same manner. How could this happen so far away with an ocean between? How could it be?