Chapter 24

Cass squinted at the gray light edging the drapes. Maybe this floor was comfortable where she'd positioned cushions, but if she had to take much more of this she would scream. Sleeping on floors, creeping about her own house. Not only that ... what was the rattling and tapping at her door? She dug her fingers beneath the cushions and clutched the handle of the claw hammer. She may have avoided the soiree with Gil, but if she suffered any more of this, or him threatening to go out nabbing when her back was turned, or rattling the handle of her door at night, it didn't matter what she owed him. She swore the hammer would swing. If she heard those damnable words once more, 'pickin's are rich here,' she swore she would.
"Saff? Yer there?"
Although it was Ruby, Cass still felt obliged to muster her enthusiasm. Complaints on the subject of their guest were considered in the same category as him: unwelcome. Heaving a sigh, she sat up. Her neck had cricked and she took a second to straighten it.
"What?"
"Saff, open the soddin' door will yer? We need ter talk."
She could imagine what about. In some ways last week had been a huge mistake. Especially when Lord Koorecroft then invited her and Gil to dinner. Oh God, please don't tell her Gil had taken some valuable piece of silver and now Lord Koorecroft was at the damned door wanting it back.
Gil had spent a lot of time admiring his knife and fork, after all. Or rather Lord Koorecroft's, although by now it had probably been flogged off at Newbury market. Or worse. So it probably belonged to neither but some damned housewife who'd no doubt bought it for three bob.
Once a thief ...
"Coming."
Rising to her feet, she set her jaw. She must explain to him again why the room was not furnished. Because they'd each of them, Pearl and Ruby and herself, stopped nicking. Who hadn't? Gil Gressingham. Who was driving them back to it, by taking bottle after bottle of brandy and claret to placate himself? Gil Gressingham. Who would she give her eye teeth to see the back of but couldn't now she'd concocted this elaborate deception? Gil Gressingham.
Drawing a breath, she clasped the key. "Just a minute. Sorry, Ruby. I'm just-"
"Sleepin' on the bleedin' floor." No sooner had the key ground in the lock than Ruby swept into the room. "Well, yer don't need ter no more. Gil's gone."
"Gone?"
How much of a blessing, a miracle was this? Cass shut her mouth, which had dropped open. Gone? She could move her things back to the monk's cell. Of course she could have before this. She just hadn't been certain about Devorlane Hawley hanging about and seeing she didn't live with Gil.
So long as Gil had gone, gone far from here and he never came back, how wonderful was this?
"Yip. Popped his soddin' clogs. He's copped it."
"What?" Cass's vision of somewhere far had not encompassed this, although certainly he was unlikely to come back.
"No bloomin' need ter look so surprised. He soddin' said himself he weren't long for this world." Ruby advanced on the curtains. "And he weren't."
Cass's heart thudded. Dare she think it? In some ways the answer to her prayers? Maybe it wasn't nice to think that. But then she never invited him here.
Of course, she and Gil went back. For a second it took her breath away to think how far and that she was shot of him at last. "Where is he?"
"In his bed. Lot better'n where some of us have ended up. I mean Diamond's goin' ter swing, i'n' she?"
Brushing past Ruby, Cass hastened along the corridor, so narrow she could have pressed her hands to either wall. Maybe she did press them? Then she pushed the door open. She didn't want to think of that evening, the one she could not forgive Gil for. To feel the burden of it bearing down on her shoulders, like a weight of bricks. "You're sure it's not an act?"
"If it is it's a good one. And we never killed the ugly, bleedin' beggar either, though I know there were times yer wished we could, after the way he let yer down that night."
True. Gil looked peaceful, spread out on the bed there, his head against the brass rail, his hand lying prone on the soft damask cover. But blood? Why was there blood?
Ruby squeezed past her. "He haemorrhaged is all, Saff. Way he were coughin' last night, is it any soddin' wonder? Yer can tell what his last thoughts were for and that he died happy."
True. The soaking mess there, to the right of where he lay, was orange wine, judging by the pinkish tinge. It was not by any stretch of the imagination a large stain, although the bottle had been drained.
"Maybe not as happy as if it had been brandy. But me and Pearl had ter hide that. Gil always was a fiend on that."
Cass turned her face to the side, trying to think. While it would be nice to think she finally had something, something tangible to pin on Lord Devorlane Hawley, it would lead to an enquiry. Then where would she be?
It wasn't as if he'd troubled her in any way since she'd taken herself to Lord Koorecroft.
If he was to know her insurance was gone though? And not just that. How could she very well arrange with the local vicar to bury Gil here? After the things she'd said, Lord Koorecroft would probably insist on something.
Imagine if word were passed to the military that one of their retired spies-and of course they would not know who this spy was-had popped his clogs. Then it would come out she'd been lying. The fine hairs on the back of Cass's neck pricked up.
Where Gil came from, others might follow. What if they did and appeared now, at his funeral?
She eased her gaze over his prone form once more.
"We need to bury him."