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Miss Van Helsing is an unlikely candidate for such crimes. Perhaps you could check with the authorities
in those towns before sending her to gaol?"
One can't be grateful for murders, she thought.
"How do you know about these murders?" The squire was suspicious of the man.
Ann turned to see what he would say. His eyes flicked over her in dark disregard. Why did he defend
her if he looked at her like that?
"Taverns all around here are full of talk about them." Sincai flicked at a speck of lint upon the dark
perfection of his coat.
"Seems strange that you'd just happen "
"Do not even think about accusing him," Ann warned. "He was the one who rescued me from the one
you're really looking for. So just you look into those other murders, Squire, and in the meantime, I am
going home." She turned to the door. "Jennings?"
Stephan Sincai blocked her path. She looked up at the dark, brooding face as she waited for him to
move. She felt herself flushing. He stepped aside, bowing slightly.
"Thank you." But her voice did not hold all the thanks she owed. There was no time for that at this point.
She must leave immediately, before the momentum of the situation changed again. She strode out to the
carriage, Jennings trailing in her wake. The last of the gloaming had deepened into night. Jennings took
the reins from the ostler. Ann climbed into the carriage and shut the door. Slapping reins gave the horses
the office to start. The carriage rolled forward.
It was over. Tears welled up from somewhere and overwhelmed Ann. She didn't look back. She didn't
care whether they arrested Harris. She didn't even care if they arrested Stephan Sincai. She was going
back to Maitlands Abbey and its sheltering hills and never leaving them until they carried her out in a
coffin.
The room erupted in startled speculation as the Van Helsing girl left. Harris was dragged from the room.
The squire called for order. Stephan Sincai melted from the doorway. What had come over him that he
had felt compelled to get involved? The girl had nothing to do with his mission. She was a distraction.
Defending her exposed him to the small society of Cheddar Gorge and needless risk to his purpose. She
was vulnerable. What difference did that make? She had courage. She'd dared the squire to detain her.
He shook his head. Irrelevant
Time to focus. Estate agents. He had a name from Watkins. Pillinger. He was scheduled to meet the man
at six in front of the town hall. It would probably take days to explore all the houses to let hereabouts. It
was far more likely that the nest would be set up in a house with comforts than a cave. He would get a
list from Pillinger, so he could make solo visits in the dead of night to the more likely candidates. Perhaps
Pillinger could satisfy his other need. Let's hope he was a red-blooded young man. Stephan strode out
into the night, leaving the contentious denizens of the taproom behind to speculate on just what had
happened to Jemmy.
It took some days sitting by her uncle's side, reading to him between his bouts of sleep, for Jemmy to
subside within her. Her nights were spent in her nursery disturbed by sensuous dreams all featuring
Stephan Sincai. Jennings locked her in religiously at night. She dared not use the secret passage.
Monsters and townspeople lurked outside, waiting for her to venture out. Ann's only satisfaction was that
her uncle seemed to be recovering, and that she managed to avoid her cousin. He hardly seemed like a
sportsman, but he had been spending all his days at Bucklands Lodge and nights with brandy in the
library. So she hardly expected to see him when she left her uncle's room late one evening.
But Van Helsing was tripping up the stairs. "Cousin!" he called. "I have been meaning to speak with you."
"Really?" Ann stopped on the landing so she would not brush him as he passed. "Do you require anything
for your comfort?" That should daunt him.
He smiled slyly and cocked his head, undaunted. "Yes& I do," he said. "I require something quite
particular. Would you join me in the library?"
Ann felt a shiver go down her spine. Nonsense, she told herself. If he so much as looks as though he
might get frisky, you can just ring for Pols ham.
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