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Authors: Lie By Moonlight
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“Do not concern yourself, Miss Glade. Go back to bed.”
She could hardly demand answers at this hour. The last thing she wanted to do was awaken the girls, to
say nothing of the innkeeper and his wife.
“Very well, if you insist.” She did not bother to conceal her doubts.
“Believe it or not, I do know what I am doing, Miss Glade.”
Reluctantly she closed the door and slid the bolt back into place. She made her way to the bed,
removed her eyeglasses, put the gun down on the table and got under the covers.
She watched the crack of light beneath the door for a time, thinking about Ambrose’s odd behavior. She
did not require an answer to her question. She knew why he was out there in the chilly hall, why he had
not touched the sherry earlier. He was keeping watch.
She chilled beneath the heavy quilts.
The fact that he felt it necessary to guard them through the night told her just how dangerous he believed
Alexander Larkin really was.
6
Ambrose listened to the almost inaudible snick of the bolt of the door sliding into place.
He waited a moment longer, cataloging the sounds of the slumbering inn. That part of him that had been
trained to listen for the smallest dissonant note concealed within the natural harmony of the night detected
nothing that gave cause for alarm.
He allowed himself to sink back into the quiet place in his mind. There would be no sleep for him
between now and dawn, but in this inner realm he could obtain a semblance of rest. Here, too, he could
contemplate problems and consider possibilities.
At the moment none seemed quite as pressing or as disturbing as Concordia Glade’s words a moment
ago. I thought I heard you out here.
That was not possible. He knew that he had made no sound. He was equally certain that he had done
nothing to disturb the shadows beneath the doors when he made his way down the hall. He knew how to
move in the night. He had a talent for it. I thought I heard you out here.
He let himself drift into the memory of another night. . . .
The boy hovered, shivering, in the deep shadows at the top of the stairs. He listened to the angry,
muffled voices emanating from the study. His father was quarreling with the mysterious visitor.
He could not make out all the words but there was no mistaking the rising level of rage in both
men. It was a dangerous, dark tide that seemed to flood through the house.
His father’s voice was tight with fury.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“. . . You murdered her in cold blood, didn’t you? I can’t prove it, but I know you did it. . . .”
“She wasn’t important.” The stranger spoke in low, angry tones. “Just a chambermaid who
learned more than was good for her. Forget her. We’re on the brink of making a fortune. . . .”
“. . . I won’t be a party to any more of this business. . . .”
“You can’t just walk away. . . .”
“That is precisely what I’m going to do.”
“You surprise me, Colton,” the visitor said. “You’ve been a swindler and a fraud artist all of your
life. I believed you to be far more practical.”
“Fleecing a few wealthy gentlemen who can well afford to lose several thousand pounds is one
thing. Murder is another. You knew I’d never go along with that.”
“Which is, of course, why I did not tell you,” the stranger said. “Had a feeling you’d be difficult.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t suspect what had happened? She was just an innocent young woman.”
“Not so innocent.” The stranger’s laugh was mirthless. It ended in a harsh cough. “Rest assured,
mine was not the first gentleman’s bed she had warmed.”
“Get out of here and don’t ever come back. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Colton, I understand very well. I regret that you feel this way. I shall be sorry to lose you as
a partner. But I respect your wishes. Rest assured you will never see me
“Do not concern yourself, Miss Glade. Go back to bed.”
She could hardly demand answers at this hour. The last thing she wanted to do was awaken the girls, to
say nothing of the innkeeper and his wife.
“Very well, if you insist.” She did not bother to conceal her doubts.
“Believe it or not, I do know what I am doing, Miss Glade.”
Reluctantly she closed the door and slid the bolt back into place. She made her way to the bed,
removed her eyeglasses, put the gun down on the table and got under the covers.
She watched the crack of light beneath the door for a time, thinking about Ambrose’s odd behavior. She
did not require an answer to her question. She knew why he was out there in the chilly hall, why he had
not touched the sherry earlier. He was keeping watch.
She chilled beneath the heavy quilts.
The fact that he felt it necessary to guard them through the night told her just how dangerous he believed
Alexander Larkin really was.
6
Ambrose listened to the almost inaudible snick of the bolt of the door sliding into place.
He waited a moment longer, cataloging the sounds of the slumbering inn. That part of him that had been
trained to listen for the smallest dissonant note concealed within the natural harmony of the night detected
nothing that gave cause for alarm.
He allowed himself to sink back into the quiet place in his mind. There would be no sleep for him
between now and dawn, but in this inner realm he could obtain a semblance of rest. Here, too, he could
contemplate problems and consider possibilities.
At the moment none seemed quite as pressing or as disturbing as Concordia Glade’s words a moment
ago. I thought I heard you out here.
That was not possible. He knew that he had made no sound. He was equally certain that he had done
nothing to disturb the shadows beneath the doors when he made his way down the hall. He knew how to
move in the night. He had a talent for it. I thought I heard you out here.
He let himself drift into the memory of another night. . . .
The boy hovered, shivering, in the deep shadows at the top of the stairs. He listened to the angry,
muffled voices emanating from the study. His father was quarreling with the mysterious visitor.
He could not make out all the words but there was no mistaking the rising level of rage in both
men. It was a dangerous, dark tide that seemed to flood through the house.
His father’s voice was tight with fury.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“. . . You murdered her in cold blood, didn’t you? I can’t prove it, but I know you did it. . . .”
“She wasn’t important.” The stranger spoke in low, angry tones. “Just a chambermaid who
learned more than was good for her. Forget her. We’re on the brink of making a fortune. . . .”
“. . . I won’t be a party to any more of this business. . . .”
“You can’t just walk away. . . .”
“That is precisely what I’m going to do.”
“You surprise me, Colton,” the visitor said. “You’ve been a swindler and a fraud artist all of your
life. I believed you to be far more practical.”
“Fleecing a few wealthy gentlemen who can well afford to lose several thousand pounds is one
thing. Murder is another. You knew I’d never go along with that.”
“Which is, of course, why I did not tell you,” the stranger said. “Had a feeling you’d be difficult.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t suspect what had happened? She was just an innocent young woman.”
“Not so innocent.” The stranger’s laugh was mirthless. It ended in a harsh cough. “Rest assured,
mine was not the first gentleman’s bed she had warmed.”
“Get out of here and don’t ever come back. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Colton, I understand very well. I regret that you feel this way. I shall be sorry to lose you as
a partner. But I respect your wishes. Rest assured you will never see me
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