A Christmas Escape by Anne Perry

hard.”
    “Bend down farther,” Finbar told him, lowering his own head to demonstrate just what he meant.
    Reluctantly, Charles obeyed. That was when he saw the jagged flap of skin falling open in Bailey’s neck. The cut was not long, but it was filled with blood and was just above the beginning of the pool around him.
    “I don’t understand,” he said, straightening up and staring at Finbar.
    “Yes, you do,” Finbar answered softly. “That is the wound that killed him, right across the artery. The head wound is slight.”
    Charles was puzzled, fighting off the truth. “I thought an arterial wound like that would bleed—catastrophically!”
    “It would,” Finbar agreed. “He didn’t die here. Somewhere else, probably not far away there is a piece of ground soaked with blood. But I daresay the dust and lava will hide it until long after we are gone. He was moved here, and it was made to look like an accidental death—just one more victim of the volcano.”
    Suddenly Charles was cold, far inside himself. That Walker-Bailey was dead was sad and disturbing. Much as he had disliked him, he would not have wished this for him. And that he had been killed deliberately, murdered, meant that someone else was also changed forever and, beyond that, they all would somehow have to deal with it. There was no escape from the conclusion that one of them in the house had done it. Apart from their group, who else even knew of Walker-Bailey, let alone cared whether he lived or died?
    Charles stared at Finbar.
    “I know,” Finbar said quietly. “One of them did this. A blade to the throat could have been done by anyone. It doesn’t take any particular strength and, given Bailey’s size and probable weight, it wouldn’t be too difficult to have dragged him here, once he couldn’t fight back.”
    “Should we look for where he was killed?” Charles asked reluctantly.
    Finbar was prevented from answering by another roar from the volcano and a deep rumble in the earth as everything around them trembled and more stone and plaster fell from the walls.
    For several seconds it went on, and they both remained frozen to the spot. Finally it subsided and, with a bleak smile, Finbar rose to his feet.
    “I think not,” he said wryly. “It hardly matters. I am no expert in reading evidence from a pool of blood, and I doubt you are. It will not tell us which of them killed the man. I think we would be wise to leave here.” He looked around him. “The structure has been damaged sufficiently; another shake and it could fall in on us.”
    As he spoke he led the way across the room, stepping carefully on the debris and making for the doorway out into the whirling dust and smoke.
    Instinctively both of them turned to look back at the mountain. Its peak was now hidden by more smoke. It seemed to tower into the sky in dark, billowing clouds, always moving, swirling, turning in on itself like some giant whirlpool, and then exploding out again, always climbing. Looking at it now, Charles believed that Stefano was right. There was worse to come.
    He looked at Finbar, and saw his own thoughts reflected in the other man’s face.
    Finbar stopped. “Charles…I asked you to look after Candace, if I should get lost, or delayed…or if something happened to me. I imagined it was only a brief consideration. In a couple of weeks Christmas will be long over, and we will all be in our homes again. Perhaps we will not meet after that.”
    “I will look after her,” Charles assured him. He could see the fear in Finbar’s face. What else could he say?
    “And if I die?” Finbar asked, raising his voice only just enough to be heard above the distant roar of the volcano.
    There was only one possible answer. Charles thought for an instant of pointing out that if they got caught in the eruption, then they would all die. But he knew that was not what Finbar was thinking of. The old man knew his own physical limits were closing in on him more tightly