Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

11: Morning Tragedy Port

Though grateful that it wasn't raining, both men were far from comfortable. Their shoes chaffed, their pants were wet to at least the knee after only a few steps, and every so often the wind would shake a tree and send a cascade of leaves and droplets down upon them.

It was a fine distraction, then, when Mutt stopped still suddenly, almost tripping Thomas. The man caught himself on a tree, too distracted to curse what rained down on him. "What's the matter?" The dog cocked its head to the side. "Do you hear something?" Thomas grinned up Vincent. "Perhaps I've accidentally bought myself a hunting dog."

Vincent thought it unlikely; though the Humphrey estate boasted lively fishing, there were no deer to speak of. Before he could voice that thought, the dog took off running.

Wasting only a moment for a frustrated cry of, "Mutt!", Thomas sprinted after the animal, bounding over rocks and fallen branches as he tried to keep pace with him. Mutt was surprisingly spry for such an underfed animal, and dashed through the landscape with ease. Vincent trudged after them with a sigh. On horseback, he was a force to be reckoned with. On foot, he was careful not to break his neck, particularly given the last night's weather.

Thankfully, between the mud, Mutt's frantic barking, and the occasional curse from Thomas, it was easy enough to follow them through the woods. As he jumped over a tree trunk, he found them standing at the base of a steep incline, Mutt happily restrained in Thomas' arms. Thomas, for his part, was staring at the ground.

Vincent shook his head slightly as the dog panted happily at him. "What did he find?" he asked, ambling closer. "A badger's den?"

Thomas' head jerked up, whipping towards him as if he hadn't realised he'd arrived. "Vincent-"

The other man didn't hear the warning in his tone until it was too late. He looked at the ground as he stepped closer, trying to peer behind the large rocks that blocked his view. He was expecting a burrow or perhaps the carcass of some poor creature that had not survived the winter.

But that was not the body he encountered.

She lay at the bottom of the hill, her neck contorted in an unnatural position, but any obvious injury hidden by her long black hair as it draped over her shoulder. Her skin had the slightest blue tinge, with dried scrapes and tears cutting across her knees and palms. Her dress – plain, stained cotton – was torn, and one shoe was missing. Worse still, her eyes were open, staring darkly up at them with no hint of life.

He would have liked to say she looked peaceful, but that would have been a lie.

"Gabriela," he said softly, unsure himself whether it was a comment, guess, or question. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas nod. It was a safe inference; between her colouring, her clothing, and her presence on the Humphrey estate, there were few others she could be mistaken for.

Vincent felt his stomach clench. Thomas turned to the side suddenly, bending at the waist as he began to retch. They had not eaten, there was nothing to come up, but it still took him several minutes to calm his heaving stomach, one hand braced on his knee, the other clutching Mutt to his side. The dog looked somewhat alarmed.

The other man offered no comment.

Eventually, Thomas straightened, dragging the back of one hand across his mouth. He turned slowly back to the body, his gaze deliberately avoiding looking at the woman. "Do you think it was an accident?"

Vincent nodded. They would need to send for the constable when they reached the house, but it looked that way. The cold had preserved Gabriela's body considerably, and apart from cuts and bruises he attributed to the fall, there was no evidence of another attack.