Chapter 13
“I am sorry,my lord, but I can’t let you in!” the thin, little maid exclaimed, standing behind the heavy front door and peering at him around the edge.
He thrust his booted foot in the crack. “Mr. Polkinghorne will see me. I am sure of it.”
“But he won’t, my lord! They’re at supper—all of them—and not to be disturbed.” She threw her paltry weight against the door to shut it. “I must go! They’ll be expecting their pudding. Please, my lord!”
Dinner? He must have guessed incorrectly, after all. If Polkinghorne was sitting down to supper, it was unlikely that he was a murderer, planning on making Cynthia’s death final this time, right after he had his brandy and cigar.
The door pressed against his foot, but he barely felt it. Should he join Gaunt at Eburne’s flat instead? He glanced at the carriage waiting for him in the street.
No. He was here. He would speak to Polkinghorne and determine if Miss Grace Stainton had returned here, or if he knew where she’d gone.
“I fear that does not please me in the least. Show me into the library. I shall wait there until Mr. Polkinghorne has had his pudding.” He pushed the door open, forcing the maid back into the hallway.
Her gaze darted about, her face pale, and her nervous hands continually smoothing over the front of her apron. “But he’s not to be disturbed, my lord. He said so before supper. He told me he was not to be bothered this evening. He has business to attend to. Urgent business.”
“Business?” Marcus asked sharply.
“Business.” She nodded. “That’s what he said, my lord. Urgent business. He left papers on his desk in the library and locked the door so as not to have them disturbed. I expect it was something he didn’t want Mrs. Polkinghorne to see.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in her pale face. Clearly, she’d said more than she ought to have done.
“Never mind. I will wait in the drawing room, instead.” He strode in the direction of the grand staircase. He’d have preferred to simply walk into the dining room, but even his sense of urgency kept him from taking that drastic step. He’d look like a fool if he were wrong. “Tell Mr. Polkinghorne that I await him.”
“But I…” She stared at him, aghast. Her gaze drifted toward the elaborately carved double doors that presumably led to the dining room.
He stopped with one foot on the lowest stair. “Is Miss Grace Stainton at supper as well?”
“Miss Grace?” she repeated.
“Yes. Miss Grace.”
“No—same as I told Miss Stainton.” She flushed.
“Told Miss Stainton?” Enlightenment flashed. The third sister must have come for a visit.
The maid nodded.
“Where is she? Is she at supper with the Polkinghornes?”
“No, my lord. I haven’t seen her—she must have left.”
Marcus studied the maid. Something was not quite right. If the third sister had come to visit, why had she left instead of joining her aunt and uncle for dinner?
“To which Miss Stainton are you referring, miss?” he asked gently.
“Miss Dorothy—the one as is your wife now—Lady Arundell, my lord.” Elsa bobbed a quick curtsey, her gaze drifting to the dining room door again.
His wife? Guilt bit him between the shoulder blades like a hungry horsefly. He shouldn’t have left her so abruptly. What must she think? Married and deserted in one day… He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced up at the first floor landing. What was she doing here? Had she forgotten something? Or worse, was she lonely and regretting their union?
“And she left?” he asked.
“She must have—she’s not here. Nor her sister, neither.”
A door rattled further down the hallway on his right. The library door. He caught the maid’s startled glance.
Just then, the dining room doors flew open.
“Elsa! What are you doing out here?” Mrs. Polkinghorne stood in the doorway.
The maid’s frightened glance flicked to Marcus and then back to her mistress. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Polkinghorne. I heard the door.”
Following the girl’s gaze, Mrs. Polkinghorne’s eyes widened. “My lord! Why are you here? Is something amiss?”
“Mary! Where is that blasted girl? What are you doing there?” Polkinghorne appeared next to his wife.
His mouth thinned, and he started to speak, only to notice Marcus. “My lord!” His startled exclamation echoed his wife’s words. He recovered his wits quickly. “Elsa, why did you not inform us that Lord Arundell had arrived?”
Elsa’s mouth dropped open. “You weren’t to be disturbed—you said—”
“Yes, I know what I said.” Polkinghorne chuckled. “Come in, my lord. Perhaps you would care to join us?”
“Thank you, but I have already eaten.” Marcus stepped away from the staircase and moved toward the dining room. “Perhaps I may speak with you after you finish your supper?”
“Oh, we have quite finished already,” Polkinghorne said as he joined him.
“But the pudding…” Mrs. Polkinghorne complained, the corners of her mouth drooping. She gazed into the dining room over her shoulder.
Clearly, she objected to missing her favorite part of the meal.
“Would you care to join me in the…” Ignoring his wife, Polkinghorne took a step toward the hallway leading to the library and then stopped abruptly. His eyes flickered before he smiled and held out his arm, gesturing to the staircase. “We shall be more comfortable in the drawing room, I believe. Elsa, bring us a tray with brandy and a few slices of cake. Shall we, my lord?”
Marcus turned.
A sudden clatter of running feet echoed down the marble hallway from the direction of the library.
Dorothy slid to a halt, her hand shooting out to clutch the newel post and keep from falling. Another woman—Grace—bumped into her from behind.
“Marcus!” Dorothy gasped.
“Dorothy—what—” He broke off. A movement made him step in front of her and glance over his shoulder.
Face set in a gray mask, Polkinghorne faced them, a dueling pistol gripped in his hand. “How unfortunate,” he murmured. “And needless. This should never have happened. Particularly not to you, my dearest Dorothy.” His eyes glimmered with madness.
“Dorothy!” Mrs. Polkinghorne shrieked, her hands fisting at her sides. “This is all her fault! You think of nothing else—no one else! Just her…” A sharp sob broke her voice, and she covered her face with her hands.
“Put that thing down,” Marcus ordered, ensuring that he was between Polkinghorne and the women. The final pieces of the sad puzzle fell into place. “What do you hope to accomplish? You have but one shot.”
“That is all I require.” His gaze traveled beyond Marcus’s shoulder, back to Marcus, and then to his wife.”
“Cyril!” Mrs. Polkinghorne exclaimed, lifting her head. “You cannot be so foolish—what are you doing?”
“Be quiet, woman! Must you always be so useless?” A fierce concentration wrinkled Polkinghorne’s brow. He looked at his wife, contempt clear in his eyes. “A useless old hag. At least Dorothy proved sensible, despite her youth. And she’s still beautiful. Well, a wife cannot testify, Mary. One bullet—for you, my lord—and I can still… Yes. I can still make a clean sweep. No mistakes this time.”
Dorothy gripped Marcus’s sleeve and peered around his shoulder. “You cannot do it, Uncle Cyril. If you shoot Lord Arundell, two of us remain, and you cannot fight all of us.”
“She’s right, Polkinghorne.” Marcus stretched out his arm to push Dorothy behind him. She may not have realized it, but her uncle had just revealed why he had wanted Marcus to marry Cecilia instead of Dorothy. Polkinghorne clearly had designs on his niece. The notion of him attempting to seduce Dorothy and make her his mistress made Marcus clench his jaw. He forced his voice to stay calm when he held out his left hand. “Give me the pistol. Let us discuss this like intelligent men—”
“Intelligent men?” Polkinghorne snorted. His gaze grew wilder, flicking from one person to the next, a pale ring forming around his thin mouth with the dawning realization that he was trapped despite his plans.
“Elsa, fetch the constable,” Mrs. Polkinghorne said, startling all of them. Her chin rose. “You may think I cannot testify against you, but I assure you that my testimony shall scarcely be required with so many witnesses. For the life of me, I cannot understand why you have suddenly decided to take leave of your senses in this ridiculous fashion.” She sniffed. “And you will see how pretty your darling Dorothy is after bearing children and suffering your attentions for so many years!”
Marcus took another step forward. Five yards and he could wrest the pistol from Polkinghorne’s grasp.
Polkinghorne’s head jerked in his direction, his eyes locking onto him. “I loved Eleanor, you know, and Dorothy is so much like her in so many ways… More sensible, perhaps, but like her. She said if only she were free… Free! Well, I made her free, for all the good it did me.” An expressionless mask dropped over his face.
Staring unseeing into Marcus’s eyes, he suddenly raised the pistol.
Marcus took a jerking step forward.
Polkinghorne put the barrel between his teeth and pulled the trigger.
The explosion shattered the quiet night. The sound seemed to go on and on.
When at last it died away, shrill, startled screams rose in waves. The shrieks reverberated through the hallway.