Chapter Thirty-One
By the ruined abbey
The moon hung low, so pale it was almost transparent. The sky, still darkish a minute ago, was now suffused with refracted light, streaks of fiery glow dispelling the gloom of the fading night.
Lord Bancroft stood in the dawn of a new day. Not far to his side, half a wall loomed, its stones cleft and mottled with age.
Did he realize how alone he was? Did he understand that he had step by step, decision by decision, turned allies into strangers and strangers into enemies?
Or was he thinking only of his current difficulties—his next course of action if he could no longer hold Bernadine over them?
He fired four shots in quick succession, two from each revolver in his hand, one projectile each for Charlotte, Lord Ingram, Mrs. Watson, and Lawson.
A scream pierced the air, followed by another shot.
“No!” cried Lord Ingram.
Lord Bancroft’s face contorted. Slowly, he looked down at his right side, his arm was still raised and a bullet had entered his torso just below his armpit.
The shot had come from the ruins of the abbey.
He looked around the clearing at his four targets, all still standing, no one injured or bleeding.
He toppled over.