Clare backed away, but it was foolish to even imagine she could get away. She felt she was leading him on and could feel the pressure on her windpipe and her breath being cut off. He was leaning into her, and her back was now bent over the desk. He was going to kill her at last, she thought. Why not let him? Her legs buckled, and she began to sink down, down, toward death. It would be so easy ... she couldn’t fight him ... it was over ...
As her knees gave way under her, she instinctively reached back to keep her balance, and her hand brushed the corner of something heavy and cold. Everything in her had been saying, “Yes, yes, just let go, Clare. Just sink down and it will be quickly over, and you will be free.”
And then, from some place in her that she didn’t know existed, came a “No.” She couldn’t scream it, because his hands were choking off her voice and breath. But it rose and rose until she thought it would burst through the top of her head. “No, no, no.” Her hand closed around the neck of a brass candlestick and in the last moment before she lost consciousness, she raised it and brought it down on Justin’s head as hard as she could.
He released her instantly and slumped to the floor. She stood there, gasping for breath, her whole being still silently shouting, “No!” Oh, my God, he was moving, he was getting up, he would come after her again, he would kill her this time. She didn’t think, she just moved. The case was open, the pistol was lying in it, she lifted it, and as he began to rise, arms open, she walked toward him, as though into his embrace, pressed the pistol against his chest, and fired. He fell back, eyes wide open in surprise. His left arm twitched, and Clare, terrified that he was going to come after her again, scrambled over to where the other pistol lay on the floor. He groaned, and seemed to be trying to pull himself up. Clare approached him slowly, and pressing the other pistol against his temple, fired. He slumped down in front of her and lay still.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh, God, I don’t know how to reload them. What if he wakes up?” She looked around desperately and grabbed the poker from the fireplace. She stood over her husband, dress drenched in his blood, hands and body shaking, saying, “No, no,” over and over again. And when Peters, who had been awakened by the shots, came into the library, he saw his mistress standing over her husband’s body, brandishing the poker.
“Lady Rainsborough?”
Clare looked up for one minute and then back down, as though afraid her husband would attack her if she relaxed her vigilance even for one moment.
“Did you see him move, Peters? He is going to kill me. Don’t let him get up again. I won’t let him kill me,” she added, gripping the poker more tightly.
The butler looked at his mistress and down at Rainsborough. The master was not moving. The master would obviously never move again. The master was well and truly dead.
He walked over to Clare and gently took the poker from her hand.
“You will not need this, my lady. Lord Rainsborough is dead.”
“No, no, he can’t be. I saw him move after I shot him.”
“I think you must say nothing, my lady,” said the butler as he led her over to the sofa. “Until I summon a Runner.”
“Yes, a Runner could stop him,” whispered Clare. Then her face crumpled. “But I can’t tell him what happened.”
Peters patted her hand reassuringly. “Of course you can, my lady. You can tell him it was a dreadful accident. Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a few minutes?”
Clare nodded, and the butler left to awaken a footman and send him off to Bow Street.
Clare pulled at her dress. It was wet and sticky and uncomfortable. And red. Surely she had been wearing her green silk this evening? She looked down at Justin and shuddered. He was lying very still, and his clothes were stained the same red as her own. How strange. She swallowed and winced. Why was her throat so sore? They had come home early from the ball. Justin had pulled her into the library ... Her head was pounding and all after that was a blank. All she knew was the terror. Justin was going to kill her. But Justin wasn’t moving, so maybe she was safe until Peters returned.
* * * *
She had no idea how long she sat there watching her husband closely for any movement at all. She heard voices in the hallway and then the butler was back, accompanied by a Bow Street Runner.
“I found her standing over him with the poker,” Peters said in a low voice.
The Runner surveyed the scene. Lord Rainsborough lay on a red and blue Turkey carpet with a hole in his left temple and another through his chest. Lady Rainsborough sat on the leather sofa in a bloodstained silk gown, looking up at him in confusion and fear.
“You will not let him kill me, will you?” she asked fearfully.
She was either in a state of shock or she was a damned good actress, thought the Runner.
“No, no, of course not, Lady Rainsborough. Please watch your master for a moment, Peters,” said the runner in order to reassure her. “May I ask you a few questions about tonight?”
Clare nodded.
“It appears from your evening dress that you and your husband were out tonight?”
Clare nodded again.
“May I ask where, my lady?”
“We attended the Petershams ball.”
“I see. And when did you leave the ball?”
Clare frowned. “I think it was about one. We left early, you see.”
“And you came straight home?”
“Yes.”
“And then what happened, Lady Rainsborough?”
Clare twisted her fingers together and plucked at the blood-soaked bodice of her gown. “I ... I can’t remember.”
“You are afraid your husband wants to kill you, my lady?” The Runner looked at her for a long moment. “You have bruises on your throat, and your face is swollen. Was it your husband who did that?”
Clare only looked at him blankly.
“Has he done this before, Lady Rainsborough?”
“Done what?” she whispered.
“Beaten you.”
“Justin? Justin is a most loving and affectionate husband,” she said in a calm, detached voice. “He would never hurt me.”
The Runner rose and addressed the butler. “Clearly your mistress is in a state of shock, Peters. Wake her abigail so she can see her up to bed. I’ll summon another Runner and make sure the house is guarded all night.”
“Is my lady under arrest, then?” asked the butler, horrified to be employed in a household with such a scandal breaking around him.
“Of a sort. It certainly looks as though she killed Lord Rainsborough. But she is in no condition to be brought before anyone tonight. And I wouldn’t want to see a lady like that in Newgate anyway. I will just make sure she stays here safe and sound, until a coroner’s inquest. Does your mistress have family in London? Or a close friend? Someone who could be here when she awakes?”
“Her father and mother just arrived in town,” said Peters, “but they are both quite old, and it would be a dreadful shock ...”
“Surely she has some woman friend?”
“Lady Sabrina Whitton,” the butler answered hesitantly. “But Lady Rainsborough has kept very much to herself this last year or so.”
“But they were once close?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, summon Lady Sabrina in the morning. Your mistress needs someone with her to help her out of the state of shock she is in. I will get clearer answers out of her when that happens.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has Lord Rainsborough any relations who should be notified?”
“Just a distant cousin in Lancashire, sir.”
“Well, best let the family man of business take care of notifying him. I will have the body removed in the morning.”
Peters blanched. “Yes, sir.”
* * * *
Sabrina, who was an early riser, was just getting dressed when their head footman knocked on her door. She looked over at her abigail questioningly and motioned for her to answer it.
“Whatever is it, William,” said the maid, opening the door less than halfway. “My lady is just getting ready for breakfast.”
William cleared his throat nervously. “I have a note from the Rainsborough household,” he said. “Their butler delivered it himself and said it is urgent.”
The abigail put out her hand. “All right. I will give it to her.”
“The Rainsborough’s butler delivered this?” asked Sabrina, looking at the folded square of paper in her hand. She was almost afraid to open it. Something must have happened to Clare.
“Yes, my lady.”
Sabrina sat down at her dressing table so that her maid could do up the last tapes of her morning dress, and opened the note. “Lady Sabrina, Lord Rainsborough has been shot. Lady Rainsborough has need of a friend.” Peters.
“Surely this must be some joke,” muttered Sabrina. “But you say Peters delivered it himself?”
“Yes, William said he was very insistent that you get it right away.”
Sabrina stood up suddenly, jerking the last tape out of her abigail’s hands.
“Have a footman pour me some tea. I will be going to Lady Rainsborough’s directly.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Sabrina was out the door and down the hall, knocking on her brother’s door.
“Giles, Giles. Are you awake?” She could hear him groaning. He had come in late last night, and she had seen him drink more than was his wont after his tête-à-tête with Clare.
“Giles!”
“All right, Sabrina, all right. This had better be important.” Giles opened the door and looked both annoyed and bleary-eyed as he tied his dressing gown together.
“The Rainsborough butler delivered this a few minutes ago,” said Sabrina, thrusting the note at him.
Giles looked up from the paper with a puzzled look on his face that would have been almost comical under any other circumstances. “Rainsborough dead? Shot? Was it intruders?”
“I don’t know, Giles, but clearly I must get over to Clare immediately.”
“I will go with you,” he said instantly.
“I think it would be better if you told her parents, Giles. No doubt the servants are already gossiping, and I wouldn’t want the Dysarts to hear it third-hand.”
Giles frowned. “I suppose you are right. Please give Clare my sympathy.”
“I will,” said Sabrina.
As she turned onto St. James Street, Sabrina saw that there was a Runner standing in front of the Rainsborough town house. It must have been attempted robbery, she thought. Perhaps Justin had surprised a burglar in the act. The Runner moved in front of the door as Sabrina came up the stairs and asked her to identify herself.
“I am Lady Sabrina Whitton,” she answered frostily. “I was summoned early this morning to be with Lady Rainsborough.”
“All right, my lady. No need to get so high in the instep. I was told to keep everyone out except for my lady’s friend. Which is you,” he added with a smile as he opened the door for her.
Peters was almost effusive in his greetings when Sabrina entered the hallway. “Thank you so much for coming, Lady Sabrina. This has been a horrible ordeal, horrible. I will show you up.”
As Sabrina mounted the stairs, she saw another Runner off to her left standing in front of what she thought was the library door, and she shivered. That must have been where the intruder broke in, she thought. That could have been where Justin was killed.
Peters knocked softly on his mistress’s door, and Liza opened it.
“Lady Sabrina Whitton to see my lady,” he announced in a solemn whisper.
“Come in, Lady Sabrina,” said Liza with a relieved smile. “I am very worried about Lady Rainsborough.”
Sabrina walked very quickly past Clare’s abigail, eager to take Clare in her arms and hear the whole dreadful story, and then froze mid-way.
“I can’t get her into bed, Lady Sabrina,” whispered Liza behind her.
Clare was standing to the left of her bed, back to the window, holding a small iron fireplace shovel in her hands. She was still in her green silk ball gown, or what had been green silk. It was now stained so horribly that Sabrina gasped.
“I could not get her to take it off, my lady,” whispered Liza.
“Clare,” Sabrina said softly. “I am here, my dear. I am so sorry that Justin has been hurt.”
Clare lifted the shovel in front of her. “I will
not
let him kill me,” she said fiercely. “I will not.”
“You are safe, Clare. There are two Runners here. The intruder will not come back.”
“Justin?”
“I don’t know yet, my dear, but I think he is dead,” said Sabrina gently.
“But I saw him move,” said Clare in a terrified whisper.
“Then, perhaps he is not dead,” replied Sabrina, reassuringly.
Clare began to shake. “If he is not, then I am.”
Sabrina looked over to Liza, bewildered by her friend’s words.
“The master is dead, Lady Sabrina. I keep telling her that, but she doesn’t seem to believe me.”
“But why then ...?”
“Oh, it was no robber, my lady. It was Lady Rainsborough who killed her husband.”
Sabrina looked at Clare and really saw her for the first time, not just the bloodstained gown. Her friend’s face was red and bruised, and her lips were swollen. There were livid marks around Clare’s throat, she realized, just as though someone had been trying to strangle her. And if there had been no intruder, then Clare was terrified of Justin. Of her own husband.
Sabrina took a deep breath.
“
Liza
,
could you please bring some hot water for Lady Rainsborough’s bath.”
“I tried to get her to take that gown off, but she wouldn’t, my lady,” said the Liza, eager to explain that she, Lady Rainsborough’s abigail, had not been negligent.
“Perhaps I can persuade her.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Sabrina walked over to her friend. “Clare, will you let me help you take off this gown?”
Clare backed away. “But I saw him move, Sabrina.”
“Clare, if I went down and ... saw Justin dead, would that reassure you?”
“Would you, Sabrina? Would you make sure he is dead?” Tears started running down Clare’s cheeks. Sabrina was here. Sabrina would make sure Justin couldn’t get up from where he lay and begin to choke her again.
“Yes, Clare. But you must sit down and rest while I am gone.”