Cousin Clarabelle was on her feet now, grappling with another figure, swathed in darkness like a creature of the dead. No, not a creature. Merely someone dressed in dark clothing. The small figure broke away, then hurled itself at Cousin Clarabelle. They stumbled closer and closer to Phoebe. She tried to command her limbs to move. She must clear her head first. Breathe. Take in air and breathe out the ether. She gulped in a huge draft, filling her lungs. Then she swung her legs at the two writhing forms. She struck the backs of Cousin Clarabelle’s legs, and then rolled away as Cousin Clarabelle’s feet came out from under her and she hit the floor, hard, on her back.
The other—Phoebe could make her out now, it was Olive—launched herself onto Cousin Clarabelle. “Phoebe, grab something, anything, and hit her if you must.”
Phoebe tried to stand but couldn’t. Grab—what? She glanced wildly about the dark room. Then she crawled to the fireplace, remembering how another fireplace had yielded a weapon. She seized not an andiron but the poker, the long brass rod cold and solid in her grasp.
She used the poker to rise to her knees, was maneuvering her feet beneath her when the electric lights burst on, nearly blinding her, and voices filled her ears.
* * *
Eva didn’t at first see Lady Phoebe. But what she did see made her question her sanity. From downstairs they had heard thumping and bumping, then shouts. She had just opened the front door to Miles, and they had both gone still, listening. Verna Brockhurst and Lady Julia had stepped out of the drawing room to listen as well.
“Is that my mother-in-law I hear?” the younger Lady Mandeville had asked. That question, and another shout from upstairs, had sent them running up the steps.
The sounds had led them to an unexpected place: the bedroom formerly occupied by Ralph Cameron. How could that be? Eva hadn’t wasted any time, for she heard someone call out her mistress’s name. She rushed forward even ahead of Miles and pushed her way through the door.
With a flick of the switch, the lights flooded the room to reveal . . . Olive Asquith? She was on the floor scuffling with the dowager, kicking and landing blows. The young woman had surely lost her mind. Horrified at the thought of the dowager being hurt, Eva hurried to them and grasped Miss Asquith by the back of her shirtwaist collar. A now familiar odor wafted in the air, drawing her attention to a rumpled cloth lying on the floor not far from the women. Yanking Miss Asquith’s collar, Eva crouched to reach the cloth. Her fingers closed around it. She managed to haul Miss Asquith away from the dowager and thrust the cloth beneath the young woman’s nose.
“Eva, no. Not Olive. It’s Cousin Clarabelle.”
From the corner of her eye Eva spotted Lady Phoebe pushing to her feet. She held a fire poker as one might a spear. What had she said? That her cousin . . . ?
“Eva, step away.” Miles grasped her hand and drew it from Miss Asquith’s collar. The young woman nearly fell forward onto the dowager, but Miles caught her by the shoulder. He steadied her and helped her stand. The dowager lay on her side, panting heavily.
“Mother Mandeville.” Verna Brockhurst rushed to her mother-in-law’s side and sank to her knees. “Are you all right? Are you harmed? This is all too much. My nerves can’t take anymore. First Hastings is carted off, and now this . . .”
What about Miss Brockhurst and Mr. Cameron? Did their fates not strain the woman’s nerves as well? Eva dismissed her and met Lady Phoebe’s gaze, filled with both fear and relief. Eva dropped the ether-soaked cloth and hurried to her. Their arms encircled each other, and Lady Phoebe half fell against her, her legs sagging.
“The ether,” she said. “I was nearly unconscious more than once. I’m still . . . so dizzy.”
Eva helped her to the nearest chair and lowered her into it. “What happened here, my lady?”
Before she could reply, the dowager groped to a sitting position with her daughter-in-law’s help. She shoved a finger toward Miss Asquith. “She attacked us.”
Miss Asquith glared back at her, unflinching. “I did no such thing. She was attacking Phoebe. I heard her through the speaking tubes.” She aimed a particularly significant look at Eva.
“She’s lying, obviously,” Verna Brockhurst declared, as if it settled the matter. No one but the dowager paid her any mind.
“Have you been here in the house this whole time?” Lady Phoebe asked.
Miles stepped back slightly, keeping both Miss Asquith and the dowager in his sights. “A good question. Where have you been, Miss Asquith?”
“Hiding,” she replied. “In the storage area of the attic. I knew everyone would think I took the opportunity to escape. And I almost did. Only one thing kept me here.”
“And what is that?” Miles demanded.
“My innocence. There’s a speaking tube up there, in the main storage room. I discovered it while exploring the house when Regina and I first arrived. I’ve been listening in on all of your conversations.” She gestured with her chin at the dowager. “I heard what she was about to do to Phoebe. Kill her, and then pretend to have been asleep—drugged with ether—in her bed all the while, so that you would all think I’d done the deed.” She frowned, glaring down at the dowager. “I half believed you had guessed I never left the house.”
The dowager scowled back. “Had I known where you were, I’d have dispatched you without further ado.”
Her daughter-in-law tried putting an arm around her, but the dowager slapped it away.
Miles turned to Lady Phoebe. “Is this true?”
“It is. I’d be dead now if not for Olive.” She paused, seeming to search the carpet. Then she left her chair, took several steps, and bent down, retrieving something from the floor. “With this. Olive, I believe this is your hat pin?” She held it up, several inches of silver topped by the figure of a bird.
“Yes, that’s mine.”
“She’s a communist,” the dowager blurted. “Arrest her, Constable. She led my daughter astray, and they were going to help the Bolsheviks gain a foothold here in England.”
“That may be,” Miles said calmly, “but it’s not against the law.”
“It’s treason,” the dowager insisted. “How can she be allowed to get away with it? The court will agree with me. They’ll never convict me. I was defending our country.”
“You committed murder, and you will more than likely be convicted.” Miles reached out a hand to help her to her feet. “Come, Lady Mandeville, it’s time to go. And time to free your son.”
“Wait, Constable. I still have a question or two.” Lady Phoebe eased away from Eva to approach her cousin. Yet when she spoke, it was to Lady Mandeville and Olive Asquith. “What happened to Cousin Basil? Did one of you tell him about Regina’s communist sympathies, thus upsetting him beyond what he could bear?”
After hesitating, the dowager admitted, “I’d suspected he was making changes to his will. The barmy gaffer. I thought enlightening him to his daughter’s mischief would secure the fortune for Hastings.” She shot a glance at Miles. “It was an accident, hardly my fault. Who knew he’d keel over dead?”
“But you came here accusing Regina of killing him,” Lady Phoebe reminded her.
“She did kill him. If not for her political duplicity, he’d still be alive. And so would my poor, dear Ralph. It’s her fault they’re both dead now.”
Lady Phoebe drew in several deep breaths, an obvious effort to maintain her patience. “All right, then, my second question. We found a burned periodical in Regina’s fireplace. It must have been torn up first, and a scrap of it floated away from the flames. On it were two words: ‘list Labor.’ ”
“The Socialist Labor Review.” Miss Asquith raised her chin defensively. “I brought that to Regina myself. There were several articles highlighting the inequities of English labor laws, specifically the lack of protections for women in the workplace. We can be dismissed without cause, you know, simply because a man seeks the position.”
The dowager’s lip curled. “Revolting rubbish. Of course
I burned it, you stupid girl.” The dowager’s voice grated with disdain. “Hadn’t Regina done enough harm to this family without it getting out that we harbored among us a social miscreant?”
“My mother-in-law is right about that.” Verna Brockhurst’s fingers curled like claws around the collar of her frock; her nose was pinched, her lips thin and chapped. Had she been biting them? “Regina has ruined us utterly. How shall we survive the scandal? She’s hateful and cruel.”
Lady Phoebe rounded on her. “ Was, not is, Verna. Regina is dead. She is the victim here, not you. How can you care more about your reputation than a person’s life, your own sister-in-law—”
Seeing her mistress so distraught, Eva moved to go to her, but an unexpected voice interceded. “Phoebe,” Lady Julia said, and went to her sister’s side. “Never mind. There is no use in arguing with someone who plainly doesn’t see beyond her own needs.” The younger Lady Mandeville let out an indignant snort, but Lady Julia ignored her. “Come. Let’s prepare to leave this dismal place. Let’s allow the constable to do his job, while you and I go home. Grams has sent the car for us, and it should be here at any moment now.” Putting an arm around Lady Phoebe, she glanced over her shoulder at Eva. They shared a moment’s conspiratorial knowledge that the news from home wasn’t good, that Lord Wroxly was not well, but Lady Phoebe didn’t need to know that yet. “Eva? Shall we?”
“I’ll start packing our things, my lady.” Warmth filled Eva to see that small overture of friendship between the sisters. She started to the door, but stopped as her gaze met Miles’s. He smiled, only slightly, but enough to let her know she would be seeing him soon enough. Her heart rejoiced, for she had feared she had crossed an unforgivable line when she forced him to speak of the war.
Miles gripped the dowager’s elbow and with a nudge set her walking. The woman let out a protest, and Eva expected Miles to resort to the handcuffs. To her surprise, he did not. He weathered her verbal abuses bravely and kept her moving steadily on. Her remonstrations echoed from the stairs, then the front hall, finally to fade away as Miles removed her from the house.
Eva set her feet in motion to begin the task of packing, but Lady Phoebe called to her.
“I’ll pack my own things, Eva, and then I’ll help Olive with hers.” She turned to the young woman. “You’ll come to Foxwood Hall with us, yes?”
Miss Asquith stared back at her, her lips parting, a look of disbelief knitting her brows together. “You’re inviting me to your home?”
“Yes, until you decide what you wish to do now.” Phoebe looked to her sister for consensus. “Isn’t that right, Julia?”
Lady Julia appeared as skeptical as Miss Asquith. “I . . . er . . . yes, if that’s what you wish.”
“But after everything that’s happened, and everything you know about me, you’d still welcome me into your home? Even knowing I’d scorn a place like your Foxwood Hall and the kind of life you live there?”
Lady Phoebe laughed, a sound that never failed to work itself into Eva’s heart. That a young woman who had been through as much as Phoebe Renshaw could still find laughter within her seemed a remarkable thing, and a precious one, too. “If you could perhaps not share your political views with our grandparents and promise not to rouse the servants to revolution, I think all will be well.”
When Miss Asquith failed to laugh or even smile at the joke, Lady Phoebe sobered. “Forgive me, Olive, I shouldn’t jest at your expense, for I do believe you are sincere. I fear I shall never agree with your beliefs, not entirely, though I do find merit in some of what you prescribe. But they are your beliefs and should be respected.”
“Thank you, Phoebe.” Miss Asquith stepped forward and took Lady Phoebe’s hand. “That is more than I would have expected from someone of your station.”
Eva thought that rather thin gratitude on Miss Asquith’s part, but all things considered, a heartening development.
But Miss Asquith hadn’t finished. Next, she approached Eva. “I’m dreadfully sorry I hit you. I’m not someone who typically resorts to violence. I’m afraid I was rather desperate, thinking I might be arrested for murder. Are you all right, and can you forgive me? I’d understand if you wished to have me charged with assault.”
“Quite forgiven.” Eva touched Miss Asquith’s wrist. “And as things have turned out, I’m quite happy to consider the matter forgotten.”
“Thank you, Miss Huntford,” the other woman said. “I’ve been wrong about you. There is much in you to admire.”
“Well, then,” Lady Julia said briskly, “there’s no use in standing around. Let’s all get busy so we can be gone from here just as quick as may be.”
“What about me?”
Eva, Ladies Phoebe and Julia, and Miss Asquith had all crossed to the doorway, but at Verna Brockhurst’s petulant query, they stopped and turned. At first no one spoke, as if Lady Mandeville had posed a particularly puzzling riddle no one could solve.
Finally, the woman replied to her own question. “Oh, never mind. I don’t want to go to your old Foxwood Hall, anyway. Your grandmother doesn’t like me, I know she doesn’t. I’ll wait here for Hastings.” She glanced about the room, and suddenly her expression brightened, though without bringing any semblance of beauty to her face. “Why, it has just occurred to me. High Head Lodge belongs to us now. It’s mine. It’s my home, and there’s no reason for me to leave.”
“And long may they be happy here,” Miss Asquith murmured too quietly for Lady Mandeville to hear. Not that it would have mattered, for her attention was now focused on the room as she flitted from the carved headboard to the mahogany dresser to the marble-faced fireplace.
“Yes,” Lady Julia whispered for their ears alone, “and I know a lady’s maid I’ll be more than happy to recommend to her.”
Julia and Miss Asquith continued down the corridor to their bedrooms, but Lady Phoebe lagged behind with Eva. She linked arms with her. “What a sad business this has been, from start to finish.”
“I’m only happy you weren’t seriously harmed, my lady. How are you feeling now? Does your head ache from the ether?”
“Hmm, only if I think about it.” She touched her free hand to her brow. “So I shan’t. And your head, from when Olive struck you?”
“I’m fine, my lady.”
“Tell me, Eva, do you think they’ll ever find happiness, Verna and Hastings?”
Eva doubted it very much, but she said, “Happiness takes different forms for different people, my lady. Perhaps in their way, they’ll be happy.”
“I do hope you’re right. And I hope . . .”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Julia was rather kind to me just now.”
“Yes, she was. She does love you, my lady.”
“Sometimes I wonder. But yes, perhaps. I only hope she and I might resolve our differences someday, so that . . .” She brought them to a halt. They turned, facing each other. Sadness and a lonely, uncertain shadow of hope swam in Lady Phoebe’s clear hazel eyes, making Eva’s throat ache. “So that the kind of discord that has torn the Brockhurst family apart will never do the same to the Renshaws.”
Eva pressed her palm to her mistress’s cheek. “Have no fear of that, my lady. The Renshaw girls may snipe and tussle at times, but when you need each other, you will always pull together.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Eva smiled and started them walking again. “I know my ladies. I know their hearts, and I have the utmost faith in all of you.”
“Hearing it from you, Eva, I believe it must be so. Goodness, I cannot wait to be home. Do you think I can expect a telephone call from Owen Seabright when we get there?”
“I believe you should expect a visit from Lord Owen, my lady, and quite soon.”
Lady Phoebe grinned as she opened the door to her room.
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A Devious Death Page 26