‘Rosie!’
I pulled up her sleeve but couldn’t find the wound amidst all the blood. I wiped her skin with my jacket and found where it was pulsing out. At the top of her upper arm, a two-inch trench had been gouged out by the bullet.
‘It missed the bone,’ I said to her. ‘But you’re bleeding.’
I turned away, so no one could see, and undid one of my shirt buttons, slipping my hand inside. I could feel where my cilice was tied, squashing my breasts against my chest. I managed to push a finger into the knot and open it, extracting it from under my shirt. This was the first time my breasts had been unbound in company for a long time, but I couldn’t worry about it; Rosie was far more important.
I tied it tightly around her arm.
Pallett looked down at my handiwork and then at me, frowning.
‘I keep a bandage with me,’ I explained. ‘Just in case. Now, put your hand against it. More pressure. That’s right.’
Rosie winced and shook her head. ‘Leo, that’s—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I did up my jacket and coat, right to the collar. ‘You need it more.’
‘I’m all right, it’s not that bad.’ She blinked and licked her lips. ‘I’m a bit shocked is all. Go and get the children. I’ll feel better for seeing them.’
I took the steps two at a time.
‘Aiden! Ciara! It’s Leo!’
I heard Aiden’s voice in the front bedroom. ‘We’re here!’
The key was in the lock. I turned it and there they were.
I scooped them up, feeling Aiden’s arms tight around my back and Ciara’s hair against my cheek, and her chin on my shoulder, and her whole little self. They were here, with me, and safe.
‘We were scared,’ whispered Ciara. ‘The lady wouldn’t let us out.’
‘Did she hurt you?’
‘No.’
I kissed her forehead, grateful beyond words for its warmth and softness.
‘I looked after her,’ said Aiden.
I ruffled his hair. ‘I knew you would. You’re a good boy. A good brother.’ And then, because I thought he would want to hear it: ‘Your mother would be proud of you.’
His face clouded, and I realised I’d said the wrong thing. I had no idea what his mother would be proud of. I’d only met her once.
I picked up Ciara and the three of us went down the stairs together.
In the parlour, Hooper had arrived and was standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Lady Thackery was sitting in an armchair, a black veil covering her face. Peter was beside her on the arm of the chair.
Rosie was lying on the sofa, pale but steadfast, her hand pressed against her upper arm where a red, wet stain had spread through the bandage. Aiden and Ciara eyed the blood warily but allowed her to touch their cheeks.
Pallett was standing by the fireplace holding the gun. In the cramped room he looked like a toy soldier in a doll’s house that had been built to a smaller scale.
‘Why did you kidnap these children, Your Ladyship?’ he asked, pointing at Ciara and Aiden, who had moved close behind me. I could feel Ciara’s hand clutching the material of my coat. ‘And why did you shoot at us?’
Hooper snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Constable. There must be another explanation. Cowdery took ’em, most likely, and was the one who did the shooting. Her Ladyship has nothing to do with any of it.’
‘He’s not being ridiculous,’ Rosie replied calmly. ‘It was her, all right.’
Hooper looked pleadingly at Lady Thackery. She took no notice of him.
‘My reasons are my own,’ she said, and pressed her lips together to prevent any more stray words from escaping.
‘Leave her alone,’ protested Peter. ‘Can’t you see she’s sick and doesn’t know what she’s doing?’
‘No one does something like that for no reason,’ said Pallett.
‘Peter, you should leave,’ I said. ‘There may be things you don’t want to hear.’ I nodded towards Aiden and Ciara. ‘Take them as well, would you? See if you can find some food for them.’
‘No,’ said Lady Thackery, gripping Peter’s hand, her knuckles turning white. ‘He should stay with me.’
Peter stood up. ‘It’s all right, Mother, I won’t be far away.’
He left with Aiden and Ciara. She watched them go with a strange expression on her face and then turned her imperious gaze on me.
‘I read about you in the newspaper. You interfere where you’re not needed.’
I refused to be intimidated by someone who’d just come so close to murdering Rosie.
‘Tell us everything,’ I said. ‘Start with why you killed Dora Hannigan. Your husband paid her to provide him with a son when you could not. Did that make you jealous?’
‘A little, perhaps, at the time.’ Her breathing was becoming uneven and she seemed to be shrinking, as though she might fall into the gaps between the cushions. ‘But afterwards, I was so grateful to have Peter, I forgot all that. I had my boys, and they were all I wanted. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given birth to them.’
‘Until Dora came back,’ I said.
‘Yes. Out of the blue, a few weeks ago. She wanted to meet Peter and tell him the truth. She said he deserved to know where he came from. A lot of nonsense about the ruling classes and so on. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
‘She was a woman of strong principles.’
She angled her head in acknowledgement. ‘That she was.’
‘And what about John, your son? Why did you kill him?’
She bent forwards and opened her mouth very wide. At first, I thought she was going to vomit, but she didn’t. She let out a wail and slammed her hands down on the arms of the chair repeatedly, her feet dancing on the floor and her neck flushing red. As her cry reached the limit of her lungs, she filled them with as much air as she could and wailed again. Her outburst lasted twenty seconds, maybe less, but it felt like an eternity. Watching another person being wracked by such agony was almost impossible.
‘Good heavens,’ whispered Hooper.
Eventually, she rocked back in her chair, her palms turned upwards as though accepting whatever punishment might come. I had the impression she welcomed it.
‘Oh God,’ she said, her tone softening, ‘from whom all holy desires, all good counsels and all just works do proceed, give unto thy servants that peace which the world cannot give.’
‘Lady Thackery, did you kill your son, John?’ I asked her again, more insistently this time.
She closed her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice as thin as cobwebs. ‘Yes, I murdered John too.’
She was trying to keep her hands still, but they were shaking, sending shivers through her whole body. I tried to imagine the scene, her confronting John at the stable, a sword in her hand, thrusting it into his chest and burying him in the timberyard.
But I could not.
How would she even lift a sword?
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe you killed either of them. You don’t have the strength for it. Nor the desire.’
She spoke with absolute conviction. ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of.’
‘But you did capture Aiden and Ciara,’ I said. ‘And you locked them upstairs.’ I clenched my fists, realising the truth, or some of it. Once again, I had seen the whole thing backwards. ‘And yet you made sure they were well fed, didn’t you? And their clothes washed. In fact, I don’t believe you were kidnapping them at all. I believe you were rescuing them.’
She looked down at her fingers. A vein on her neck was throbbing.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘From you.’
I felt my face blaze red.
‘From me?’
‘You were a danger to them.’
She must have recognised me after all, I thought. Or Sir Reginald had. Or perhaps John had told her. She knew who I was, and she knew what I was: an ungodly chimera of woman and man that couldn’t be allowed to take charge of children. Aiden and Ciara had been imprisoned and Rosie had been shot, all because of me.
I was to blame.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Hooper, smacking his lips. ‘Lady Thackery is quite right, Stanhope. You took ’em first.’
Rosie slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it. ‘It’s not true,’ she whispered.
I met Lady Thackery’s eyes through her veil. In all this time, she hadn’t once looked at me strangely or made some sly allusion to my female body. And if she had recognised me, why didn’t she tell Hooper and save herself? And why exactly was she confessing to two murders she couldn’t possibly have committed?
The truth unfolded like a map.
‘You fool,’ I hissed. ‘Do you understand what you’ve done?’
It wasn’t me she was rescuing the children from, it was someone else. Someone who would hurt them, and who had killed both Dora and John. Someone she was willing to sacrifice herself for.
‘Where’s Peter?’ I asked, a rock-hard lump forming in my stomach.
I ran out to the kitchen, but it was empty.
I sprinted into the rear yard, slipping and sliding in the mud. Dusk had fallen, and I couldn’t see more than a few yards ahead. The paving stretched towards the mill, smoke drifting across it like a shroud.
‘Aiden! Ciara!’
My voice was deadened by the gloom.
The children had gone.
I had delivered them into the hands of a killer.
I tugged open the door to the mill and ran inside. The whole place was filled with smoke, stinging my eyes and reaching into my throat.
‘Aiden! Ciara!’
I blundered towards the outlines of the looms in front of me. There was a sound ahead, a whooshing and crackling, and an orange glow bloomed on one wall. Bundles of jute had been piled up and were smouldering and spitting, flames already licking around their edges. A black silhouette was holding a board and waving it up and down, fanning the fire.
‘What are you doing?’ I shouted. ‘Put that out!’
Edwin Cowdery turned. His face was red, and his eyes were streaming in the heat.
‘Mr Stanhope! You should leave right away. This place is going up.’
‘Aiden and Ciara are in here somewhere!’
‘What? Where?’
‘I don’t know. Help me find them. Quickly!’
The wood-slat wall had already caught. Flames were crawling upwards through the black smoke.
I ran back down the building, looking left and right, and almost collided with Peter, who was tugging Aiden and Ciara by their wrists. He backed away behind a trolley and pulled something out of his jacket. I saw a glint of metal.
‘Peter, I know you killed John and Dora. Don’t make it any worse.’
He let go of Aiden and put his arm around Ciara, crouching down and holding a kitchen knife to her throat. She wriggled, trying to get free, but he gripped her harder.
‘Leave us alone, Mr Stanhope! Just let it happen, why don’t you? My mother has confessed to everything. Let her take the blame. It’s what she wants.’
If you harm Ciara, I thought, I will kill you.
Aiden had the same look I’d seen when he had joined the ball game at the zoo: alert and poised for action. His eyes were fixed on his half-brother. He had heard Peter’s voice, his accent, and I knew what he was thinking: rich boys don’t have the stomach for a fight. But Peter had already killed two people.
‘Stay calm, Aiden,’ I said. ‘Let me talk to Peter man to man.’
The air was growing hotter. A lamp hanging on one of the looms burst, sending a spray of oil across the floor.
Peter’s face was damp, and his hair was plastered down on his forehead. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘I hate all this,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘Truly I do.’
‘I give you my word. If you let them go, I’ll forget everything. I’ll never tell a soul what you’ve done.’
I could see him trying to decide what to do, licking his lips and rocking slightly. Very slowly, he moved the knife away from Ciara’s neck, though he still had hold of her.
She seemed to stiffen and then fall limp over his arm. He dropped her to the ground and shrank away, and for a moment my heart leapt, but she didn’t run to me. Her little body started jerking and shaking, her heels thumping on the floor.
Aiden crawled forwards and pulled her head into his lap as she shuddered and shook.
Peter jumped to his feet. ‘What’s happening?’
There was a movement behind him. I hoped desperately that it was Pallett, but when I saw a face in the flickering light, I realised it was Edwin Cowdery. It was vital that he didn’t do anything stupid. All that mattered was getting the children to safety.
I shook my head at him, but he didn’t see me. He inched out from his hiding place, his eyes fixed on Peter.
‘No, Edwin!’
He launched himself headlong, tackling Peter around his neck. The two of them sprawled on the floor, each trying to get a grip on the other. Against the light of the fire, I couldn’t tell which was which.
I raced forwards and grabbed the children, pulling Ciara out of the way. She was still in the midst of her fit, and I pushed my fingers between her teeth to stop her biting her own tongue.
One of the figures rose up, adjusting his balance, a knife in his hand. The man on his back was squeezing the other’s neck, and for a few hideous seconds neither was able to move, but then the one on top plunged downward, sending the knife into the chest of the other.
The victor stood, and I could see it was Peter, with a hideous expression on his face, one of boundless satisfaction. He was still holding the knife.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of another figure in the smoke. As it came closer, I realised it was Pallett. I wanted to call out to him, but I was choking. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and shoved the children in his direction.
‘Go!’ I croaked.
Aiden picked up his sister like a sack and tottered towards Pallett. Through the smoke I watched the young constable gather them up and peer towards me, his hand across his brow, and then turn and carry them out of the mill.
When I looked back, Peter was gone.
I scuttled forwards to where Edwin was lying. His eyes were open, flicking from side to side. He’d been stabbed in the gut. I pressed my hand against the wound, but his blood leaked around my fingers, soaking into my sleeve and pooling on the floor.
He clutched my arm. ‘Did I save them?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.
He closed his eyes and his grip relaxed as the pumping of his blood slowed and stopped.
I had no time to pull his body from the mill. If I didn’t leave now, I would be trapped. The fire was ravenous. It was like a physical thing, a creature with many fingers, crawling across the walls of the building, exhaling smoke and ash. The carts of raw jute would soon be feeding its appetite. It would consume everything.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered to Edwin.
I could feel the draught being sucked in through the open door by the heat. I staggered towards the oblong of pale light and drank in a lungful of cold, wonderful air.
On the embankment, the lamps were lit, reflected in a flickering line across the marshes.
I heard a footstep behind me and ducked just in time to avoid the swing of the knife.