Shoeless, Louisa moved silently but not slowly up the stairs. With each step she remembered things she had seen as if turning the pages of a photograph album, each image taunting her: how could she not have seen what was right before her eyes? The maid eating the devils-on-horseback meant only for Bryan Guinness, cooked by Lady Boyd. Dot falling to her death. The chocolates brought to Paris by Luke. The sudden death of Shaun Mulloney. Her own night of sickness. Lady Boyd’s watchful expression in Venice.
The frail, pale, dead body of Clara Fischer.
The blood that trickled from the heart of Kate Mulloney.
Step by step, the censure did not relent.
Louisa passed the dark stillness of the drawing room with its vast portrait of the unsmiling Sir William. Running now, Louisa went up another flight of stairs and saw a door firmly closed. She turned the handle and pushed it open, not even knowing if this was Luke’s bedroom, making the best guess she could. This room, too, was dark, the curtains had been drawn but hurriedly perhaps, for they didn’t meet completely in the middle and the shaft of sunshine that came through was enough for Louisa to take in the unhappy scene. A single bed was pushed up against the wall furthest from the window, a table beside it had books piled high and a lamp that was switched off. On the bed lay Luke, fully clothed and on top of the sheets. His shirt collar was undone, one arm lay on his chest, the other hung limply by his side, dangling over the side of the bed. In this glance, Louisa took in the scene but could not see yet if he was breathing. He made no sound. On the bed, strewn around his body, were a number of assorted medicine bottles. Several of them had their lids off.
In the furthest corner from the door, her face hidden by shadow, her hands calmly in her lap, sat Lady Boyd. As Louisa came in, she looked up but otherwise did not stir.
‘Luke!’ cried out Louisa and ran over to him, catching only a shocking glimpse of his ashen pallor. But before she could reach the bed she felt a strong hand on her arm, pulling her back.
‘There is nothing to be done,’ said his aunt. ‘Leave him be.’
Louisa tried to wrestle herself free but Lady Boyd’s grip was tight. She could feel the tips of the fingers that would leave bruises tomorrow.
‘He’s at peace now,’ she intoned flatly, the phrase sounding like a rosary bead prayer that has been repeated forty times.
‘What have you done?’ gasped Louisa, feeling as if she would suffocate from this monstrous, heartless presence.
‘I?’ said Lady Boyd. ‘I have done nothing.’
‘Those pills—’
Lady Boyd released her hold on Louisa and smoothed out her skirt. ‘Luke found them in the medicine cupboard. They are from when I was a nurse. It is unfortunate that he put them to this use.’
Louisa looked at her and realized she was talking to a madwoman. She had to be, none of this made any sense.
‘We have to call an ambulance. He needs help. We might be able to save him.’
‘There is no saving him.’ Ice edged her words, like the first frost of the year. ‘My nephew is beyond redemption.’
‘Why?’ Perhaps she could rationalise this insane situation, make his aunt see reason, if there was any reason to be had.
‘To take one’s own life is the ultimate crime against God.’
‘But he hasn’t taken his own life, has he?’ said Louisa. She couldn’t risk accusing her just yet. She had to get out first and call an ambulance, pray it wasn’t too late. If Guy got here soon he could help.
Her breath ragged but her will determined, Louisa left the room and started to run down the stairs, holding the banister firmly, afraid her stockinged feet would slip easily on the stairs. Her boots were still in the basement but she could not go and get them. She ran down as she heard Lady Boyd coming behind her, a light but firm tread, step by step by step. At the bottom stair, Louisa jumped and ran to the front door, almost throwing herself against it as she turned the handle but it rattled uselessly in her hand. She pulled at it but there was no give. The door was bolted at the top and the bottom, Louisa reached up and undid the top but as she reached down, almost choking from the lack of oxygen she had failed to breathe in, Lady Boyd was standing behind her.
Her stance was calm, too calm.
Louisa’s skin prickled. If she were a cat her hair and tail would be standing on end. She thought of the rat poison in the basement.
Guy, he had to be here soon. Where was he?
‘It was all you, wasn’t it?’ said Louisa. If she couldn’t turn around to undo the bolt, she would keep her talking, stall her until Guy arrived.
‘All what, dear?’ Lady Boyd stood in the shadows, her face unreadable.
‘You tried to poison Bryan Guinness at the ball but failed, so you tried again with the chocolates sent to Paris with Luke that killed Shaun Mulloney by mistake. You gave Clara the opium. And Kate Mulloney was sacrificed to stop the police from looking for you.’ She tried again for a confession. ‘What have you done to Luke?’ Louisa reached behind her and gripped the door handle. It centred her, gave her reassurance that Guy would be here, that it would open. She would be safe soon. But she had to do this first.
‘What have you done?’ she accused again.
That was before she saw the hypodermic needle that Lady Boyd held in her right hand.